The Testimony of the Soil

STORY:

The Testimony of the Soil

The rain wept all night, and the eyes of the soil broke all bonds of restraint. How moist is the tone of the wind! I peeked out of the window and saw green everywhere, as far as the eye could see. The same greenery that, in a state of ecstasy, used to make flowers of poetry bloom in Parah's heart, is now a silent spectator to the world. Today is March 26, 2009, and I need to reach the Islamabad graveyard to see Parveen's final resting place.

The gray mountains and the orange sun, a magic spread as far as the eye can see, and within this magical enigma, there is a sorrow that draws you in. It envelops you so completely that no thought can come near for a long time. There is something in this sorrowful magic that seeks soaring wings to take flight, wings on which it can rest its head and unravel the secrets of its silent conversation.

(Continued)

In the embrace of the slowly fading evening lies a magic that only those with a sensitive heart can comprehend.

"Just this, madam, the grave in front of the prayer area." The driver's voice lessened the intensity of the rain in my mind. He kept saying something, but my mind was wandering into that irreversible past, thinking that the very roads I was traversing, Parah once traveled too. During her journeys, whenever a thought would descend upon her, she would pen it down in her notebook. Can't winds thus capture a past moment, so that whenever one wishes to breathe them in, access is gained in an instant? Life, no matter how merciless, must sometimes also ponder what precious gems came under its sway.

The earth, at least, is kind, covering with its face the crucified flowers bruised by wounds! What greater proof of life's cruelty can there be than those eyes that become ecstatic seeing their loved ones, only to be led to their very graves! Plot number 57 and grave number 48 are the identification of Parah's eternal resting place among many graves. Amidst this strange behavior of life, I began to search for the path of my affection, sincerity, and truth. Spontaneously, a window of my mind opened to Parah's verse:

What if the heart can still shine? Let's try polishing it anyway.

This is also the skill of the city's glassmakers.

I felt a message from Parah's grave: "Love is not a statement, it is an attitude." She smiled, but her eyelids were wet. Despite being bruised and wounded, her head was held high. I cleaned the layer of dust from the grave with the edges of my scarf and felt the fragrance of that soil descend into me. This was the moment when this soil chained my feet, and countless wounds opened up.

Parveen Shakir, daughter of Syed Shakir Hussain Saqib. Date of Birth: November 24, 1952. Date of Death: December 26, 1994. This was not merely the dust of months and years; it was a moment of awakening that had been wanting to give voice to my pen for who knows how long. Parah, Parah (fragmented, or in this context, Perveen's legacy) is the gift of that moment of revolution! The caretaker helped me perfume the grave with incense sticks, flowers, and attar. The affection she had for flowers is well-reflected in her poetry; even while embracing tribulations, her hands were filled with flowers.

Spring had been as kind to her as dewy moments, but at that time, she was slowly sipping the sounds of death. When her being received the intuition of love, poetry was born, and when her intuition informed her of the footsteps of death, the concept of death engulfed her from all sides. Before her departure, numerous verses and thoughts seem to confirm this awareness. Parveen never responded to any of her enemies; those who attacked her throughout her life remained empty-handed in this regard, as they had no justification for their stone-pelting. Whether it was acceptance of flowers or stone-pelting, the scent of roses emanated from her hands, whether those stones were from the city of her birth or from the city whose tranquility and silence were both dear to her.

Parveen was a beautiful star whose destiny it was to fall and scatter, but this scattering is unique, individual, and distinct, just like her. She was not afraid of death; she was afraid of living, and for one desire alone: that Murad, who is the most beautiful affirmation of her being, should become a responsible citizen of society. That song, which was her green thoughts and her very heart (Murad), was deprived of his mother's affection at merely 15 years of age. Now, 27 years after her departure from this world, Murad is a complete reflection of Parveen's dreams.

A successful and responsible citizen, and Arsheen, her rhyme, whose touch, like jasmine, she had foretold many years ago: "Some fragrant jasmine hand will infuse your hands with a pink warmth / My heart will lose you / I will spend the rest of my life waiting for you / I am a mother and my fate is separation." Today, this fragrant jasmine hand is a companion to Murad's solitude. May this journey be familiar with the touch of happiness and love (Amen). Murad, Parveen's life's achievement, who built her up and made her wet eyelashes smile, but the cruel hands of death...

On the morning of December 26, 1994, as the rain was preparing to hum, they shattered Parah, who was accustomed to sleepless nights dreaming. She left her home to go to her office and never returned. After a long struggle between life and death at Faisal Chowk in a state of helplessness, some good Samaritans took her to PIMS Hospital. Doctors tried to save her, but she could not survive.

Parah's beautiful and virtuous being grew cold. Narcissus flowers in her home waited for her arrival, and who knows how many thoughts were eager to enter her embrace. The rain wept at Parah's departure as if consoling the earth. Every eye flowed like a flood. Who wasn't tearful for her! Who knows whose evil eye struck her! The last voice she answered was the call of death! Now the darkness began to deepen in the Islamabad graveyard. The soil took a promise from me, and the birds began to return to their nests. From this city, whose silence and tranquility were very dear to Parah,

I journeyed back towards the city that had given Parah life! I left dust upon dust again / fulfilled the will of God!