In The Middle Of Road

The boy’s name was Sabir. An amputated leg forced him to sit on the narrow footpath and watch the cars speeding in front of him, giving him nothing but a black smoke letting Sabir to realize his inferiority complex. Some cruel people stood at a distance from him, but their eyes didn’t seem to be away, instead, they were fixed on him. Sabir’s say always went by, and ticked away quickly. His life was worst than anyone! Sabir sat on a pavement, below the traffic signal to beg to people for some money so that he could give about 1000 rupees to those cruel and ruthless people after each week. Otherwise, instead of his one leg, his whole life could be amputated from his own body. The sun was only a coming and going thing for Sabir. For him, a day was nothing more than a car hurtling after another one. Life of Sabir was like the leafing of blank pages again and again. Sabir was only 13 years old, but he had experienced a lot about Pakistani society in which he lived. Cruel, ruthless, uncouth, brutal, vicious, inhuman, callous, atrocious and savage were the words given to this barbarous society, by Sabir. People supposed that he was a poor guy, but they didn’t know the bad incident which came to have a bad glimpse over his life. His only espies and observations of the day were his own blinks coming again and again in the same order having no surprises, no thrills and no ecstasies. Everything was bad. Bad for him; bad for anyone to live in it, but still there. The only thing he smelled was the polluted air mixed with pitilessness. The only thing which he was allowed to touch was the unimportant and deceiving money which was his worst enemy and which was responsible for his current condition and situation. It was nothing more than a lie for him. A lie—a big lie and nothing else! The only voices he was supposed to hear were “Well poor guy, take these ten rupees” or “No beggar, get lost! I don’t have time or money to give you!” He thought himself like a dust or stone wanting nothing; always being hit by foot and going somewhere else to be hit again by someone else. It was indeed a bad and inhospitable life, but still being adopted or forced to adopt by people.

A car stopped in front of Sabir when the traffic signal showed the red light. Sabir’s eyes caught someone in the luxurious Mercedes CLK. Someone whom he knew more than anyone. Someone whom he loved the most. Someone who was very special for him. Someone who was the only hope of making his life better and easy to live. Someone who can take this heavy mountain off his head. Someone from whom he was once separated. His mother!

The support to stand came from walking sticks which took him to the sumptuous ride which was waiting for a green light to appear on the traffic signal. Sabir waited impatiently for the wind span to lower down; a broad grin seemed to be painted on his happy face.

A pale face of a women appeared.

“Mom! I am your son. Remember? I am Sabir!” Sabir cried, happily for seeing the bright face of his loving mother after a long time. “Do you remember?”

His mother looked at him blankly. No answer. Silence. Stillness. Quietness. Uncommunicativeness. Taciturnity. No reply. No voice. But at last, her soft lips made a motion and a shocked voice came out.

“What do you mean? You can’t be my son! He—he— he died one year back in— in a severe bo— bomb blast. I saw his wounded face. Those evils kil—killed my son. I remember very well. You’re not my son! You’re from among those evils! I know what you’re here for! It’s just parsimony for luxury!”

Sabir was stunned! He received the answer of silence and reticence, that was the feeling of unfamiliarity from a familiar person.

“But—“No voice came out from the mouth of Sabir. He was too shocked to say any word.

“I can’t be your mother! You’re a beggar and I am a prosperous person. I know what you want!” She handed over a note of 20 rupees. “Liars are all around! It’s all mendacity!”

The traffic signal showed the green light. The car went away quickly and Sabir couldn’t stop his eyes to follow the car. He stood at the spot. In the middle of road! For the first time in his life, Sabir’s Sabr was not enough to handle his emotions. Sabir looked at the road where the car was standing before. Cars honking behind him. But he was there. There, caring about nothing! He didn’t move until he felt the 20 rupees note in his hand torn into two pieces due to wetness. Wet of his emotions. Wet of his disaster of loosing his last hope for the betterment of his life. Wet of his own tears given by someone who was very close to his heart!