A beam of a flashlight moved in the darkness and stopped right away at their faces. Omar and Jamal were opposed by a short, but stout man in khaki wearing a mask who had seen them coming from behind the barricades that stood across the road, blocking their way ahead. Omar, gripping Jamal's hand, came closer, the policeman looked into his deep, sunken eyes, inspected their travel-exhausted faces, and asked, "where are you coming from?"
Omar hesitated before he answered, "Delhi".
Meanwhile, he began to scrabble about his pockets for any ID proof he could find. The policeman, still flashing their faces, said, "where are you going?" Omar looked around, becoming nervous at not getting anything in his pockets, and then behind the policeman. There was a light coming from there, that sharpened the edges of the khaki, making it look scary. He back-stepped as he failed to find the ID proof. The policeman asked him again, louder this time, "Where do you want to go?"
Omar said, "Badeu!"
"No, you cannot," another policeman spoke in a dry voice. He was sitting in the chair against the ambulance that stood parallel to the barricades with its side-lights twinkling. He had a big, upturned moustache and the way he was seated in the chair - one leg manly placed on the knee of another - projected him as some sort of senior. Omar dared not respond to him, instead, he stared down at his boy, Jamal, who stood beside him helplessly, while the first one came closer. After considering them from head to toe, the seated policeman knocked hard behind at the ambulance door.
A fat doctor stepped out of the ambulance, pulling himself together.
"Cover up your damn mouths", the senior policeman commanded while the doctor, now completely covered in a white nylon suit except for his fat eyes, came over and put a weird pistol-looking white machine against Omar's eyes and then Jamal's. The tiny, dark, fluffy eyes above the blue, N-95 mask examined Jamal suspiciously. Then the doctor squeezed Jamal's wrist in his gloved hand. "He's got a fever," he said to the policemen.
"Does he have a cough or a cold?"
"No!" Omar answered.
"Any trouble breathing, child?" the doctor asked softly and directly to the boy, not to his father.
"No, not at all," Omar answered instead, pressing his boy against his left thigh. "He's perfectly alright."
However, last weekend Jamal had a fever and even vomited multiple times before they departed. But after that, he proved himself really a good boy all the way. He didn't even talk about his mother. Every time Jamal had been afflicted with fever or something, he behaved gawky and blurted nonstop about his mother. But, not this time. He walked along, passed cities and towns under the April sun, however, on Omar's shoulders half the time, but Jamal certainly was not sick now. At least he doesn't look sick.
"Here you'll spend the night." the first policeman said calmly
"We can't… Sir," Omar protested, not so politely, then peering down in the eyes of the senior one, he realized he shouldn't have. A drop of cold sweat rolled down from his forehead and fell onto his collarbone. "Please, let us go, sir. Please."
Both the men in khaki said nothing.
"I request you, sir. Please. We have to go far away," urged Omar, holding both his hands together.
The father and the son had already completed half of their journey. How could they stop here in the middle? Even when all this chaos was like a nightmare, Omar knew how to go on a long, long journey on foot. JUST KEEP WALKING! If you stay in one place for more than the necessary time, you are finished. How could they now misspend the whole night here in the shelter?
"We are arranging buses in the morning." The first policeman leaning over the barricades pointed at a big yellow bulb behind, illuminating a portion of the sidewalk and the leaves of a ficus tree on the left. There was a huge tent behind. Omar shifted his gaze to the policeman who now looked a little concerned with their condition. "And still if you don't care about your sick son," the policeman said. "Then, you can go, yes, go on!" He gestured with his hands.
The other one stood up, perfecting his moustache, came forward, and rebuked Omar, "Are they all idiots? All of the five hundred people there, waiting for buses. Are they idiots?" His reddened eyes seemed disturbingly upset at something. Both the men in khaki exchanged glances and the first one looked down and went away behind the ambulance with the doctor. "Go to the shelter now!" the tall one commanded and shut the barricades with a jerk. Before turning left, Omar, dejected, stared at the barricades that stood between him and his hometown.
They spent the night in the shelter, but not in the hope for an easy morning and the bus that could relax their tensed muscles and reduce the unbearable distance by far, but because Omar thought a little rest would be good for his son. If he is sick... if the doctor was right... If... No! No, he can't be. My boy's alright. Omar kept muttering to himself as he lay down beside Jamal in the tent and put his hand on his chest to feel. He looked out there beyond the flapping, loose triangle of the tent. The stars above were being stirred by the faint breeze. And everything began to seem normal again for the moment. "He's alright," Omar said to himself.
The shelter was already crowded yet people kept coming to stay there with their children the whole night long. It filled the entire tent with the scent of sweat and vomit. For Omar, it was not strange that almost all the children were screaming out of hunger, stomach cramps and seasonal ailments, except for his boy who remained silent throughout the night. Jamal, only a nine-year-old boy, was brave and strong and he had proved it in the journey by walking at the same pace as his tall, lean father. Omar knew they would get through, and it was only a matter of a night.
By the morning, there were many gathered outside the tent, waiting for the bus to take them away, somewhere, perhaps their homes. They waited for two hours and together, they saw the sun rising as the only normal occurrence of the forthcoming day. And many of them as hopeless as Omar was, began to walk down the road. "Once you reach home, everything will be alright. Jamal will be alright," Omar contented himself before picking up the bag. "Can you walk?" he asked his son. "Yes Abbu, I can," Jamal answered with a smile.
As they were to surpass the cool shadow of the trees beside the shelter, a white van came from the opposite direction. It sure was not a passenger vehicle which was promised and they were all hoping for, but a small one with a red rose as an emblem against the white of the flag waving on its top beside a loudspeaker. "Food Packets !" The voice through the loudspeaker resounded in the morning air. "Food Packets! Come over here y'all. Stand in the queue."
The policemen weren't there. People rushed pushing down the barricades. At the entreaties of the two young gentlemen white kurta, they stood in two queues even though the hunger was agitating them to break all the moral rules. Omar was happy to get two packets because he stood in the first row and his son, Jamal, in the second. The rest of the families were given only one. And unfortunately, many were left behind empty-handed, watching the van rushing back on a bare road with their hollow eyes. Omar instructed his son to put the packets inside the bag as noticeably as he could since four of the men were staring at their hands. They were hungry too, Omar knew it. If it was another day, he would have given one of them the extra packet, but it wasn't another day... it wasn't going to be any normal day and he had to go far far away.
Five hours straight, they plodded along national highway 2, where he had always seen overloaded trucks and buses with happy children peeping out of their windows; jeeps coming and going very fast; dusty cars speeding up, overtaking each other, sometimes honking horns continuously and sometimes as swiftly and silently as you could not even spot them passing by... Even a mile-long traffic jam, but today, as far as his eyes could reach, it was strangely and terrifyingly empty. The wrecks after the fatal accidents had not scared Omar as much as this emptiness did now. But they walked on.
After crossing the serpent-like road of the valley, they made a half-circle of a large lake and with it, comfortably left five more towns behind; all just looked the same: grey and dusty under the sun as if deserted. Many people kept coming across and walked together as if they were the companions for each other and they moved like a herd of animals; no-one knew who was from where, but walking shoulder to shoulder, they looked the same; as though they all momentarily became a part of the singularity of human fate which no one could escape. With bags on their shoulders, panting but striding, sweating like hell but hopeful to go back home.
They stopped twice, rested their legs in the ponds and backs against tree trunks. Jamal was filled with vitality every time he got up after taking a short rest. "I can walk, Abbu. We have to go home. Just keep walking, remember?" he'd say. Omar had been repeatedly touching his forehead; Jamal no longer had a fever, but to avoid the direct sunlight, he poured the water from the bottle to wet his handkerchief so that he could cover his son's head with it. Jamal also liked it.
They walked down from the main road for a shorter route. "Look, Abbu trees are just like they are at our farm." There were blue gum trees that shadowed the narrow, cracked road from both sides, and it was windy. Omar looked back at his son, sweat drops were shining on his forehead and he was walking with his shoulders bent. "Let's eat something. It's a good place," Omar suggested.
Under the rustling leaves of gum trees, they gobbled down the food which they had been carrying since morning, which now finally began to trigger their hunger, and shortly after, Jamal vomited all over his rugged trouser and dusty shoes. His face turned red and terrible as he stood upright.
He washed his son's clothes and shoes in a stream and laid him down on the meadow under a tree, and let him close his eyes for a while. Omar, too, laid down there, and he glared at the sun through leaves, and the tree branches above were dancing swiftly with the wind, making more noise than ever. Such trees were at all the sides of his farm when... when he actually had the farm. Omar watered them and had seen them getting taller and taller like he had seen Jamal growing up, and one day the trees were gone and the farm was gone and they both, the father and the son, had to leave the town. The darker thoughts invaded his mind as the faces of the two policemen and the fat doctor floated in front of his eyes. He couldn't see trees anymore; not even the sun. Did I make the right choice? Should I have stayed in the city? It was difficult figuring out which one was the right choice. Choosing had always been difficult for him. But, it was much easier to lay down here in the cool shadow than staying in the middle of the madness of the city. I made the right choice, yes I know it's right. Once we reach home, everything will be alright. Jamal will be alright. He smiled at his boy when he woke up and his eyes were looking for his father.
"Are you okay?" Omar asked.
"Yes, Abbu."
Although a dull answer, Jamal looked better, all he needed was a little sleep.
"I like this road so much, why don't you make such roads?" Jamal asked. Jamal knew what kind of work his father used to do in the city. Omar didn't keep it a secret and was not ashamed of providing his cheap labour for the road and gutter construction agencies.
"All roads are alike, there are only trees on both sides."
"But there are many trees in my school too, and I don't like it."
Omar said, "I thought you liked it."
"Never."
"So what do you like then?"
"Our farm ... will we go there once we reach the village?"
"Yes, we are going there," Omar lied.
"And then, we'll go back to the city, won't we?" Jamal asked him with wrinkles on his forehead.
"Don't know!" Omar looked away.
He trudged, and Jamal followed. They crossed three bridges that connected four towns, and saw the water, flowing down there uninterrupted, and after they passed the towns, Omar picked Jamal up and seated him over his shoulders. Jamal's dirty shoes were slapping on Omar's chest as he walked with the bag heavy in his right hand.
"I know you'll go back to the city when it's all over," said Jamal dismally when both of them sat down on the side of a drain to cool down their legs. The sun had descended a little but it was still hot. By now, Omar acquired many cuts on his feet throughout the journey and his stiff thigh muscles were aching too. He poured the drain water onto them continuously, which relaxed his whole body.
"Will you take me back with you, Abbu?" Jamal asked. He looked worried.
"You don't want to go to the city again after all this ends?"
"No, I never wanted to," he said bitterly. "You took me there."
"You don't like the city?" asked Omar. "Wasn't it a wonderful place?"
"No, it was very bad, bad, bad. And, I don't have any friends there."
"You'll have many if you know how to make friends," said Omar remembering his lone past.
"I know one thing, I hate them... all of them. Why did you take me to the city, Abbu? it was all good when I was in the village and I was with my Ammi."
"Okay, we won't go back if you stop talking about your Ammi, alright?"
"You're lying, I know." Jamal stood up. "I have to go home… and to my Ammi."
Omar, grabbing his skinny wrist, pulled his son closer and touched his forehead, it was hot again. "Listen, Jamal, Ammi no longer lives with us, I've told you," Omar said, brushing Jamal's dry hair away from his tiny, black eyes.
"You are lying," Jamal released his hand from the grip of his father and started walking by himself, and didn't stop at his father's call even though he started panting. "We must be walking, I have to go back to Ammi." Omar stood up, lifted the bag, and followed. "I am not lying Jamal, if you stop talking about your Ammi, we won't go back to the city, Promise."
"I wanted to live with her. You didn't care," cried Jamal and kicked hard a pebble away. "I don't understand. Why did we go to the city at all? we were so happy at our home, in our village." Jamal stopped angrily, turned to his perplexed father, gasping for air, as if sobbing.
"We should sit here for a while, Son," Omar suggested.
"No, I don't want to."
"See! You like such beautiful places, don't you?" He pointed towards the trees and there was a half-dried river flowing beyond, with boulders green with moses. "You like this?"
"No. I have a headache."
Omar made him sit on a well rounded grey rock.
"You can sleep here in my lap."
"I just want to go home."
"Don't think about it my boy." Omar put his arm around his bony shoulders. "We'll soon be at our home." He kissed his sweaty forehead.
"Then why are we sitting here?"
"Across that hill, look there, is our home. We're already home. You can sleep in my lap for a while.
When Jamal fell asleep and was in deep sleep, Omar took him over onto his left shoulder and commenced to push himself as hard as he could towards his destination, but without disturbing his son's hard-gained peace. And in the wild silence, as he heard the dead leaves being crushed under his worn out shoes, some old but malicious thoughts began to churn in his mind. Never could he gain control over them. He thought about the village; he thought about the city and then he thought about the catastrophe that kicked them out of the city. Omar had lost everything he had left behind there in the city. Yes, he knew it from the moment he started his journey. No further questions about it. The only question was he was going back to his village where he might not be welcomed anymore.
Gone were those days when Jamal and his Ammi used to greet him with shy kisses and warm hugs. And his son's smile had lost the magic of healing as soon as he had also with his father, shifted to the city. Sometimes Omar wondered if he himself had snatched everything away from the little one; his childhood, his friends, his Ammi... Who else is responsible for this destructive state of Jamal? Who else is here to blame? His Ammi? She cannot be. It's me! It is me and only me. Omar shook his head ruefully
.
When it was almost dark, Omar climbed up the hill, stopping twice to catch back the gone breath. Then he smiled to himself as though rewarding himself for what he had achieved. Their journey was going to be over soon. Before reaching the crest, he heard some faded but rattling noise coming up from the other side, and it was getting louder and louder with his every step farther. Curious to know what was going on down there, he climbed his last steps harder and in the moments of astonishment, he had completely forgotten about what was on his shoulder.
Omar stood at the hill-top and gazed down at his village, even in the dark he could see some of the roofs where many light- beams were waving all around; shaken up to and fro by the ecstatic hands with their victorious shouting to accompany their joy, and they were accompanied by the deafening clanging of the steel plates and bells that resonated the entire village and came up to the hill, to him, and beyond. What's going on here? As soon as he felt the weight on his shoulder again, Omar patted his son's cheek to wake him up to have a look at the exceptional view that was ahead of his eyes. "Jamal!" he said, "This is magnificent! Look how beautiful our home has become." Jamal didn't move, his head still resting on his shoulder. Omar looked down at his face and half-open eyes, saliva had come out of his mouth on his shirt. "Jamal?" He shook him, but this time only Jamal's head rolled down from his shoulder. "Jamal?" Omar shouted.
With his trembling hand, Omar touched his son's forehead; all the hotness had gone, and it was now shockingly cold. Besides, there was no breathing. Completely perplexed by the thoughts again, he laid his son down on the uneven ground. His frantic hands rushed to search his son's skinny body; and wherever his frightened fingers touched his boy, it was the same: cold and numb! He patted on Jamal's right cheek again. "Wake up Jamal," and then he gently slapped both the cheeks together. "Jamal, we are home...Look! Look there.. don't you want to see your Ammi? She is coming up the hill with many flashlights in her hands. Yes, there she is." He said while his eyes looked for the slightest hint of movement but there was none. "Please, wake up my boy." But, the cold body of the nine-year-old, lying in front of him, didn't respond.
Omar laid himself down on the ground beside his son, gasping for air. Even though his heart was pounding so loud in his ears, he could still hear the thunderous music of bells and steel plates, and the shouting of the people. He saw the flashing above in the sky as though it was all over. Yes, the chaos was over. The journey was over. Over his head, light beams crossed each other as if they were searching for something in the sky, something that had just gone up there, beyond the stars. "This can't be true...he was brave, my boy was strong...this isn't true." He shook his head helplessly and fisted on the ground. The hotness rolled down his cheeks. Under the stars and flashing of the lights, he, too, laid down lifelessly on the hill next to his town, beside his son until he began to feel the immense pressure in the centre of his chest. And he choked.
∎
