A sharp hint of sunlight through the curtains woke me up. The chirping birds brought comfort. Looking out , I saw a rusty crispy carpet of chinar leaves that could almost hear crackle every time someone walked on it .A hot cup of tea settled me down and a golden patch of sun warmed my face .The steam of morning brew was reassuring . My marriage had died early and I had survived. My face was a folio of horror and abuse. My confidence had eroded. I found flaws from my skin to my soul till I started revolting against my being. I was reduced to acute self pity in this union of soul’s event.  But silently, slowly somewhere, I was being turned into steel in those non-descript ten years.

It was a journey within myself that helped me.

And today I was beautiful for I had loved and accepted myself for what I was, fallen in love again, this time with myself and with all my tomorrows.

“Get up you are late for the appointment”, yelled granny.

“Yes I remember! “I responded.

My granny and my father lived together after he lost my mother to cancer two years ago. Loneliness he had said and I had understood. It is    like a secret code that need not be explained and justified. The three generations were creating a balm of wontedness for onea nother.

Doctors have always frightened me but I was visiting one today. They break the trust we have in our bodies that heal us unknowingly and quietly. They can see our physical failings when we do not. My granny was upset about my headaches and lack of appetite. She fussed over me and I enjoyed every bit of it.

The cheerful sky goaded me on to a nearby clinic and I started walking diligently on the crisp chinar leaves.

It was packed and for a moment I thought I would just turn back.

‘Excuse me pl,’ I looked around “please look after my daughter once I go in to see the doctor?’ to which I replied “yes of course I am here don’t worry!”

I had made a commitment impulsively and could not go back from it. She looked pregnant and nervous. I empathized with her for one has apprehensions about the little life that one carries inside .I had miscarried once .It was painful. Not the umbilical damage, but the cut on my face when I got pushed down the stairs.

  I looked around to see the little girl who must have been slightly less than two years, bouncing up and down the stairs with limitless energy. Twice I got up to catch her fearing that she would fall down and hurt herself.

“Sit down child,”

A ‘dare me’ look put me on my guard.

The mother held the metal clutch of my bag in order to attract her. “Come here, see how pretty auntie’s bag is, come and play with this.”She looked around nervously before she handed over the bag to me.

“Oh don’t worry she will be fine, just let her be”.

I thought to myself that I should just keep an eye on her and not let her wander far away...I looked out of the window and once again admired the chinar tracks that made walking such an experience. The nurse signaled from the corner of a half opened door for the lady to come in. Before getting in she looked at me imploringly and  I nodded back, reassuring her that her daughter would be safe with me for whatever time .

‘Mamma’, the little one seeing her mother go in started wailing and tried to get in too. I pulled her back and she started screaming .This carried on for some time and I was beginning to give up.

“What is your name?”

’Mamma ‘she looked at me tearfully.  

 There was no answer, instead she looked down and started stamping on a piece of paper. Trying not to look enraged I started on some positive affirmations like, ‘your hair is so beautiful and your eyes so pretty’. It started working.  She came closer and held my hand. Something was changing.

The window offered a pale look that which is associated with post noon sun .A slight movement in the queue caught my attention. I was getting restless and the girl was beyond me. Taking her for a short walk would be a nice distraction for her. We had barely reached the tea shop, when a loud explosion threw the two of us down and in a flash many things got hurled against my face.

Deafening silence with smoke all around, painful shrieks.

I felt something trickle down my forehead

 Is this happening to me?

 Could I get up and run?

 I was alive and I had to run out as soon as I could. Without her?

Let her be. Just run primal instinct.

I steadied myself.

Fear knocked, responsibility held me back. Loud wails, hoot of ambulances tore the atmosphere. I was looking for the girl and I saw a small bundle lying still in a bloody mess. I searched for her mother but couldn’t see her ..She moved a little and I saw hope.. I quickly bundled the girl and ran out in a crowded smoky road...…

Coming home was a different ordeal. The television channels were abuzz with violence at a doctor’s clinic on the boulevard skirting the Dal Lake. I owed my life to this little girl whose name also I didn’t know. We had luckily moved away from the waiting area which was in shambles as shown on the television.

Father looked ashen. He took the girl off my shoulders and lay her down. I welcomed darkness that was enveloping me.

As I came around I saw granny hovering over me, “Thank God you are alive. I have to offer Prasad to the Gods this Saturday.”

“How are you feeling dear, your little friend is in shock? She is not talking and you have multiple injuries on your head.” my father said. I have asked Dr Ali to have a look.”Dr Ali was a family friend too. I was relieved.

 ‘The kid is not crying, may be missing home,’ said the doctor looking at me enquiringly.

Acceptance, resilience or a state of shock? I couldn’t say.

 Who is she? Where is her mother?

Are you alright, a volley of questions?

 I felt weighed down as I had no answers. He checked the pupil of my eyes and how I wished he could see my predicament. “All ok except deep gashes and the little one’s wrist is badly hurt, I must say you were very lucky to have come out.”

There was one lurking question in everyone’s mind including mine- the identity of the girl.

Granny’s gaze had a tearing effect even though she was bespectacled. The mole that graced her face was beckoning me to speak the truth. She was gracious with truth and any attempt to hide the same never went unnoticed, on the contrary led to an unpleasantness and mistrust in the environment at home. I also remembered the constant conflict at home when the apple tree was planted under a leaking hamam [old style geyser] without her knowledge. ‘I am telling you the tree is going to rot shortly’ but for many years it did not. It was not about the location but the fact that she was not consulted. It did not stop here. Saffron bulbs could thrive better in shade or sun had entailed many debates and suggestions of keeping a pet in the house had no takers as a slight inclination would lead to cacophony melodrama and finally granny would go off food. That was her ultimate threat .The apple tree however stayed back as a needle poking her cushion of peace and she did not forget to complain about it regularly.

Where did you get her from?’

Who daadi?

 You very well know what I am asking you, girl?

‘I really don’t know’, and with that I came out with the entire story. I never hid anything from her. She frowned but listened carefully, her eyes swept across the girl who by now had gone into a deep slumber.

“She is pretty! What is her name?”

‘I don’t know’.

 ‘Hindu or Muslim?

‘daadi I don’t know I promise, I never lie to you .By the way it doesn’t make a difference,” I retorted.

‘Ram ram ram what beliefs you have. Hmmmnnn there is going to be a problem’, she muttered under her breath

There was word that some people had escaped the dastardly blast. Media was in a frenzy to get eyewitness accounts..

‘So what time did the explosion take place? ‘What did the explosion look like?

Did they expect me to stay rooted and then do an analysis of the blast and the blaze?

Soon they were replaced by some men in uniform. “Did anything arouse your suspicion, any item or person?” I guessed I was amongst the very few survivors who was able to speak and hence the query .I wish I hadn’t.

Promptly he took out a picture.

“Did you see him?”

“Yes, faintly remembering the man who rushed out minutes before the blast.

He looked pleased, let out a sigh of relief and whispered to his friend.

And did you see this one?

I felt faint. It was the mother.

Careful I told myself.

“Yes err err, this lady was pregnant and looked nervous,” I fumbled for words.

“Not pregnant, she was a human bomb and had it all around her. This was her mission and she carried it out, and this is her husband ,”he pointed to the earlier picture .

Mission what do u mean?”

“Madam she is a member of dakhtare milat an all-woman terrorist outfit that creates chaos and bloodshed. We are trying to locate her husband and one small daughter and then teach them a lesson..

I could barely think. Mother blew herself up and father abandoned the girl? .My eyes met granny’s and I saw her leave the room. .I felt alone.

What will I do with her now?

How could that innocent face be a bomber’s face? She had explosives around her stomach?

She did look helpless and lost.. How could a father...?  

“Madam, these people can give their lives and the lives of their dear ones for jihad “None of what he said registered as I was fervently putting the pieces together.

The sky had lost its evening haze and night was ready to descend on this troubled spot in a beautiful valley. It was getting cold.

 Granny came in with kahwa a local Kashmiri brew as she believed in hospitality from the heart.

‘Much work to finish still .Can we go around and have a look?’

Yes sure said granny.

What is wrong with her?

My father taking a cue from there decided to keep quiet for it was granny’s spoken word.

By this time I was shaking like a leaf. The kid was lying inside with a bandaged wrist. I would be caught now then would be handed over to the police. Family scandal and shame filled my mind. The girl would be taken away and enrolled in the same organization that spreads terror. I will be known as an accomplice in crime for sheltering the daughter of the terrorist. I was trying my best to look normal but it was tough. My heart was racing and my head pounding .A matter of ten seconds before I am declared a liar and a traitor. I clamped my jaw as my teeth were chattering. I got up to close the window .I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. Nervously I played with my bag which had turned black in the explosion. A note stuck out and I pulled it out. Something was scribbled in haste.

Take care of my zeenat .Give her a life she deserves.

My hands were cold and numb. The mother was trying to communicate. She did take my bag and must have put the note in. She knew she had no time.

‘All ok sir’ the men came out.

Disbelief!

I stared vacantly at them.

“Just to inform you, the backyard is like quick sand. I almost got stuck in there. The overhead tank is leaking profusely and the tree is taking a beating.”

“Oh yes inspector”, I heard my granny, “I always knew this would happen, how much I tell them inspector no one listens to an old woman.”

They grinned and said a good bye

‘Don’t worry’, she said looking at my face, “I kept her under the tree , because it is slippery people avoid going that side . Now just get her in as she would be cold by now.”

 How did you …?”

“Girl, media and police want to see and smell everything and if you stop them they become worse.”

Worldly wisdom for sure.

“And I promised the girl that if she stayed there quietly I would get her mother back! “She said triumphantly.

‘But that’s not possible, you heard what …’ .I said crying with the note in my hand.

She stood still held me tight and her gaze was fixed on me!

 ‘You are the mother I found!’

Motherhood was a thought totally banished from my body and mind.

Sorry you can’t be a mother!

What! No family heir!

Good for nothing woman!

 I could hear voices.

It felt strange to be called a mother. It felt nice.

I was a mother to a daughter!

.Give her a life my zeenat, I could hear voices.

The note was still in my hands I looked at it crushed it and threw it away .The little girl was shivering and sobbing and I ran to get a towel for her. My father smiled in the doorway as he walked towards the apple tree.

I thought the tree swayed as though nodding in approval, swaying to the ticking minutes, ringing bells from a temple nearby sounded like the final verdict.

Ended.