Life will never be the same
Chapter 42 of Hold On: Peshawar 2020
(N.B. I’m writing a novel, a chapter a week, here on Medium. Find out why I write here, start from Chapter 1 here, and always feel free to give me feedback in the comments. I write here for the community.)
In the weeks after it happened, Hira could not sleep or eat properly. Life didn’t seem worth living following her mother’s death. She would be lost in an alternate universe, one where she had spent more time with her mother, and had gone back every weekend to be with her. Their relationship had improved after she had moved to Islamabad, and Hira wondered how perhaps she hadn’t taken full advantage of that. For weeks, whenever she talked to Sadia, she would bring up her mother and the moments she had cherished with her. She seemed incapable of talking about anything else, and it felt like this was the only way she could keep her mother alive — by talking about her.
“I never understood why my mother was always against me when I was a child. I always held it against her, thinking she favored my brothers over me. Now I realize she might just have been afraid for my future, because my plans didn’t align with the standards society had set for girls. I think she was afraid of what would happen to me if I didn’t comply with that specific image- but I realize it was simply a mother’s concern,” Hira expressed to Sadia.
Sadia sighed and said, “You’re right, our society adapts several methods to reinforce patriarchy, and women themselves often become complicit in their own oppression,” Sadia commented.
“I see that now. But Sadia, my biggest regret is, I can’t even sympathize with my mother anymore. She’s gone. I wish I had thought about these things while she was still with us.”
“Hira, you’re being too hard on yourself. You’ve done a lot for your family, especially while your mother was ill. Whatever happened was beyond your control, now we must find peace in God’s decisions. Remember that He has the ultimate authority to grant or take away,” Sadia consoled.
Last month, Hira and Sarmad were deep in discussions regarding their new project on the analytics of micro-mobility in Philadelphia. Before relocating with his family abroad, Shehryar had handed over this project to Hira. He was immensely passionate about this initiative, and saw it as a stepping stone for the ventures he had planned in different cities. Over time, there had been growing concerns in the US regarding the glaring lack of sustainable mobility options for citizens. Numerous nonprofits, academic institutions, urban strategists, and private entities were vocal about the need to champion micro-mobility, especially given the increasing congestion and pollution from cars.
“Hira, this new project is exciting! No one can lead it better than you, I trust that your impeccable data analytics skills will give you an upper hand. I’ve collaborated with an urban planning firm in the US; they’ll design the roadmap based on your analytical insights,” Shehryar said.
Philadelphia’s city administration had assigned this vital project to InfoTech. The primary objective was to gauge the current micro-mobility landscape, and then design strategies that would bolster its share in the transportation mix to a minimum of 15 per cent. Hira was genuinely passionate about this venture, and what it would mean for the citizens of Philadelphia.
In their brand-new I-8 office, Sarmad and Hira continued their discussion.
“Hira, I don’t know if you saw the news, but there’s a buzz about a new virus going around that might be lethal. They’re calling it the ‘Corona Virus’, and it originated in China,” Sarmad mentioned.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. We Pakistanis have weathered many storms, including health scares. This virus doesn’t stand a chance,” Hira quipped.
They both laughed, oblivious to the gravity of the situation that was unfolding as they spoke.
During their conversation, Hira’s phone rang. It was her father, his voice shaky and heavy with exhaustion.
“Hira… ah… I think you need to come home. Your mother isn’t well.”
“What happened?”, asked Hira, her voice rising.
“She began vomiting and suddenly collapsed. She’s come around now, but she’s complaining of a headache. Shafiq’s been arrested today on corruption charges. When your mother heard the news, she just couldn’t cope.”
Hira felt her pulse quickening, “Oh God, you should take her to Lady Reading Hospital immediately!”
“I know, I’m trying to convince her, but she insists she’s fine.”
Hira left out an exasperated sigh, “Fine, I’m coming home. I’m leaving right now.”
As Hira raced home, she found her mother barely conscious, yet she was adamant that she would recover on her own. Unfazed by her mother’s stubbornness, and ignoring her pleas, Hira drove her to the hospital herself.
In the emergency room, doctors seemed to float around, tending to everyone but her mother. With her frustration mounting, Hira had no choice but to create a ruckus, “For God’s sake, someone check on my mother! Can’t you see this is an emergency?”
A male nurse turned around and snapped, “Baji, there are dozens of patients here, your mother isn’t the only one. We’re short on doctors in the emergency section today. If you have a problem, ask the government to increase the doctors’ salaries! Many emergency doctors are striking.”
“I don’t have time for this, I don’t care about your problems! Please, just check on my mother for God’s sake!” Nosheen sat quietly, in an almost comatose state.
The nurse smirked, “Fine, I’ll notify the on-duty doctor. He’s attending to a VVIP patient, a High Court Judge. Once he’s done, he’ll drop by to see your mother. I’m sending someone to check her vitals in the meantime.”
After what seemed like ages, the vitals were recorded, and the doctor arrived. By this time her mother needed a bed, and she was swimming in and out of consciousness. The doctor approached Hira and remarked gravely, “I’m afraid you’ve come too late. She’s had a stroke and the damage is significant. It’s unlikely that she’ll pull through.”
Hira couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. What did he mean? How could she not pull through? Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded with the doctor to help her mother. There had to be a way, surely. Modern medicine must have a miracle in store. Her father embraced her, shaking but trying to comfort her amidst the turmoil. The doctor said they were preparing the operation theater, hoping for a chance to revive her. But once she was prepped for surgery, it turned out that the hospital generator was out of fuel. Frequent power outages had taken their toll, and the administration lacked the funds to buy more fuel. This meant that the operation would be delayed.
Distraught, Hira approached her mother, gripping her hand when she whispered, “Hira, you have to get your brother out of prison. We don’t have anyone else to turn to, and I don’t have much time. Please, help your brother. Help my son.”
Just as the words left her mouth, Nosheen closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Hira’s eyes widened in horror; she shook her mother, saying her name again and again. But her neck had gone limp. She was gone, and Hira knew it. With waves of despair washing over her, Hira screamed for a nurse. A matronly woman came to her, telling her what she already knew.
“Beti, your mother has returned to Allah.”
The world stopped spinning. Hira felt the floor fall away and blacked out. When her senses finally returned to her, she was surprised to find herself lying on an emergency bed with a drip attached to her arm. At first, confusion overtook her. For a few merciful seconds, she forgot where she was, and what had happened. Then, as the world came into focus, tears welled up in her eyes.
She needed to see her mother one more time but was told by the doctors that wouldn’t be possible yet. Her father was arranging for an ambulance that would take her home, where the final rites would be performed. The rest of the morning passed in a blur, with doctors and nurses checking up on Hira to make sure her vitals were stable.
At home, the burial ceremonies had turned the family home into a cold, foreign place. Hira could barely believe this was the same house she had lived in, the same house that was filled with immense joy and warmth. Thankfully, Shafiq was granted permission by the jail authorities to attend their mother’s funeral on compassionate grounds. His tears flowed more abundantly than anyone else’s, the burden of guilt weighing heavily on him. He believed that news of his arrest caused his mother’s stroke. He tried to approach Hira, seeking solace, but she was not in any state to communicate, or even acknowledge him.
Hira received several condolence messages during this period. One that stood out was from Sarmad. She had nursed a silent hope that he might travel to Peshawar to personally attend the funeral. However, like many other colleagues, he sent messages instead. But consumed by her grief, Hira lacked the capacity to pay it much thought.
A few agonizing days later, Hira’s father took her aside for a quiet conversation. He hadn’t recovered from his wife’s death and looked as frail as she had ever seen him. “I’ve been in constant touch with lawyers, trying to navigate the legal complexities,” he began. “Plus, Shafiq has been talking to some of his colleagues from within the jail. But, if we choose to go by the book, getting him out of jail with his job intact might be a long, drawn-out process. A few police officers have hinted that a bribe of Rs 2 million would expedite the process. They’ve assured me they can manipulate the evidence in our favor.”
“It’s almost inconceivable,” Hira replied, her voice tinged with disbelief, “How can they ask for such a sum from one of their own? And you know our finances are stretched thin; we can’t afford this kind of bribe.”
“I’m painfully aware,” her father responded with a heavy sigh. “Shafiq has been expressing remorse. He swears he’ll mend his ways, especially since he believes he contributed to Nosheen’s death.”
Hira felt pushed into a corner. Amidst this turmoil, she didn’t really have a choice. Plucking up the courage, she contacted Shehryar, asking for a loan of Rs 2 million. She explained the situation her family was facing, and explained that Shehryar could recoup the amount by deducting it from her salary every month. Shehryar agreed to the loan without a moment’s hesitation, further stating that he would not make any deductions from her salary.
Hira could hardly believe it. It was as if a massive boulder had been taken off her chest. This unexpected generosity elevated the respect she had for him. She insisted that she would repay him at some point, though he kept repeating the same statement, “Hira, don’t worry about this at all. This is the least of your problems, and trust me, it’s not a big deal. I promise.” Tears flowed down Hira’s cheeks, as she sent silent prayers of gratitude his way.
She recalled her childhood, a time when her father would repeatedly come to the rescue of her drug-addict brother. As a child, she always questioned his choices. Now, she found herself in his shoes, coming to understand the immense emotional cost of such decisions.
With the bribe money arranged, Shafiq was soon released and reinstated. His reunion with Hira was tense, as she refused to welcome him with open arms. She made it clear to him that she had taken this step solely because it was their mother’s last wish.
During this emotionally draining period, Shafaq, Hira’s sister, was a pillar of support. Shafaq had her own way of coping — she took on the role of their mother, comforting their younger brothers and providing a shoulder for them to cry on. Both Hira and Shafaq would try their best to reassure them, talk to them, and emphasize that while their mother was gone, their sisters would always be around to look after them.
Ahmad’s messages had been a constant source of support for Hira. But she didn’t respond until two weeks later, after she had returned to Islamabad. Both Ahmad and Sarmad were there for her, offering their condolences and trying their best to provide emotional support. However, it was with Sadia and Shafaq that Hira felt most at ease with, as they always knew what to say. With both of them, Hira felt comfortable being broken and fragile, because she knew they would understand, and would help piece her navigate this ocean of grief. But life will never be the same for Hira!
