By Asrar Amin
In a small, weather-beaten mud house, nestled in a remote village, life trudged along on the narrow, treacherous paths of poverty. This house, though meager, was filled with a love so deep that it brightened even the darkest of days. It belonged to Akbar Sahib and his wife, Saleema. Both were on the threshold where the vitality of youth and the burdens of old age intersect. Theirs was not a life of wealth or material comforts. They owned no grand properties, no sprawling lands, nor did they have the luxury of a steady income. Their entire existence, their greatest wealth, rested in the form of their only son—Rashid.
For Akbar Sahib and Saleema, Rashid was not just a child. He was their hope, their future, and the reason they pushed through the daily grind of hardship. Though life was difficult and their means scarce, they had poured all their energy, love, and faith into Rashid’s education. They believed that if they could lift him out of the poverty-stricken life they had known, they could finally breathe the sweet air of success.
Akbar Sahib was a laborer by trade. Each day, he toiled from dawn till dusk under the blistering sun. The work was grueling, his body battered by years of hard labor. But, despite the crushing weight of his struggles, there was always a glimmer of contentment on his face—a quiet joy that came from knowing his sacrifice was for Rashid’s future. Every drop of sweat, every aching muscle, was a small price to pay for the bright future they envisioned for their son.
On the other hand, Saleema was no stranger to hardship. She often worked alongside her neighbors, tilling fields or doing small chores for meager wages. Her hands were calloused from years of toil, but her spirit remained unbroken. Saleema would often skip meals to save money for Rashid’s school fees, and though hunger gnawed at her stomach, she and Akbar never allowed their son’s education to falter. They shielded Rashid from the worst of their poverty, ensuring that his path to success remained unblocked.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Through it all, Rashid excelled in his studies. When he passed his tenth-grade exams with flying colors, the house that had once echoed with the silence of hardship was now filled with the joyous sound of hope. Saleema’s eyes, once brimming with tears of sorrow, now overflowed with tears of pride. Akbar Sahib’s heart swelled with pride, his face beaming with the realization that their years of struggle had borne fruit. He had spent years dreaming of this moment, and now that it was finally here, it felt as if his dreams had been realized.
“My son,” Saleema said as she kissed Rashid’s forehead, “you have upheld our honor. You have fulfilled our hopes.”
But as quickly as the happiness arrived, it was overshadowed by a creeping sense of dread. Rashid’s education was far from over. His next step would take him to the city, where further studies awaited him. But with this new opportunity came a daunting challenge—the city’s admission fees were far beyond what Akbar Sahib and Saleema could afford. Their modest income, which came from selling milk from the family’s cow, was barely enough to sustain them. Now, they faced an agonizing choice: should they sell their cow, their last lifeline, to fund Rashid’s dreams? Or should they continue to cling to what little security they had?
Night after night, Akbar and Saleema lay side by side on their humble bed, staring up at the starry sky. The weight of their decision bore down on them like a heavy cloud. Saleema’s heart was troubled. She wondered aloud, “Will this sacrifice be enough for our son’s future?” Akbar Sahib, though equally torn, remained steadfast in his belief that no sacrifice was too great for Rashid. He knew that his son’s future was more valuable than any possession they had.
In the end, the decision was made. They would sell the cow and use the money to pay for Rashid’s admission fees. It was a heart-wrenching choice, but the hope that Rashid would one day break free from the shackles of poverty made the sacrifice seem small. The next morning, Akbar Sahib sold the cow, and with a heavy heart, he handed Rashid the money for his journey to the city. As Rashid prepared to leave, Saleema whispered a prayer, “May Allah make you successful, my son.” Akbar Sahib, too, embraced his son, offering him silent prayers as he boarded the bus.
The city was a world away from the simple life Rashid had known. The bustling streets, the towering buildings, and the endless flow of people were overwhelming. Yet, amidst the noise and confusion, Rashid held onto the memory of his parents’ sacrifices. As he stood in line at the college, waiting to submit his admission form, his heart raced. Every step he took felt like a step closer to his dreams—and to the dreams his parents had for him.
After a long and exhausting day, Rashid finally secured his admission form. His body was tired, but his spirit was buoyant. He rushed to the bus station, hoping to catch the last bus back to the village, eager to share the news with his parents. But fate had other plans. Just as he approached the ticket counter, a loud explosion ripped through the air. Chaos erupted as gunfire echoed through the station, and people ran in all directions to escape the violence. Amidst the blood and debris, Rashid lay motionless—his life cut short in a senseless act of violence.
Back in the village, Akbar Sahib and Saleema waited anxiously for their son’s return. As the hours passed, Saleema’s heart grew heavy with worry. “What if something has happened?” she asked, her voice trembling. Akbar tried to reassure her, though he, too, was filled with fear. “He’ll be here soon,” he said, though doubt crept into his voice.
As the night wore on, and there was still no sign of Rashid, Akbar decided to head to the bus station himself. Saleema’s heart raced as she waited, her eyes fixed on the door, praying for her son’s safe return.
But when the morning sun rose, it brought with it a terrible silence. The village was eerily quiet as an ambulance and police vehicle arrived. The villagers looked on in shock as the police officer inquired about Rashid’s house. A heavy silence fell over the crowd as Rashid’s body was brought home. Saleema’s world shattered in an instant. Her cries of anguish echoed through the village as she collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by grief.
Rashid was laid to rest, but Akbar Sahib never returned. Saleema’s heart, already broken, began to wither. She spent her days by Rashid’s grave, her prayers now filled with pleas for her husband’s return. She would sit for hours, staring at the sky, asking, “Oh Allah, when will my son’s father return?”
Years passed, and life moved on, but for Saleema, time stood still. The village, once filled with the sounds of life, had moved forward. But Saleema remained frozen in that moment, her heart heavy with the weight of unfulfilled dreams.
In the end, the greatest dream of their lives—the dream of seeing Rashid succeed—was lost in the fog of tragedy, never to be realized. The noise of the world faded, but for Saleema, the silence of loss would remain forever.
