Barkat
Cynthia and Peter were classmates. They had known each other for almost two decades. Both had come a long way, Cynthia was no longer a lanky, bony, bushy eye browed, freckled teenager. She carried herself with poise and confidence and was always well groomed. She was in love with life and exuded joy. Peter too looked suave and dashing, a far cry from the gawky, hesitant, shy boy he used to be. Every evening, Peter spent at least an hour on the field playing baseball. This was his dojo, his domain where he ruled supreme! His arm swing was legendary. His accuracy and intensity had made him a talk of the town. What he lacked in class he compensated on the playing field. With a bat in hand he transformed into a demigod, the elements infused a super natural strength in him and he owned the ground. This one hour was enough to charge him up to take on the challenges of daily life.
The next best thing in his life was Cynthia, his constant companion. They were diametrically opposite in every way possible! In fact they had no common interest at all. It didn’t stop there, Cynthia was a fastidious, die hard vegan and survived on bowl full colourful, crunchy, nutty salads and stir fried veggies. Peter on the other hand loved protein, and would give his right arm for a juicy pepper steak! Not really, his arm was too precious. His golden ticket into the world of sports. Cynthia would sit through his important matches cheering him with gusto, content to be a spectator. She was proud of Peter, his vigour and regimen, when it came to practice there were no short cuts. Baseball was his religion. His zeal had rubbed off on the others too and they became a force to reckon with.
Late evening was spent near the river walk, they loved to stroll under the deepening shadows of the trees. They loved to watch the sun set casting dynamic colours on the water, the brightly coloured sails of the dinghies bobbled gently on the waves. Silence was never uncomfortable and both would walk at a leisurely pace soaking in the beauty of the park. An occasional sudden quack from the ducks would bring a smile on their face. The thirty minutes at the river walk seemed fleeting but they met every day without fail. Peter would walk her home and then begin his daily battle with his submissions. He was not sure what was his nemesis, Shakespeare or Calculus. He agonised over both ,diligently made notes, what was a debacle for him was a cake walk for Cynthia. Over the weekend, the two would take on his demons one at a time. Cynthia loved to play the flute. Peter was mesmerised to see a simple bamboo come alive to the touch of her lips and nimble fingers. How could such a simple instrument create such magical melodies?
Many years of sharing space on the playground, musical concerts, food courts and college auditorium, they decided to tie the knot. They had the blessings of both the parents, none of their friends or professors were surprised. The entire script of their lives had been written in their presence. Their world was complete now. Many would disagree when they shared a meal with them. A couple could not be more different but they cherished their differences and never tried to impose their choice on each other.
Three years and three major league matches later, Cynthia felt something missing in their lives, however, all attempts to conceive had failed. Peter was very supportive and convinced her to adopt a baby. They travelled all the way to India from New Zealand and spent sixty days, trying to finish all the exhaustive paper work involved. 15th March 2017 ushered in the spring season not only in India but also in their lives. They hearts were filled with bright resplendent hues of love and pride as they came home with their bundle of joy. Barkat had the deepest dark eyes; his long curly eyelashes enmeshed the on lookers’ heart. There was no doubt he was going to be a charmer when he grew up. His mahogany, silky hair glinted in the warm sunshine as he cooed in Cynthia’s arms.
The hotel room soon turned into a whirlpool as Peter tried to pack their belongings and leave India for New Zealand. Cynthia was oblivious of the tedious chore of packing, planning, ticketing and travelling. Her world was filled with soft fragrance of baby powder, endless diapers and her world revolved around getting one stubborn burp out of his system. The burp was a focal point which put the resounding applause to Peter’s smash hits to shame. The thunderous applause paled shamefully as a soft, sudden burp popped out of Barkat’s mouth. Peter and Cynthia could never get enough of this tiny bundle; they spent many hours staring at his tiny toes and tinier nails in awe. This miracle was alive and kicking and screaming for his next feed. Barkat was a healthy baby with a voracious appetite and he grew in leaps and bounds like a weed.
Their home in NZ had a tiny nursery for the new arrival, decorated beautifully in loud blazing colours. Within a few weeks they had settled into their new routine and lifestyle. The agency had mentioned Barkat’s religion and one of the conditions for adoption was that he would be allowed and encouraged to follow Islam. Peter had no issues with that and took his little son to the mosque every Friday. The distinctive call of the Muezzin which begins with a durud (An Arabic Dua dedicated to Prophet) followed by the phrases of the Azan which culminated in a Naat (A poem composed in urdu to praise the prophet) Those 15 minutes on Friday were surreal, the air heavy with the fragrance of ittar, a heady blend of different flowers ranging from tender jasmine to sweet smell of roses interspersed with a hint of sandalwood.
As the congregation paid obeisance by supplicating, their heads with intricately woven Kufi touching the soft Persian carpets. A tender loving prayer whispered in total surrender to Him. Peter, Cynthia and Barkat’s world was complete. Soon, Barkat learned to stand his ground, albeit swaying like a tender branch in fierce winds. With Cynthia’s eager hands ready to hold him, Barkat felt a heady rush and practised this new fangled skill to perfection. He no longer swayed, but stood steady like a seasoned sailor learns not to sway even on a moving deck. Barkat soon took fledgling steps which were symbolic of his long journey of life, which commenced with his hesitant, unsteady gait. His two sharp teeth on the lower gum were flaunted to all those who visited them. Peter’s trophies couldn’t garner such adulation and admiration as these two tiny sparkling teeth. Barkat had a disarming smile and displayed his gnashers with flourish.
It was not just another Friday, it was 15th March, 2019, Barkat was two years old and he insisted on climbing the mosque steps without any help. When he climbed the three tiny steps, Peter’s face beamed with pride akin to a homerun. They sat on the soft carpet. Barkat traced the tender motifs on the carpet with his podgy fingers. The Azan would soon begin, everyone was settling down in the solemn tranquil courtyard of the ancient mosque. Suddenly, all hell broke lose, there was a huge blast and bullets ricocheted from the walls of the mosque. The constant staccato of gunfire had frozen their mind, unable to fathom what was happening.
A brave young man walked quickly towards the gun yielding perpetrator and tried to seize the muzzle. He was rewarded with a loud curse and a volley of bullets that sieved his abdomen completely and he fell with a loud thud. By now people had come out of their stupor and nabbed the crazy young man and managed to strip him of all the arms he was carrying. He had an ugly, devious glint in his eyes. There was no remorse or regret for the carnage he had caused. Cynthia realised that she was holding Barkat’s wrists so tight that it had turned blue. He was trying to unlock her grip and play with Peter. Barkat thought this was a new game, he too wanted to sprawl on the floor and pretend that he was frozen in time. Cynthia could not utter even a whimper as Peter’s cornwall blue eyes looked at her blankly. His chest was swathed in a river of red. One lunatic had changed Cynthia’s life and destiny forever. There was an advent of spring this year too, numerous trees burst into bloom wafting sweet scent through the streets but, this year, they could not bring any solace to the bruised hearts of Cynthia and Barkat.
