Ayesha“Tusi barey naseeb wale oo (You are a very fortunate person),” said Amma Bashiran in an overwhelming tone, when she had a look at the vine that grew outside my room. While I complained that the vine was encroaching into the room through the backyard door and asked her to remove it neatly, she chirped like a small girl after having sight of the vine. “What’s so special about this vine,” I asked. She told me a desi name which I did not register as I was busy arranging my room objects. She continued “aide tey phal lagda ai jera aidda mittha hunda ay jhidun pak jawnda ay (it bears a fruit which when ripens is too sweet).” I went to the door, looked at the vine which seemed ordinary, spread outwards not upwards and then looked at her. Noticing she was not in a mood to uproot it, I said “All fruit is yours whenever it grows,” and she relaxed herself that the vine won’t be uprooted anymore.
Amma Bashiran has been providing us with full time house help for the last three years. She was an old lady, approximately in her late 50s or early 60s but fit enough to work for us. Whenever I asked about her age she was unable to tell her exact age. “Sadiaan umraan kon darj karda ai, kitey likhi hundi te yaad rehndi, jey asi parhe likhey honde (Who records ages of people like us. If I was educated I would have remembered my age),” said she wistfully. Other than fitness, what made her stay with us was that she was a loner in need of a refuge. Her husband died long ago and she had no kids. While I had been wondering whether she had ever experienced motherhood, my mother told me that she gave birth to three kids but all of them died before or during delivery. After her husband’s death, she adopted her sister’s son who got ensnared by the underworld and left home. Once again, she had nobody to look forward to. She did not want to pay rent for herself only, having no source of income, so came to us as she had been on and off coming to our place for the last 40 years.
“Vekho ay thuadey kamrey de ik koney to shru ho k duje te muk gyi, agey kitey vi nahi. (See the vine begins from one corner of your room and ends on the other, does not go anywhere else),” she said. I wondered what made her think I was lucky. All I had was the money earned from my job and the kindness that I rendered to her. Maybe she referred to kindness. She was so engrossed in the beauty of the vine that for a moment she seemed talking like a seer but I ignored her reflections thinking that my prosperity makes her idealise me.
When I moved out of my room, after the vine cutting talk with Amma Bashiran, to the TV lounge, Baji Majida was there to see Maa G. I said salam to her but she was engrossed in narrating the story of a woman afraid of snakes. “She opened her closet and explored a snake over there. She was so afraid for the rest of her life that she decided never to stay on the ground floor. However, death comes as fated. She was on the rooftop one day, sitting on her charpoy, when an eagle could not handle the snake and it fell down over her. It bit her right away and she died at the spot,” continued she. I was awestruck. “My mother nodded and added, ”Indeed! Haven’t you heard that story when one of Solomon’s courtiers had a glimpse of Mulkul-Mot several times. He requested Soloman to send him to a faraway land and Soloman facilitated him. When he reached there Mulkul-Mot came and told him that his death was fated at that place and he was waiting for him to reach the place for taking out his soul from his body.” I was reminded of the python found in the Lawrence Garden during monsoon rains a few years back. While pythons are not usually found in Lahore, the news of a 15 feet long was quite thrilling. I recalled the picture of the employees with the dead snake and shuddered. Baji Majida was my cousin 15 years older than me. She, unfortunately, had to settle in a rustic area after her marriage where snakes were frequently found. So she conversed about the snakes conveniently. Maa G told me that her circumstances made her older than she was. The conversation between Baji Sajida and Maa G was so serious that I went back inside my room and busied myself with my mobile phone.
The next day Amma Bashiran went back to her house and did not turn up for a few days.“Maa G” I asked my mother when she was back, “ Why is Amma Bashiran so upset?” “Her nephew-son is in police custody,” she said. “Why,” I expressed my concern? “In some theft case”, said she. When Amma Bashiran came downstairs and was talking to my mother, I took keen interest. “Amma what happened to you nephew,” I asked. Amma was almost in tears. She told me that he was working in a factory and the owner said to him that he’ll get him a better job. So he sent him to Multan for work. However, they took him into “begaar”and imprisoned in a room. They made him work the whole day and did not pay anything. “Sukki bussi roti de dinde saan (only stale bread was offered as food to him) ” said she. “How did he go to jail then,” I asked.
“O othun paj aaya, saade kol si, per maalik ne parcha de ditta k kitey odha naa na aa jawey begaar wich (He fled away from there and the owner filed a report against him to save himself).”
So why don’t you tell the police, I asked.
“Assi dasya ay. Per police kehdi ay aik wari pesh karo (We told them but the police asked for him to appear in-person at least once).”
“Then you hand him over to them and follow the legal procedure.”
“Haan hun aihoi karna ay. Maalik kehnda aa machina chori kitian, oodhey paisey diyo. Machinaan wi ooney aap ii ghaib kitiyan (Yes, we’ll do the same but the owner said he stole his machines, pay for them, while he himself hid the machines).”
“Ok don’t worry, all will be well.” I tried to relax her.
The next day when I went into the kitchen, she was crying. “What happened Amma,” I asked. “Asi thany phraa ditta si par unhan ne kite ghaib kar ditta. Milan wi nahi dinde. Pata nahi kina marya hoye ga (We sent him to the police station but they hid him, don’t even let us meet him. They must have beaten him a lot),” she cried. “Talk to the police,” I said. “G asi malik de paisey wi de ditte par sanu milan nahi dinde (We paid the owner too but they don’t let us meet him),” she continued crying. I asked my mother “Wasn’t her nephew young?” She affirmed and told me that he was married and had a son too who died.
“His wife died in childbirth and Bashiran had been taking care of his son.”
“Ok, the infant she used to bring along was his son.”
“Yes,” Maa G said. “She tried her best to save his life but due to complications at the time of the birth the infant could not survive. And Amma Bashiran was like a hen protecting that infant. I wonder whether he was bestowed with a name or not. I just recalled Amma Bashiran would spread a sheet on the ground, make him lie over there and continue working.”
“ How did they keep a young man in begaar?” I asked my mother. Having spent all my life in Lahore I was not an eyewitness to any such incident.
“This happens beta. You go off Lahore and the crime rate increases,” Maa G said.
I had read about Iqbal Maseeh but he was a child. The idea of begaar for young boys was really unsettling for me. However, Amma’s nephew-son was back in a few days and she became normal again.
Our Calico cat gave birth to three beautiful kittens and Amma Bashiran was always overwhelmed. ‘Sarre jahan ka daard hamarey jigr mein ha (Our heart carries all the woes of the world)’ was perhaps said for people like Amma Bashiran. Whenever I asked her to go to the market she would always ask “bilian da gosht te doodh vi lyana ay ( need to bring cat meat and milk too)” and I would appreciate her for reminding me. She would so diligently take care of the cat food and serve them as and when required. She spread a mat for the Calico just like her grandson and the calico was comfortable enough to place her very young kittens over it. Calico was a stray cat but care made her stay with us so comfortably that she did not even hide her newborn kittens. We also reared one of her kittens who was a big beautiful gold-brown white he-cat nowHe too always seemed occupied with taking care of Calico and her kittens.
Monsoon set in and the rainy season brings reproduction of amphibians and reptiles too along with the windy rain and flourishing of plants and trees. The vine outside my room further flourished with monsoon rains. Our house was new in the colony and there were no houses on the left or right sides so far, but there were three houses in a row on the backside. The next neighbouring house was four plots away on the right side. So, whenever it rained the vacant plots were a good refuge for frogs who conveniently paved the way inside our house from one hole or another. One day I noticed tiny frogs in the grass inside the green belt on the front side of the house. I was mesmerised by the one inch teeny tiny creatures. Fatima, my niece, was back from school and I took her along to show the teenies. She was also surprised to see the tiny size. “I have never seen such small frogs before. And they are independent, jumping around and hiding when required,”Fatima said with pleasure. She had always been a very composed child, speaking less and showing little emotions.
When we went inside the house, Amma was found worried again. “What happened now,” I asked my mother. She told me that her other nephew was captivated by the agents.”Agents? What agents,” I asked.
“Yes he had gone abroad to work,” told Maa G.
“O, I see, illegal immigration. But why has he been captivated by agents?”
“They say the money is not sufficient. Although he has paid full money, two of his neighbours have not paid full money. They imprisoned all of them.”
“Why the hell did they go abroad using illegal means? They could have started a business over here with the same amount, said I. Haven’t they heard news about the drowning of ferries recently. Why did they play with their life?”
“She says they failed to find work here, now do not give her a lecture, she is already worried,” said Maa G with concern. And I became quiet, still wondering about Amma Bashiran’s family and their illogical thinking. The painful footage of more than 350 Pakistanis drowning on the Greek coast spinned before my eyes. And 350 was the official number. God knows how many were there. Earlier there was news of a ferry with illegal immigrants drowning near Libya in the Mediterranean. The way they were stuffed in the boats and ships was worse than animals. How the social media lamented while sharing pictures and clips of the drowned who were on their way of illegal immigration. “Oh my God, why do people send their dear ones through illegal immigration while everything is available here in Pakistan.” Now I realised who were the persons who opted for illegal migration. They were very much spread around us. Even the media had failed to educate them. Of course, I could not change the minds of Amma’s family. I also did not say anything to her because I did not want to upset her and left it to mom to deal with her.
Amma’s nephew was finally released along with others when his neighbours sent the required amount. Amma was relaxed now and I could engage her in work now. I noticed that the small frogs had taken refuge under the vineyard in front of my room. It was time to get rid of this vine now, thought I. Amma Bashiran “Chotey chotey mendak k bache bhar gye bail mei, fruit tor lein aur ukhar dein ise (The vine is full of baby frogs, please pluck the fruit and uproot the vine),” I asked her when she was cleaning my room. “Acha,” she said. “Please do it today,” I reiterated. After finishing her work, she started plucking the cherries. Her face was full of culminating pleasure. Suddenly she said “Aah kuch katt gya (something bit me)” and fell down immediately. I rushed towards her by opening the backyard door of my room. “What happened Amma g,” I looked up for help when I noticed a snake mounting on the outside wall of the backyard. I panicked and rushed back, closing my door. I called Ali, my nephew, to rush immediately. Then I looked out from the glass door. Amma lay there lifeless with one hand clenched with berries and the other taking support of the stair step, her face reflective of the agony of her life.
Amma had nothing to look backwards to now…
