Walking Stick for Life

I woke up in a cold morning of winter in my home by the echo of drilling boots. There was an army base nearby. I bathe in the lukewarm water, put on my traditional clothes. It was my normal routine, my wife would serve me my breakfast, and after consuming that I shall leave for my shop and would return after 10 hours. As I was getting ready I saw my beautiful wife standing behind me.

My wife and I were madly in love with each other, she was a woman of dignity and honor. I had only seen her face outside her blood relative males. She would always cover her face and head with a scarf. My mother chose her for me, I think my mother would only know, the kind of partner I need in my life, my mistress and my better half. I talked to her and spent time with her on wedding night for the first time, in fact with any girl as I had never taken any interest to indulge in any kind of affair so It was not usual for me to talk or to a lady I was about to share every good and hard time of my life with and I was bolt from the blue. I always admired her for the courage she had, my confidence and my pride. It is discerned in our society that a man always leads his family, in my case she made me able to lead, she was my support, my walking stick.

My beautiful wife stood behind, had grin on her tremulous face, down sighted, gathering her confidence. She wasn’t looking at me entirely, her gaze was not catching mine, so I didn’t understand at first, but her widening grin and her palm reaching up her belly, I could see her eyes brightening as if thousands of stars had taken place in the black pupil of her eye. I gestured to ask for confirmation and I could understand with the blush on her cheeks, I smiled back, she spoke nothing as I reached for her, she turned around and ran. We spoke nothing, but the start of my day couldn’t be any better than that day. 

I came out of my room, said salam to my mother and collected her blessings. My father had died years before in an ambush during a protest, he was a political activist against the despotism of Foreign Army. My younger brother was in the usual habit of clinging to his bed late till afternoon. Actually, I had to bear the responsibilities of my family from adolescence so I wanted my brother to enjoy my share of life. He was a real genius, he was successful in everything he participated and he made me proud every time in every competition.  

My mother was having her tea and I was served with my breakfast from my wife.

“Make your habit to wake up early every day; she can’t cook separately for everyone in this condition”, my mother ordered me. 

“Don’t worry ammi. I’ll cook breakfast for tomorrow if you say so”, I replied. After all, I am responsible for her condition.

“I think you are over excited with the news, I hope you don’t want your child to hear this nonsense in the future, so try controlling them from today” ammi responded humorously and I could listen my wife giggling inside kitchen. 

I heard shouts and running boots from the streets, it wasn’t unusual for us, but this time it stopped near my house. Shouts from my neighborhood made me leave my breakfast and ran to the gate. I saw uniformed personnel holding gun on a teenage boy in front of my house, protestors were shouting against army and because of my father, I too had instincts of taking matter in my own hands while knowing the fact that I was about to become a father myself, he didn’t stop at that time when I was just a boy than how could I, so, I stepped into the matter and in the very next moment the gun was pointing at me. Aiming rifle on my face didn’t matter much as I was not scared of it anymore. Seeing our fellows killed and threatened form foreign rifles were part of our routine. I didn’t resist in the start, but their unnecessary beat and abuse, forced me to hook a knuckle, which landed on jaw of one of the soldiers.


After seeing all this, 4 of the soldiers came running with their loaded rifles. They punched me on my gut, kicked me on my ribs. The fact that a teenage boy was safe, comforted me. Because of the predominance of those soldiers no one dared to step in for my defense. I was forcefully kneeled and one hit with the stock of their rifle on my head made me fall unconsciously, my vision got blurry. Last thing I remembered was those soldiers stepping toward my house, I tried with most of my strength to react I couldn’t nor any of my neighbor did and then everything blackened. 

As I woke up, I had people around me. I got up and hobbled, snubbing their attention to my house. First thing I saw took the soul off my body. I found my brother shot on his chest lying up front and my mother’s body wrapped around his, she was shot on her head. My mother, my paradise laid dead in front of me, on the floor, filled in blood of hers and my brother’s. My entire house was riven, dismembered to bits and pieces. I was about to explode. 

I then had a sudden thought and my heart blew up with anxiety. I ran inside, my breakfast which I left was thrown aside. The head scarf of my wife was thrown on one corner. I overturned every piece of furniture of the room. My solace, my wife and my yet to born child were nowhere to be seen. Than one of her slipper caught my eye I move towards it and saw my wife, I saw my devastated wife. The love of my life, the lady that had always covered her in veil that had valued her honor for life of hers and mine was lying undressed, bleeding. She was alive, she saw me. She fixed her gaze on me then closed her eyes. Her conscientiousness didn’t act at the time, her instincts died, she was defying her integrity. She didn’t yet move to cover her body as she was raped and this was the worst of her nightmare. I went near her, put torn duvet on her body. Hearing her sobbing shattered my strength, I held her hand, put her head on my lap and I couldn’t do more because I myself had no control over my tears. My neighbors, then came to see me desolation.

She wasn’t dead though but there was nothing much of her left and mine too. I was ruined so was my wife. I never saw her shy, smile again after this incident, it has been 5 years. She is not the same like she used to be, she was courageous but now she got scared every time when doorbell rings. We settled in another area after a week where there are no boots. We used to casual talks for hours, lost in her innocence. She often speaks now. We had a baby boy last year. She didn’t celebrate it with me. I named him Yousuf after my brother. I am trying to get over with the incident which is indeed horrifying and very difficult to get over with. The best part is that she is alive and she is the only reason I am alive. I hope she will fight the dread, I am sure she will. She is still my support, my walking stick. 




Author: Kashan Aqeel