An excerpt from LEAVING THE NEST

By, Manzoor Hussain Hasrat. Pakistan.

Death of my Grandparents.
This was Dec, 1957, I was in service at Wah Cantt, Pakistan. I
got a postcard that my grandfather was not feeling well. He
was already very old and weak. I rushed and reached after
travelling about 280 kilometers by train. The village was
stoically calm. It was a beautiful mid-evening when complete
sunset is just to ensue with crimson colors across a copse of
green trees. I found grandfather in good health. He had a sound
sleep in the night. In the breakfast he took a pint of Milk mixed
with egg. He was feeling comfortable. I was along his bed. He
slept and I found some snoring voice from his throat. I was little
upset but not worried; he was very comfortable and looked
having a sound sleep. The voice stopped after about two or
three minutes. Suspecting something wrong, I took my hand
above his face to feel the breath, it was not there. I
immediately called my uncle, who came running, saw his father
asleep. When examined, told us he is gone. He is gone to his
permanent abode. He was cold. Can a person die like this? No
indication, no anxiety of any sort. My most beloved and
precious gift I got at the time of birth was lost. I went into
shock. My elder brother was out of breath when one of wise
neighbor pressed his lung cage forcefully to restore breathing
and was saved. I had lost my house and now the owner. I had
lost everything.
After about three years of the death of my grandfather, I was
informed by a letter that my dear grandma had expired and
was laid to rest. I went to my village after three days of her
death. I could have done nothing except standing on that fresh
mound of clay underneath she lay asleep.
It would be long when fresh green shoots of grass would
appear on her grave mound. I took some dust of her grave in

my fist, smelled its freshness and wafted madly in to the air.

This was though like a declaration of the end of an era and an
end of sense of belonging or owning my birthplace. I had lost
everything; it seemed all bonds and ties broken and vanished,
setting me freely swinging in the air. I looked back toward my
village, tears in my eyes the image of my treasured village
looked blurred; Goodbye my birthplace, Grand Pa. my
Grandma, Goodbye those streets and fields which raised me
and saw growing from child to an adult. Goodbye chums,
neighbors, elders, rubber plants, lush green trees, the dappled
shades, Railway line, the swings, the rainy days, the pool, the
intense chirrup of sparrows, the butterflies the ducks. Good bye
the radiant mornings and gloomy dusks. Goodbye; -----.
Goodbye the bright faces I fascinated, Good bye the rustic
weathered and wrinkled faces I respected. Godspeed those
replied, I imagined.
I traced back my feet, back empty hands, but not empty heart,
which was filled with pathos and pity. The valid reason of
frequent visits to my place ceased. I was free like a fugitive
animal. I could have gone astray. I had to adjust myself afresh. I
had to start a new life with dynamism, more vigor, drive and
hope. Time had taught many lessons. Stand up man, stretch
your arm to lift the pack of life yourself. That was you! This is
you!
Although I tried to stabilize, still I was under the influence of
alcohol of grief. Wavering and inebriated. That evening was
very dark. I was a vagabond. I showed myself to another place,
a kind rendezvous shelter. I had travelled aimlessly and my
destination was involuntarily, I was not sure she to be there.
The news of the death of an elderly woman went late, no
mobile phones or emails then. Only Post Cards were the source
of information. It was late night now, I knocked the door. A
figure emerged, saw me dejected and weary, near to the
breakdown and fall. The freak figure took me tightly in her
arms. This made me to burst in cries. She wept sympathetically.
She told a letter with a torn corner was received this afternoon.

The sight of a torn corner of the Post Card made her worried.
She knew the meaning. Hand in hand I followed her in the bed
room, threw myself on the bed. An elderly woman in white
clothes transpiring sacredness appeared and pursued me to be
at peace and went out.
We were alone now; we talked and talked about Grandma. The
hot tea and miraculous hot touch of the hands made me calm.
Similarity of the consequences took me few years back, I found
myself on the bed at my native place and the kindest lap of my
Grandma. It was the same time; a similar evening I threw
myself in the sacred lap of grandma exactly likes that of now. I
was startled then; I saw my house demolished.
What a
coincidence and similarity? Aggrieved at both occasions; the
time and the place; the kind lap. We both wept now and, my
grandma and me both wept then too; in the lap of grandma.
Now in the lap of another woman, we were married only few
months before. The place was a comfy house of my in-laws.
There that night I told her; it was November afternoon. Days
were shorter. I was in class two or three. I came from school
about three kilometers away to find my grandma sitting in the
yard. It was raining. Surprisingly I asked why you are sitting
here in the cold and wet. I will go inside now; why should I not
be out in the rain while my little son is also out there? She
replied. Dripping and shivering I simply hugged her around. I
fear she might get sick grandfather remarked.
There on that bed, I shared also, sitting very close to her, I was
on bosom, while at the age two or three, sucking the nipples of
my old grandma, when I felt small quantity of a fluid is sucked.
Was this blood or what? I swallowed. She used to comfort me
in cold long nights; telling me stories of the king and his
beautiful daughters. One of those daughters was expelled from
the palace, when she expressed her love the king like a salt. All
others liked the kind as honey, butter or sweets. Later king was
convinced that salt can be consumed daily but not sweets. The
king became kind on that princess and pardoned her.

My grandma was a kind woman; she loved me all along I still

feel her hand of affection and protection on my head. I thanked
the old departed spirit, the kind lady who was laid to rest only
three days before. I thanked for all the love she showed to me. I
saw, my wife listening to me devotedly, tears now dried leaving
a trail behind. Suddenly by an impulse of sentiments, I took her
hand and said Thank you too. Her face blushed.
A male is very much dependent on female, may it be mother,
grandmother or another. The feelings of that kindness,
tenderness, softness, warmth and care she took on me, as
woman is still with me, preserved as a precious treasure. Even
now when I am more than seventy five I feel unable to get rid
of that childhood within me. I pray those memories be washed
away, which keep me fascinated. Those events are so sweet
and unforgettable; I do get lost in myself for some time and
thrown to ecstasy. Thank you my grandma. Thank you my
partner, now living in another world Thank you both. Rest in
peace.