A Liar

Sitting in the sun in the unfriendly cold weather of Kabul and spending the gloomiest days of my life when
nothing is adding up, it is becoming really hard to stay on any longer and being at the brink of waving the
white flag to all the obstacles, I am going over in my head the caption of this story. I can’t figure out
whether to call them the sweetest or the most anxious memories of my life. I don’t write them to impress
anyone or have eyes on having a writing career. But it is necessary to inscribe and record them for myself.
One day when I grow old, my hair become grey and dreary, when nobody loves me, when I can’t walk
straightly, when people get bored of my company and talk, when children poke fun at me, when my
memory becomes weak, when I don’t have any big dreams, desires and goals to accomplish, when I’m no
good for anything, when I can’t see and hear properly, when I no more am careful about my looks and
when I’m at complete mercy of others I will get these stories and stick them to my heart and will sit in
seclusion in the corner of my house and read them.

Life does not make any sense to me. I can’t make head or tail of it. Once in a while I think, why God created
us? And why we go through all these stages of life and sufferings in different ways? What is the philosophy
behind all this play of life? Well, according to scriptures if He created us to manifest Himself or to worship
Him, to manifest His divine qualities through us, through good and evil, through poor and rich, through
fortunate and hapless, through wisdom and ignorance, what is in it for us then? Are not we just tools for
His manifestation or His worship? We don’t have any significance or value. We are just means. It is boring.
It is really boring for someone who can think like this and one who is a complete failure, a loser and misfit
or whatever you call it in this society of sound people. I don’t know why is there so much imbalance in this
world of God? Why is there so much injustice and inequity? Couldn’t he manifest Himself in some other
way? In a way that was more beautiful and just, when no weak were meat, when nobody starved to
death, when there were no capitalists, no slavery, no wars, no anger and jealousy, no ethnic and religious
discrimination, no Negros, no cripples and homeless, no pedophilia, no sodomy, no prostitutes (who
actually are compelled to enter that profession), no mean customs and rituals, no lies and hypocrisy and a
system based on equity? And tell me, if we are not in control of anything and God has chosen and
designed different people and things to manifest Him in different ways, then how can He judge us? What
is the meaning of hell and heaven? Why don’t he simply kill that infamous Satan? We did no choose this
life and the way we are. He created us for some “reason” and everything was predefined and pre-written.
Different qualities of manifestation, bad and good, were instilled in us, we are designed like this. If so, then
what is the point in judging, punishing or rewarding us?

Sometimes when I walk on the sidewalk of a road and a motor car passes by and cover me up in dust, I
don’t blame that car and the person driving, I blame the creator of such a situation, who is for sure God,
because He wants to manifest Himself by creating this injustice as He says Himself that He has Mercy and
Wrath and he manifests those qualities through people. But why He always shows His wrath to us? Why
not His beautiful face sometimes? And why has He given us the ability to think like this when we can’t
control anything and are just tools and are used for some other’s purpose? All such thoughts disturb
people like me every day who can do nothing and further cruelty is that He does not let us end all this as
He strictly commands to live in any circumstances. We are not allowed to kill ourselves without being told
the reason. He wants us to live and witness all the innocent people killed and butchered in wars, and to be
the slaves of those capitalists who only give us food to remain alive and work for them, to see the majority
of the people starve and to see people fall victims of new diseases and the most cruel of them to carry all
this pain in our hearts until He wishes our death. Well, all this is just to manifest Himself? I don’t know if He
will use this paragraph against me on the Final Day. I think this should be the limit, because if I go more
than this a practicing servant of Him might earn his “Heaven” by sending me to “Hell”.

Let us come to the main character I wanted to write about. Sorry, all those complains came in
between but they were straightly from my heart and I will not edit them no matter how badly
they are written. It was about 6 years ago, when I was in second year of my school and was
teaching voluntarily in my Madrassa to some boys and was so simple to know that I was being
exploited. I was so naïve and stupid. Why did I teach in the first place? I was just a student of
second year of school and knew nothing. And why would I teach voluntarily when I was in
severe need of money. Why did not I enjoy every bit of that pleasant time when I was younger,
energetic and good looking? Why did not I go outside and have fun like other people? Why did
not I learn to be weird, playful and exited? Why I was so solemn and earnest even then? Why
wasn’t there someone who could tell me this? Why was everyone appreciating and doing their
best to shape me the way I am?
Let me tell you the reason. My Madrassa teacher, for whom I had huge respect and reverence
and even considered him like a prophet, has a great contribution in my growth as well as
destruction. He was very good and loving but was very sensitive and responsive. He would
become angry and happy on very small things and would curse the students who would leave
him and become students of other teachers or Madrassas. But I was an object of his affection.
He treated me differently than others and would tell me that I was special. I did not know the
reason for that kind of treatment. Why and how I was special? But I would become happy to
hear that. He taught me the basic Islam, and introduced me to the world of Sufism. He
encouraged me to study and paid more attention towards my growth compared to other
students. I really loved the way he treated me but was so simple to notice that, that treatment
was going to end in the worst kind of my being. As the time passed, he slowly changed, his
anger and hate overcame his love. He wanted me to be only limited to him and to be in his own
small circle. He did not let me study books other than he suggested or gave me and study or
meet other prominent scholars. I couldn’t even work or have friends to be with. All I could do
was to be with him or in the mosque or to teach his sons. Ah! I wasted my four precious years
teaching his dumb sons. It was like slavery. He would emotionally blackmail not only me but all
other students too by telling that he had done a great favor with us by teaching us and now we
would not leave him till the end of our lives. The students who would leave him were the worst
creatures of the world. I was not learning anything from him and was not growing spiritually in
any sense. He was too manipulative and bossy. He suppressed me and killed my self-
confidence. He instill in me fear, arrogance and hate. I could not leave him because I was scared
of his curses and because “it will be a great sin to leave such a pious scholar who taught me the
basic Islam” and this was the thought and fear he filled our head with. But finally the day of my
freedom reached when my family shifted to Kabul, and I had to leave him forever.
Anyhow, the place I taught was the corner of our mosque that had windows where one could
see the outside world, the street that went through the grave yards. Our mosque was
surrounded by some rich dead fellows who were buried along their relatives in their private
grave yards. Look at the advantage of having money, no one can desert your loved ones if you
have money, not even death. And then some “god fearing” priests say money is “evil”, saying
this while sitting in their villas with their fancy cars at their service and bank accounts full of
poor people’s charities.
One day when I was teaching to my students I came through a very beautiful incident. I don’t
know if I should be calling it beautiful because it ended in one of the bitterest memories of my
life. A girl from students of our Madrassa waved at me from outside in the street amongst the
graveyards and put something in darz of the wall. I waved back too and surprised about what
she meant. After the class I went out to the place she waved from and found that she had put a
piece of paper in the wall. After opening it I found that it was a letter, a love letter. For me, it
was first experience of its nature, as I was not proposed by anyone before and even after that
no girl has found time to propose me. No girl proposes me and apart from my ugliness and
indigence the reasons for that might be being reserved, timorous, fearful and serious. Even if I
was a girl, I would not propose a boring, mind-numbing and hapless person like me. Girls don’t
want this seriousness, despondency and despair. They want someone who has a good sense of
humor, who is cheerful, bright, rich, optimistic and most importantly smart and handsome.
After giving it a quick read I put the letter back in my pocket. The letter was in simple Urdu and I
would love to include its theme;
“Assalam Alaikum! My name is Fareena. I study in 9th class. I have fallen in love with you. I like
Kabuli People. I can’t live without you. I will die if you reject this proposal. I observe you from
upstairs through windows. You look sick and have flow these days. You should take care of
yourself. I’m waiting for your reply. With love. Yours Fareena.’
I was very happy and I should be, I was proposed by a girl. No one proposes a Madrassa Qari, I
will again say I don’t know why, but I was proposed. Was I lucky or again ‘different’ from
others? I went home early and was thinking about a reply.
“Should I accept her proposal or not? But I haven’t seen and talked to her yet, I don’t even
know her, how can I say something? What if I say No, and she turns out to be beautiful?” I was
talking to myself.
Why did not I reply her and tell her that I couldn’t make any decision before seeing and talking
to her? Why did not I take her somewhere we could talk and see each other? That would be
reasonable and fair. But as I said earlier I was a fool and did not consult with any of my friends.
So in my very first letter, I gave her a straight reply and that was a No. I was sad and uncertain
inside about my decision. Why did I reject her without seeing her? What if she is intelligent,
pretty and belongs to a respectful family? I couldn’t clear my mind all night after I sent her that
reply.
I was desperately waiting for her second letter. Time was stopped. When shall this long night
pass so that I can go to Madrassa? I secretly wanted that relationship in my heart in accordance
with my human nature. Everyone wants to be in a relationship especially when one is proposed.
Being proposed gives you the feeling that can’t be described in words.
That night and the next half day passed. I couldn’t wait anymore and took a shower, changed
my clothes and went out for Madrassa. As I reached the gate of Madrassa, a small girl of about
10, whose name I later on found to be Sumeera, handed me something. She was our messenger
I was told and I sensed it from the way she headed towards me. She was confident and bold but
not pretty. I looked around me and put that letter in my pocket. I went to the basement of our
Madrassa to read that letter. She had written:
“I became ill when I saw your letter. I didn’t talk to anyone and didn’t eat anything. I cried all
night. How can you be so cruel? I can’t live without you etc.”
That was a second chance which I did not want to miss. So this time I wrote a long letter and
put some couplets from Ghalib’s poetry which I was very good at. I lied to her. I lied to her in
my letter that I loved her too. How ridiculous! Why did I do that? She was crazy for me and
loved me from the depths of her heart. Her love was real and pure. She considered me like her
god. I was everything for her. She had a big heart and even in her poverty she would send me
gifts that I would shamelessly accept. I was her whole world and she put herself through great
risks for me. Her dignity, image, reputation, everything was at stake. She could be caught.
Society is with red jaws especially for a poor Madrassa girl who is mere sixteen years old and
she has an affair with a Madrassa Qari. She can be found dead buried the next day beside those
rich fellows. She could get killed for honor, which is quite common in our “honorable” Pashtun
society. One of the many regrets of my life is that I’m born a Pashtun. But why should I regret
that, was that my choice? I don’t want to be part of this sick and wicked society. I don’t want to
have honor like that defined in our society. You should know that I’m not honorable, right? I’m
bored of vendettas, women locked and enslaved inside homes for all of their lives just to make
us meals and satisfy our animal desires and virility, killing brothers for property and greed of
having more and becoming an easy prey for priests and their “Jihad” Propagandas. I’m bored of
spending the routine life; raising up, eating, drinking, doing sex, finding a job (modern form of
slavery), getting married, having kids and growing old in almost one geographical area for
almost all of your life. I don’t want just food, water and sex, which everyone is in pursuit of. Like
Rumi says “I belong to a different world and I will end up there”. It is very boring here, very
boring.
After her third letter she told me to meet her in the street outside the mosque after the class. I
went out to meet her with all risks and fears. My teacher could see me, then what about all that
reputation as he declared me a saint in the whole Madrassa? But I found the courage or I think I
went blind to ignore that. She was standing with her friends, wearing a traditional Pashtun
Burqa with her face veiled. In that street among the walled grave yards, very few people could
see us. The biggest risk was our mosque especially the place I taught in, from where we could
be seen. As I reached closed to her, her friends deserted her. It was about a five minutes
meeting. Following was all we talked in those five minutes.
She: Assalam o Alaikum
Me: Walaikum Salam, How are you doing?
She: I’m fine. Thanks God! You found some time for us poor people.
Me: haha, no it’s not like that, I would very much like to spend time with you (I started to show
my hypocritical face)
She: Then what it is that you ignore us, people say you are too arrogant.
Me: May be (I took support of my lying expertise, why I’m so good in lying?), but for my loved
ones I’m different, and to be honest, I have become really interested in you. Many girls from my
relatives and strangers have proposed me (another lie) and I refused but you chained me in
your love with just two letters (fancying a very beautiful girl behind that veil).
She: Thanks for accepting my proposal. I have been loving you for more than one year, but I
couldn’t dare to express my love.
Me: why so? Lovers aren’t scared of anything. One should be brave enough to express your
feelings. By the way, I think we should go now, someone might see us, and we shall meet some
other day in a safe place. Have a good time. (How coward I might have looked at that time and
what about the sentence “lovers aren’t scared of anything”? Okay just forget it)
She: Okay, Allah Hafiz
We exchanged long love letters after that. It was my first time to be in such relationship and I
felt very good. I thought I had found my dream girl. Well, she looked intelligent in her letters as
she was only in 9th class of her school and could write those kind of romantic letters and was
very daring and mature to propose a boy who was at least 5 years older than her. She was
brave and confident. And according to my fancies she was beautiful too. And most importantly
she was in love with me. A loving wife with all those good qualities, what else did I want? I
thought I was very lucky.
Then one day she asked me to accompany her to her school and that she will catch me from my
home at 6 o clock in the morning the next day. I said yes but the next day I had forgotten my
promise and remained slept. When in the afternoon I went to madrassa she was angry and told
me that she waited for me for two and half hours outside my home, every passerby looked at
her and the shopkeeper near our home asked her what she was doing. I felt ashamed and
promised her that I would accompany her the next day. Next day, I woke early, took a shower,
wore the chocolate perfume and went outside of my home to receive her. After waiting for
some minutes, she appeared and when she approached, I told her to keep moving and that I
would join her a little further. I joined her near the second gate of Superior Science College.
We moved on, without considering the fact that all of the people knew me there. For the first
time I was going with a strange girl. Her school was near Tahsil, and we had to cover about 2
miles of distance on feet, giving us a chance to talk for some time. It took us about 30 minutes
to reach there and I rarely talked as she talked continuously and gave me lesser chance to
prove my talking ability. She talked and I was listening. She talked about very ordinary things (or
may be only ordinary to me) and about marriage which I did not like to talk about. I got bored
and was scared too. I was quiet and did not know what to say to stop her. Finally, we arrived at
her school and I was relieved.
I did not even see her on that day. But I did not like her. Firstly, she was too talksome and
verbose and secondly from her talks I noticed that we had too much difference. Yes we should
have different tastes as she was mere a sixteen years old studying in 9 grade with small wishes
and I was, I would say, unfortunately, more mature, scholarly (I’m laughing at myself),
straightforward and romantic. I wanted someone to share the poetries and philosophies of
Ghalib and Iqbal with, someone who could speak different languages and could view life
differently from ordinary people. Also she was not pretty as she appeared in her half veiled
scarf. She was black, her eyes were small and she was not heighted. How did she look taller in
Burqa? By the way, her outward appearance was not the first reason I did not like her. Actually,
there was too much difference in Fareena in her love letters and the Fareena I dropped to
school. In her love letters she was a loving, mature and romantic girl but in her actual talks
there was nothing like that.
But I gave her promises and lied to her in my letters that I loved her, wrote lines in her praise,
would make her happy and would never leave her. What about that? How will I leave her? How
would I tell her, that I did not like her and everything I told her was made up? What about those
gifts? For me it was just a play but she was serious. What about her heart?
I wanted to end all that and it ended in a very desperate way. I don’t know why I let it end that
way. I still feel the guilt. After that last meeting I stopped responding to her letters without
saying why. What a shame!! She sent letters upon letters but I gave her no reply. Then she
found my number and started to call me but I did not answer her calls. Why did not I straightly
tell her that it was over and we couldn’t be together and that we had too much differences?
She sent me text messages and told how much she loved me and she could do anything for me.
I only gave one reply and that was to stop her from sending anymore messages. She insisted for
reason of my cold behavior but I did not tell her, and that was the point I really feel ashamed
about now. Why did I behave like that? I made a laughing stock out of my self and her in
Madrassa. The guilt I feel in my heart disturbs me now. She pleaded to just send her one letter
because her friends were making fun of her. But I even did not send that one letter. How cruel
and rude I am.
She used to wait in the mosque every day. From the girls section she could see and talk to me
and she had no problem in emptying the place as our teacher’s daughter was her friend. So
every day she waited there and implored to reply her and at least tell her the reason of walking
out. But I did not reply her. She even found cell number of one of my brothers, I don’t know
how, and contacted my brother that she loved me, never wanted to leave me and that she
wanted to marry me. But I still refused to give her a straight answer. Why? I should have clearly
told her or the things could get worse. One day a very strange and crazy thing happened. While
attending the khatam in our Badh Bher Madrassa branch I observed that she had written on
every single bread our names, mine and hers. Those breads were sent from the city Madrassa.
God what to do now? Everyone was looking at me. I went pale. I got out of the sight
immediately and went home. No one mentioned that incident in front of me as I was very much
respected in Madrassa. But she was punished and expelled from Madrassa. I was too scared
and my fear increased when one day she texted on my cell phone and told me that if any of her
family members (brothers) asked anything about her from me, I shouldn’t tell anything about
our relationship. This girl would kill me. All of the people became aware of the whole scene.
What if she does something wrong and make me responsible for everything? What if she
commits suicide or blame me with something I did not do? I planned that if anything wrong
happens I would escape to Kabul.
One day, when I was in home, she came along her friends and knocked the door. When I
opened the door, I found them, and asked what they wanted. She asked for some cold water. I
went and brought water, and warned her not to come again and closed the door. After
sometime, I went out again to see if they had gone and everything was fine. I found that she
had put some flowers in front of our door. God! How could she loved me after all that behavior
and rudeness?
Time passed and I changed my mobile numbers, but she would find my new numbers and
would contact me. But I would not reply her texts or answer her calls. Then one day, her friend
texted me, that Fareena got engaged with one of her relatives. Ah, that was a very good news
for me. It was a phew for me. I thought I got rid of her and that she would never bother me
anymore.
But to my surprise, one day she texted me and told me that she did not like her fiancé and
wanted to leave her fiancé for me. I told her that would be a very bad decision and that her
parents would be very much disappointed. She should not make her parents sad. I gave her a
lecture in text messages. And moreover, I told her that I could not marry her in any
circumstances. She insisted and told me that she will do anything for me, even die. She would
send me romantic poetry. I was so tensed. She insisted for about one year and wanted me to
marry her and with just my one message she would leave her fiancé. But I refused. Finally, the
day came when I heard that she is going to be married in coming days. I became really happy.
Then came her final request and I had to fulfill that, and that was that I should talk to her for
the last time and should go to her wedding. I said yes to her first demand and no to her second
demand. I still remember the day, when I went to Wazir Bagh, called her and talked to her for
the last time for about one hour one week before her marriage. She told me that she would
love till her death and that she would pray for my success. I told her that I will be in her service
whenever she needed me but she told me to stop lying because she had come to know me by
then. She told me I was a liar, a great liar. That is what I am, a Liar, and that is the caption I
chose for this story.
Kabul, 9 Nov 2017.