Ecstasy: A Montage of Poems and Short Stories by Suleman Nasir (novels to improve english .TXT) 📕

proposal, I, with all my heart, will understand it. It is your right. You will always remain a venerable workmate for me. I just intended to know your stance on this, thus I unbosomed my fondness that I have for you.”

Anushe was feeling butterflies in her stomach. She had mixed feelings of contentment, mirth, and uneasiness. She wasn’t blackened fated after all, as her mother deemed her to be. It was for the first time in that moment she felt fortunate, just like the meaning of her name.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

She was walking briskly. She wanted to get home as soon as possible to share with her mother the wondrous event that had unfolded that day. She had borrowed some time from Abrar to think about his proposal. Upon entering the street, a passing ambulance caught her attention for a few brief seconds, but then she retreated back to rewinding Abrar’s words in her mind.

As she crossed the threshold of her home, her mother leapt towards Anushe.

“Something…something happened to…..Ambareen…..she….she...was………..standing in the kitchen….and….and then……she thudded on…the ground..and..and…she…..she…fainted.” Aqila completed her sentence bit by bit with a hoarse voice. She was on the tremble.

“Calm down, mother. Get a hold of yourself.” Anushe tried to console her mother.

Abrar was banished from Anushe’s thoughts. All she could think of then was Ambareen; her younger sister. The sole object of her affection.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

“Though inconspicuous, she has been suffering from dilated cardiomyopathy for quite some time. It has damaged her left ventricle to a point of no return. I fear that it may lead to heart failure in the near future.” Shafique stood numb listening to Dr. Adeel Shehzad, a prodigious doctor worth his salt.

“The only option left for her is heart transplant. But the impeding factor is her rare AB-ive blood group. Time is of the essence. If we didn’t find a donor within the course of three days, chances of her survival may plummet.” Dr. Adeel Continued.

Anushe listened to the doctor while looking at Ambareen through the door window. The apple of her eye; her gorgeous face concealed behind the oxygen mask, trying hard to cling to dear life

.  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

One and a half day had passed, but no donor could be found. Shafique had arranged the cost required for the surgery; he withdrew all his savings from the bank, sold Aqila’s Golden bangles, and that stack of jewelry too that Aqila had been hoarding for Anushe; it started to appear pointless.

Aqila was sitting on the prayer mat spread by Ambareen’s bedside on the cold floor of the hospital room counting prayers on her prayer beads. Anushe had left early in the morning for school to gift Nida with her frock; it was her birthday. She had left with the intention of returning within an hour; three hours had elapsed and she hadn’t returned yet.

The phone rang, bringing Shafique back to reality, who had been engulfed in his thoughts staring at Ambareen. The words falling on Shafique’s ears curdled his blood. He rushed towards the emergency room in a frenzy of panic. His world had been turned topsy-turvy in under two days.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Arsalan was perpetually looking at his wrist watch; he was two hours late for his Engineering project management’s lecture. Arsalan’s attendance in present semester had been less than 70% and missing another class was unaffordable for him. He put all his force on the accelerator and the car headed at blistering speed.

As Arsalan rerouted eyes from his wrist watch back to the road, a young girl lost in her thoughts emerged out of the blue, crossing the road. Arsalan put all his weight on the brake pedal, the vehicle screeched but didn’t halt and hit the girl tossing her two or three feet away. Her vision went blurry and she felt unconscious

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

After the accident, the girl was brought to a nearest hospital forthwith and admitted to infirmary. In the time of doctors tending to her, she succumbed to excessive bleeding and fatal blow on the head, and expired. She had lost a lot of blood and the sufficient amount of blood could not be transfused to her owing to lack of its timely availability, for the type of blood coursing through her veins was a rare one: AB-ive.

After the blood was wiped off her face, looking at her ran a shiver down Dr. Adeel’s spine. He stood appalled at the whims of fate.

             .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Surgery had been completed successfully.  Ambareen’s body had accepted the new heart. The doctors told shafique that Ambareen will be put on immunosuppressive medications for the rest of her life, so that her immune system doesn’t reject the new heart at any point.

Aqila was sitting by Ambareen’s bedside, holding her hand. Tears were flowing from her eyes in an unbridled manner; she was crying silently, yet with a pain that was breaking her heart into innumerous pieces.

Shafique left the room and began to amble in the hall. He had to pay his gratitude to someone for bringing his beloved daughter back from the cusp of death.  He stopped near a room. It was the hospital’s morgue.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

As Shafique slowly pulled the white sheet off the corpse’s face, he descried a familiar face; a face with known features, but with a beauty not witnessed before. It was the face of a girl who always wanted to live in the beauteous skin of her sibling, now her heart was beating inside her beloved sister’s chest. Her wish had been granted, after all, she was Anushe, ‘The fortunate one’.

5. Black Magic

 

Returning to his hometown, Shahzaib had harly stepped out of the bus, when his eyes clapped on a middle-aged man seated on a bench in the waiting area. A little girl of about eight years or less was lying asleep in his lap. His face appeared familiar to Shahzaib; he did not mistake recognizing him, as he was Ghafoor, Shahzaib’s next-door neighbor. Without a minute’s delay, Shahzaib walked towards him, and after customary greetings asked making an allusion towards the girl:

“What has happened to Rafia, Uncle?”

Being a newly-minted medical student, it didn’t take Shahzaib long to find out that her pale face is symptomatic of some ailment.

“Shahzaib Beta! She had been feeling under the weather for more than a month. Her mother took her to a maulana sahib in a nearby village; it is by his virtue we have found out that she has been inflicted with some sort of black magic. So, I am taking her to Multan to a well-known exorcist.” Ghafoor replied looking at his daughter, who was anguishly moving in her sleep, as if having a bad dream.

Shahzaib struggled to bottle up his anger, listening to Ghafoor.

“For God’s sake, Uncle, you are an intellectually aware person; consult a doctor. Why are you hell-bent on dragging this poor soul from pillar to post?” Shahzaib earnestly implored Ghafoor.

Shahzaib’s words vexed Ghafoor.

“The generation of today has strayed so far from the religion; to them doctors are more exalted than our elders, just because they have crammed a few books.”  Ghafoor angrily replied.

Shazaib’s words had invoked Ghafoor’s religious sentiments. Without contending anymore, Shahzaib bid him adieu and left for home.

                      .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

 

The morning sun was slowly laving the plants in the garden. Shahzaib was ambling on the dew-ridden grass when a staggering voice emanating from the mosque’s loudspeaker stole all the colors of the beauteous morning.

It said:

“Malik Javed Ghafoor’s daughter has died last night. Her funeral prayer will be offered at 7:00 PM in the evening.”

Since then, a question in Shahzaib’s mind is in search of its answer that who was it that strangled innocent and helpless Rafia to death? Her literate by name only father, our groundless beliefs, or was it really black magic?

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Publication Date: 01-14-2020

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