‘As long as you’re with me, it’s going to be safe,’ Kabeer smiled and squeezed her hand gently.
‘I was with you all this while and there was nothing I could do to protect you,’ Zoya replied.
Kabeer looked puzzled and shook his head.
‘All I’m saying is, you don’t belong here,’ Zoya repeated firmly, ‘You belong in India and that’s where you should be.’
Kabeer paused for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what she meant. ‘And what about us?’
‘It would take us some time to pretend that we never existed for each other.’
‘I wish it were as convenient as you make it out to be. I never thought that you would give up so easily,’ Kabeer said softly. ‘I was the one who was attacked today. But I’ve met people like you and Ghulam, who made me believe that our inherent cultures and people are the same despite the artificial barriers erected by superficial politics. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but I can’t back down from this fight.’
‘This isn’t a great time to be talking about philosophy, Kabeer.’
‘Let me finish, okay?’ he said. ‘That’s precisely what your grandfather, Amaan Ali sahib, wanted.’
‘I’ve lost enough people in my life, Kabeer, and I don’t want to lose you as well.’
‘Aren’t you driving me away with this already? Kabeer asked, tossing her hand away.
Arko knocked on the door and peeped in. ‘Kabeer, Zoya. Sorry to intrude, but I think you need to hear this. The board has decided to abandon the rest of the tour and we’re returning to India now,’ Arko left shortly after dropping this bombshell.
‘So this is really happening,’ Kabeer thought.
They could feel themselves going away from each other as Zoya breathed heavily and said, ‘I think it’s best for everyone at the moment.’
She didn’t want to cry in front of Kabeer, so she left the hospital. It was almost midnight as she drove to her hotel room in Multan.
Kabeer couldn’t do anything but sit there, frozen, as he watched her leave. What had seemed like a dream to him, shattered in front of his eyes. He felt exhausted and drained after his physical and emotional ordeal. There were many questions lingering in his head, most important of all: ‘Will we ever get to meet again?’
There was so much he wanted to tell her. He realized that in all this while that they had been together, he had never really opened up about his feelings for her, never told her how he fell in love with her. And all that had come to an end now, just like that. Poof! Gone.
CHAPTER 28
July ’16
Zoya,
I never thought that I would write a love letter to you. It’s always better to say these things in person, but circumstances never allowed us to do so.
The last few days have made me realize that the journey of life is erratic and changes its course whenever it pleases. I might have taken your name a little more than a thousand times in the last few days and I can’t even begin to tell you what it does to me. However, taking your name today wasn’t so easy because it reminded me of all our time spent together, which we may not get to relive after this day.
From the moment you left the hospital, you’ve been on my mind constantly.
I never told you but I liked you from the moment I saw your picture on a hoarding during my first visit to Pakistan and I always wished that I could tell you in person how astounded I was by your beauty. But in all honesty, you bowled me over when I actually saw you for real. You were more magnificent, standing before me, than any picture of yours I had ever seen. How optimum is the beauty that beats itself?
I was grateful to have met you during my first match in Pakistan. You swept me off my feet with your voice. For some weird reason, I felt a certain connection with you. After the gruesome attacks that day, I kept checking for updates on your recovery—on the news, Internet. I was elated a month after that when I found you were staying in the same hotel as me. Meeting you was nothing less than a dream coming true. After meeting you, I understood what it feels like to fall in love at first sight. Our first kiss will always remain special for me. It wasn’t just a kiss, but with it, we became two bodies and one soul. And how can one bid goodbye to their own soul, Zoya?
No matter how much our countries hate each other, we belong together. I want you to be the first and last person in the crowd cheering for me in the stands and when you’ll get old and wouldn’t be able to walk, I will still be in the audience.
With this goodbye today, it’ll be the first and probably the last time when I open my heart up to you. I might never be able to do it again in life, so I hope you understand my feelings more than the words.
We are yet to write a chapter of our lives together, so please don’t close it midway. I have looked for you all my life and finally, when we were together, I find it hard to believe that you walked away. I’ve missed you more than I have ever missed anyone in my life and it’s just going to get more difficult without you.
I want us to be the reason people believe in love over nationality and religion. Can you give us one more chance? Can you for once trust me. I can only hope to see you soon, this time in India.
Love,
Kabeer
CHAPTER 29
July ’16
Later that evening, as the team landed in India, Arko pushed Kabeer on a wheelchair to collect their luggage from the carousel. They attracted curious stares from passers-by. Kabeer’s broken legs were in plaster; he had been sewn and bandaged and still had purpling bruises on his face and neck.
Arko placed reassuring hands on Kabeer’s shoulders as a swarm of reporters and cameramen flocked to see their returning heroes. On one of the airport’s large television screens, Kabeer saw a news channel depicting image after image of him and Zoya together. A crowd was repeatedly chanting ‘shame on Kabeer’ as the police tried to hold them off.
Vishal Sharma was the journalist standing in front of the crowd, waving a placard with a #shameonkabeer poster. He rapidly spoke into the camera, pillorying Kabeer and inciting the crowd.
Kabeer thought he looked familiar and then he remembered. This was the same reporter who had questioned Zoya’s priorities and suggested that her avarice trumped her affection for her grandfather.
‘What have I done to receive so much of hatred from both countries?’ Kabeer groaned.
* * *
As Kabeer struggled to shut the small, over-stuffed suitcase, his grandfather wandered in.
‘I don’t understand why you have to go back to that wretched country where you almost died,’ the old man grumbled. ‘What if something terrible happens again?’
‘Then the family gets a compensation,’ Kabeer grinned and wrapped his arms around him.
‘How many times do I have to tell you not to joke about these things?’ his mother scolded.
‘I told you to not let him play cricket. If he had cleared his CAT exams, he would’ve been working for a multi-national company,’ his grandfather snapped, stepping away from Kabeer.
‘I travel abroad regularly and earn a lot more than those boardroom giants, so what’s the problem?’
‘They aren’t putting their lives at risk.’
‘What’s your problem with Pakistan, Dadu? I’ve grown up listening to your hate stories about Pakistanis but when I went there, all I got was love.’
‘So, those bullets that the terrorists used to kill people had love written on them? I don’t care how you’re going to do it, but you’re taking your name off that list.’
‘As vice-captain, Dadu, I can’t do that.’
‘The players who took their names off the list weren’t fools.’
‘Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t,’ Kabeer snapped the recalcitrant suitcase shut, ‘but it’s time for me to demonstrate my sportsmanship both on and off the field. Please let me go now,’ Kabeer said, as he touched his grandfather’s feet before leaving the house for the tour.
It was a distressed household that Kabeer
left behind. His father and grandfather were cross as crabs and his mother wept. His grandfather, who had been born in Pakistan himself, was very anti-Pakistan now with reports of rampant terrorism and violence in that country. Furthermore, they all felt it was dangerous for Kabeer to visit Pakistan in the current climate, especially as he had been targeted by violent elements there.
As he was leaving the house, his Dadu shouted, ‘When something bad happens, he’ll remember me.’
‘Don’t say that, Papa. He’s your grandson,’ Kabeer’s mother cried.
‘Then why doesn’t he listen to me! It’s a dangerous state and the people there are even more treacherous.’
‘You too were born in Pakistan, Papa.’
‘It was India back then. Pakistan is this new and strange country that sponsors terrorism, hate and deaths.’
‘There are people out there who are just like us.’
‘Those people can’t be like us. Mark my words. They are Pakistanis and they’ll remain the same. Do not even compare them with Indians,’ his grandfather scoffed, and walked away in anger. He was aware of the risks involved, but he also knew that his grandson wouldn’t listen to him. Every time anyone visited Pakistan, only one question lingered in his mind, ‘Will he ever come back?’
There were many things he wanted to tell Kabeer. Things that had remained unsaid for years. As he lay on the couch, he thought, ‘Kabeer has only seen my hate for Pakistan but he still doesn’t know the reason behind it.’
CHAPTER 30
July ’16
Lahore was being lashed by a tropical hurricane. Despite securing the doors and windows, Zoya could hear the gale, whooshing and whistling around the house as if it were trying to break in. She stood by the window, watching the gigantic trees in the backyard bend and sway at the whim of the wind. To Zoya, the weather conditions were far tamer than the storm within her. Her future with Kabeer was shrouded in a grey fog.
She heard the bell ring and her stomach clenched. She knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation even before she unlocked the door.
Her father stood on the stoop, drenched to the skin in the short dash from his car to the house.
‘How about a towel?’ he asked.
She noticed that he was in the same black Pathani suit that he had worn on the night that Kabeer had been attacked. Zoya handed him a large turkey towel and was taken aback to see that he was wearing plastic gloves.
‘Were you on a murder spree?’
‘What kind of a question is that?’ Danish laughed it off.
‘Why the gloves?’
‘I have an allergy to certain fabrics, so I use the ‘murder gloves’. You and I have never actually spent time together so you’re naturally unaware of my condition,’ he sat down on the couch. ‘So, what did you want to talk to me about?’ Danish smiled.
‘Nothing really. It’s been a while since we chatted so I invited you over.’
‘Of all the days you chose today when I had to battle the deluge, the traffic and the fallen trees,’ he chuckled. ‘I guess parents don’t have too much choice, do they?’
‘But whether the child wants it or not, the parent could choose to provide her with a stepmother.’
‘I married another woman so I could protect you and you walked off.’
‘Protect me? You hit mum on a regular basis and that is all I remember of you during my childhood.’
‘Which is why I wanted to do everything right the second time around, but you never gave me a second chance.’
‘You were busy exploring the space between the legs of that bitch you call your second wife!’ Zoya sneered. Danish reached over and backhanded her. Zoya fell on the carpeted floor. ‘Why don’t you accept that you were just being a lusty cock by marrying her?’ she scoffed.
‘Watch your mouth,’ Danish growled.
‘Otherwise, you’ll murder me like you tried murdering Kabeer?’
‘Now, you’re talking rubbish,’ Danish dismissed his daughter’s accusations.
‘I was there when you hit him and made your escape.’
‘What proof do you have? Show your proof to the person who tried to leak intimate pictures of you with Kabeer.’
‘What do you mean?’
Danish sighed and raised his hands in a gesture that said, God, give me strength. ‘You know, for more than a decade now I’ve wondered what would happen if I admitted to you that I was wrong to treat your mother the way I did. You don’t have a forgiving bone in your body. But I was always there, supporting you from behind the scenes—when your visa needed to get cleared, when your Mamu jaan tried taking advantage of your situation, and whenever you needed any kind of help. You just never noticed that I was silently playing my role as a father.’
He stood up, walked over to the window and stared out at the storm, ‘I was playing the role of your guardian angel and tailing Kabeer to figure out whether he was right for you. I discovered an ugly truth when you saw me that night as Kabeer lay unconscious.’
Zoya stood up now, her eyes unblinking as she gazed at Danish’s reflection in the windowpane, a reflection that was distorted by the rain flowing down the other side of the glass.
‘He was beaten mercilessly that day by one of your relatives. Your Mamu jaan.’
Zoya couldn’t believe her ears. Would Mamu jaan stoop so low? But why?
Danish took out a photograph of her Mamu jaan, dressed in black, along with a bunch of his goons, beating up Kabeer. ‘I was in the shadows, watching when this was taking place. Your uncle saw my camera flash and immediately ran away from the scene along with the rest of his henchmen.’
‘Why click a picture instead of saving Kabeer?’ Zoya was incredulous.
‘I didn’t want to get into any trouble just before the elections,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Also, if those thugs had turned on me and I had lost my life in an attempt to save his, there would have been no one left to tell you what I’m telling you today.’
It was at that juncture that Zoya resolved to go to India to see Kabeer.
CHAPTER 31
October ’16
It had been a couple of tough months for Kabeer both physically and mentally as there was radio silence from Zoya. It wasn’t like he tried contacting her either, but deep down he had hoped that Zoya would be the one to contact him first to enquire about his health, respond to his letter or send a word of acknowledgement at the very least.
Kabeer wished they had spent more time together before rushing headlong into a relationship. It would have given them a chance to get to know each other better.
Kabeer made an amazing recovery, zipped through his medical tests and was back on his feet a couple of months later. He returned to the nets for a rigorous practice session on his birthday.
He felt elated as he walked into the field and was welcomed with open arms by his team members.
At the end of a very long and exhausting day at the nets, Arko, Rehaan, Rishabh, Shaurya and the other teammates who had smuggled in two drummers into the grounds, hoisted Kabeer on their shoulders and carried him in a victory march around of the field.
After a crazy celebration at a local pub, everybody decided to call it a day and returned to their hotel.
Kabeer wandered back into the grounds where practice was still going on. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed all this.
The coach, who had remained at the nets to compile his notes for strategies, came over to Kabeer, ‘Aren’t you going back home for more celebrations, Kabeer?’
‘Not yet, sir. I need to get in a lot more practice before the domestic season begins.’
‘You can do that tomorrow.’
‘Just a couple more hours and then I’ll go home to celebrate with my family.’
‘Okay. Knock yourself out,’ the coach grinned.
He spent the next couple of minutes thinking about Zoya. It might have been nice of her to at least remember my birthday, it hasn’t been that long since I had mentioned it, h
e thought. All this while that they’d stayed apart, he had wished his birthday would be a time when he would definitely get a call from her. With the day about to come to an end, and still no greeting from her, he felt that the last thread that had tied them together, had also snapped.
He had always been more of a batsman than a bowler. He decided to exercise his bowling arm and made several fast deliveries at the stumps with the speedometer monitoring his speed. Because bowling wasn’t his forte, he had to stay very focused on his practice. This concentration prevented him from brooding about Zoya. The speedometer registered 132 kilometres per hour and then 137 and suddenly rose to 141 kilometres per hour on his third delivery. He was jubilant.
At that moment he heard a familiar sound, the special ringtone he had set for Zoya. He was beaming from ear to ear as he answered the call.
‘Kabeer.’
‘Zoya.’
‘How are you?’
‘Very impatient and a little hopeful.’
‘Hopeful for?’
‘Hopeful that I would get to talk to you.’
‘And impatient?’
‘Because my hopes were really testing my patience.’
‘Why didn’t you call?’
‘I was hoping that you would call me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wanted some answers.’
‘And the questions to which were?’
‘Many. Did I really mean something to you or was I merely in the right place at the right time and now you’ve gotten over me?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You certainly acted like I was a phase.’
There was a pregnant silence for several minutes. Kabeer was aware that his words had stung.
‘Oh. Thank you for letting me know, Kabeer,’ Zoya said finally.
‘I didn’t mean it that way, Zoya—’ he trailed off, realizing he had put his foot in his mouth.
After another short silence, Zoya laughed merrily. Kabeer stood speechless, as Zoya kept giggling and then laughed harder. Her laughter was infectious and music to his ears. He couldn’t stop himself and unwillingly joined her, their laughter echoing in the night.
Love Knows No LoC Page 10
