[the setting]
late dusk; the marble terrace besides the lawn. the old man sits reclined against his favorite cushion on a charpoy, puffing away majestically at his hookah and humming an old tune. a few of his progeny sit on cane chairs surrounding the charpoy, conversing amongst themselves, and occasionally breaking into raucous laughter. a light westerly breeze makes for a very pleasant evening in the outdoors.
a boy-child, not more than two and a half in years, sneaks up to the charpoy from behind the chairs and stands staring at the old man with a playful look in his eyes. the old man focuses his weak eyes on the child and smiles upon recognizing the moon-face.
[the exchange]
the old man: is that you, asghar?
the child: tee-hee
the old man: come, khan saeen, come. give us a hug. come, o badmash.
the child begins to scramble away but the old man hauls him up onto his chest, and kisses him on the cheeks.
the child: dada?
the old man: your dada’s baba, sardar sahib. you remind me of my Asghar when he was your age.
the child [feigning seriousness]: I want to go to my ammi.
the old man [laughing]: go then, you trickster.
the boy jumps off the charpoy and scampers off to play with the other children in the lawn. the old man’s eyes stare wistfully at the departing child for a long moment.
the old man: may u have the life of Khizr, my child. for your parents, for your children, for your children’s children. may u never know any suffering, nor hardship. may no man’s child ever suffer like I have.
[the remains]
tears
silence
