Two Rivers - pt. 3

October 2005

I could hardly wave before the car, which had been vibrating strongly, jerked forward. Next thing I knew, I was bobbing up and down and violently thrown against the door. Uncle Rehmat’s complains about our road suddenly made a lot more sense. I’d never even realized how small it was until looking down from the car window, I could see the tires rolling centimeters from the edge of the cliff. 

But Uncle Gulzar seemed to know the road like the back of his hand. He sped up, turned and slowed down constantly to get around bumps and tight corners. Every time I was sure we were about to fall off, he would swerve the wheel and we'd be safe. Still, I held on to my seat tightly.

The two adults talked, but the only thing I could think about was not throwing up. We passed through Matiltan, with Uncle Gulzar waving at the locals. While driving through a dark forest of tall trees, I asked him to stop the car so I could run out and be sick behind a bush.

He was waiting impatiently, tapping his watch when I returned.

“Stick your head out the window.” He said, and we continued down the road.

It was good advice. The car was so small that I felt like I couldn’t breath. But with my head outside the window, I could feel the wind blowing and see the scenery. Exiting the forest, we came to the top of a hill. From there I could see the two rivers Ushu and Gabral collide to make the Swat. And at their banks was the town of Kalam.

A few roads connected lavishly decorated buildings, with roofs painted green or bright red, with the main road which ran through a market and exited the town to the south. As we approached, I realized that the entire valley behind the town was populated with houses and farms. The people in those farms must have treated Kalam the same way we treated Matiltan. That’s where they went to school and went shopping or said their prayers. 

The town was a lot larger than Matiltan though, and cars, people and carts pulled by donkeys joined us on the road through the market with its smell of grilling meats and curries.

Eventually we left Kalam and again found ourselves travelling through mountains. Though the river had grown wider, and the road more crowded, the land south of Kalam looked like that to the North. I noticed that we were generally going down hill more often than up, and Uncle Gulzar said that the mountains would be long behind us by the time we got to Mingora. 

We drove through the town of Bahrain, which was bustling with crowds. A bad odour permeated the air as we crossed a stream that toppled from high up the mountains and joined the Swat river. I noticed that there were piles of trash clogged up around rocks, floating hopelessly in the water. I wondered how much trash didn’t get stuck and joined the rest of the river in its endless journey.

The mountains were getting shorter and less rocky. At some point the road abruptly became much smoother. And much wider. It was now paved with dark gray rock. Enormous, noisy, often colourful cars honked and sped by us. Uncle Zubair told me these were buses and trucks, and they were used to transport lots of people or items. The buses were filled to the brim with people. Sometimes they were hanging off metal poles at the back, or sitting on the roof. 

We turned a bend and all of a sudden, the river disappeared. The road wound through an endless expanse of green hills and I could see it steadily curving its way down. But there was no river. I couldn't even hear it any more, and the world seemed far too quiet.  

We reached Mingora at sunset. I could see the city as we were coming off the hills. There were no mountains anymore, only small hills nearby and snow capped peaks in the distance. Mingora was expansive; I couldn’t see most of it from the car, but I could tell that the houses were all crowded together. We drove through the cramped streets, and didn’t get to see much of the city before we arrived at the bus station.

Five buses painted blue and white were lined up in front of a concrete building, a piece of paper with a city's name taped on each of their windows.

Uncle Zubair walked into the concrete building, which had chairs attached to the walls and fans on the ceiling.

"Come on kid," Uncle Gulzar said and walked to another, smaller building built next to this one. He went in and came back with a bag of chips which he handed to me. Then he held me by the shoulders and said, "Be careful in Lahore okay kid? Don't forget to behave as your Dad told you and enjoy the sights!"

When Uncle Zubair returned, Uncle Gulzar pointed at a bus with a crowd of people lined up outside it. People in pale blue uniforms were moving bags into big empty spaces at the bottom of the bus.

“You two will take that one. You can line up now.” Uncle Gulzar said.

Him and Uncle Zubair embraced, and the tourist said. “Thank you so much, it has been great.” Then they arranged Uncle Gulzar’s payment.

I waved at Uncle Gulzar as his car drove away. When we got to the front of the line, a lady asked Uncle Zubair for a ticket. He gave her a piece of paper. Then he said, “It’s for both of us.” She nodded and gestured towards the back of the bus.

The bus was filled with groups of families and the crying of babies. Uncle Zubair led me past them, glancing between his paper and the letters written on the side of the aisle, to where a large man sat next to an empty window seat. 

“As Salam Au Alaykum.” Uncle Zubair said.

“Wa Alaykum as Salam.” The man said cheerfully. He moved his legs so that Uncle Zubair could squeeze in to his seat.

I stood dumbfounded for a moment. There was no seat for me.

But Uncle Zubair patted his knee. “Come on, sit here.” He said, and I did. His leg was bony and uncomfortable.

“Couldn’t get two seats?” The man asked in Urdu, offering Uncle Zubair some paan leaves.

“No, we came a bit too late.” Uncle Zubair said. I wondered what Abu would say about that. He had certainly given Uncle Zubair money for my bus ticket, and I was sure some of the people in the bus were in line to buy a ticket after him.

“It’s a long journey, kid.” The man said. “Stand up for a second.” In the cramped space between seats I struggled to do as told. He took out a pillow from his bag underfoot and handed it to me.

“Thanks Uncle.” I said quietly and put the pillow between me and Uncle Zubair’s leg. It helped make my makeshift seat softer, but Uncle Zubair’s leg was so small that I still kept sliding off.

As the bus started moving, the man pulled out a phone that I couldn’t look away from. When he pressed some buttons, it lit up with colours. A picture was on the screen and then other pictures like a book and camera replaced it. He pushed the bottom of the phone and out popped a little tray with letters and numbers on it. He started scrolling through a list of names on the screen until he found one, pressed the green button and put the phone to his ear. Then he started talking quickly. I couldn’t understand the language in which he spoke, though it did sound like a faster version of Urdu so I decided it must be Punjabi. 

A loud voice boomed from a little black box behind us, “As Salam Au Alaykum ladies and gentlemen, this is your driver.” Other harsh sounds interrupted the speech randomly, and the box started screeching loudly so I had to cover my ears. I could see the man in uniform sitting at the front of the bus talking into a smaller black box even as the bus constantly started and stopped in the mess of cars around it. “This bus is going from Mingora to Lahore. The total travel time should be eight hours, and there will be several stops.” He spoke in urdu but I understood most of what he was saying. My heart sank at the idea of sitting here for eight hours.

I could tell that Uncle Zubair was also unhappy and uncomfortable. He didn’t let me open the curtain to look out through the window, so I judged the progress of our bus by stops and starts and the noise of the road. When we started driving constantly without stopping, I knew we had left Mingora and the valley behind. I tried imagining what was outside. An hour or so after leaving, my curiosity got the better of me and I tried to open the curtain a bit. Uncle Zubair slapped my hand. “Go to sleep.” He said grumpily and closed his eyes.

Eventually the bus came to a stop. The black box behind me once again came to life with a screech. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ll be stopping here for Isha prayer. Please be back at the bus by 9:30.” 

“Hurry up and go.” Uncle Zubair said. I stood up and awkwardly joined the line of people leaving.

The bus was parked with a few other busses on a clearing next to a wide, paved road. The road disappeared into darkness, which was everywhere around us except the clearing we were in. That clearing was lit by tall metal posts with a bulb at the end of them, just like the ones I saw in Mingora. There was a mosque which was the same size as the one in Matiltan. There were also bathrooms, a few stores and a washing area for wudu.

There was another building filled with tables where people were sitting and eating. I could see an orange glow coming out of a big rock with a hole. A person was leaning into it with a rod and pulling out rotis, except the rotis were really thick. They smelled delicious. Next to the man were a few other men that were stirring big pots over fires. Other people were walking with trays filled with food to those who were sitting on the tables but didn’t have food. I wondered if they’d bring me food if I sat at one of those tables. Suddenly I was hungry.

I looked to the sky and saw that it was cloudy. The temperature was warm; much warmer than the valley, and the air felt heavy. I couldn’t see the silhouette of a single mountain anywhere. It was all flat, with darkness stretching to the horizon.

Uncle Zubair was coming back from the bathroom, and I started walking in that direction because I also had to go. He stopped me on the way.

“Hey kid, when we get to Lahore I’m going to take you to a friend of mine. He owns a Rickshaw repair shop. Your Dad already talked with him, and I called him just now. He said he’ll be waiting late at night. He’s going to put up with you, okay?”

I nodded.

“Good. Your Dad told me you have money to give my friend to pay for your upkeep and so you can go to school.”

I nodded.

"Where is it?" 

My heart skipped a beat. “Why?” I said quietly.

“I want to make sure your Dad wasn’t lying. My friend won’t believe you. He’ll think it’s fake money and kick you out. But he’ll believe it if I gave it to him.”

I hesitated. I knew that Abu wouldn’t want me to give Uncle Zubair the money meant for my caretaker. But I couldn’t get to Lahore without Uncle Zubair.

“Come on, kid.” He said.

“Okay, it’s in the bus. Let me get it…” I said, and hurried towards the bus. I was relieved when instead of following me, he took out a cigarette and lit it.

I rummaged through my bag until I found the two envelopes Abu had given me. The thinner one was blank, but the thicker one had “Tariq Masood” written in Mina’s handwriting on it. I swapped their contents. There was a letter in the one for Uncle Masood, which Mina had written on behalf of Abu. I left that in, but the envelope now seemed too thin so I put some more of the money from the other one into it.

Satisfied, I hid the envelope without a name at the bottom of my bag, and took the other one with me to Uncle Zubair. He put out his cigarette underfoot and took it from my hand forcefully, frowning when he opened it and started counting the bills. I crossed my sweaty palms behind my back and looked at the ground.

“This is it?” He said. “This isn’t enough…”

“Abu said it’s all we have…”

Uncle Zubair cursed in Punjabi. Then he took out the letter Mina had written and started reading it.

“Wait. This says there should be thirty thousand.” He looked at me and I shrunk at the anger in his eyes.

“Kid, did you take the rest of this money? Do you think you can live in my friend’s house without paying him?”

“No but…I think I got the wrong envelope…” I said.

“Then get the other one.” The man yelled.

“Give me that one back. That’s not for your friend.”

“Shut up and bring me the rest.”

“No!” I cried. “Give that back!” And I jumped at the man, trying to grab the envelope from him. He held me back and lifted it above his head.

“I’ll leave you to die here in the middle of nowhere.” He said.

“I’ll give you the money. But that’s not for your friend, that’s for me…” I said into his hand which was pressed against my mouth.

“What’s going on here?” It was the man who was sitting next to us on the bus.

Uncle Zubair pushed me away. “Just an argument. I was telling him to go say his prayer but he doesn’t want to.”

“Liar!” I shouted. “He took my money!”

“No, no.” Uncle Zubair said to the man. “This is my payment for taking the boy to Lahore, but he took it from me while I was asleep.”

The man from the bus looked at me. “Kid, where are you from? Why’re you going to Lahore?”

“I’m from Swat…” I said. “My Abu asked Uncle Zubair to take me to Lahore.”

“Okay. So that must be his payment then. It's not your money to keep kid; you have to pay for services.” He looked at Uncle Zubair. “You’ve been paid now, so do your duty. How will you face god if you accept payment for a service you don’t provide? What will you say to the lord if you leave this boy here to die in the middle of nowhere?” 

“I am a man of god.” Uncle Zubair said. “I was going to take him to my friend who will take care of him. I’ll still do that. But his father was very kind to me and gave me some money to do the job. This kid took that money from me, so I was just taking it back. That’s all.”

“Okay good, let’s go back to the bus.” The man said. He put his arm around my shoulder and started walking with me.

“But Uncle…” I said quietly.

“Let it go, son.” He replied.

When we got seated again, the man offered me to sit on his lap. He said that Uncle Zubair deserves a break.

I was on edge for a while after that and against my will, I kept glancing in Uncle Zubair’s direction. He was deliberately looking out of the window, with the curtain pulled over the side of his face. It wasn’t until he started snoring quietly that I could relax at all. 

"What's your name, son?" 

"Alam..."

"Alam huh? Good name." 

"What about you Uncle?" 

"Me? My name is Moin. Tell me Alam, why does your Dad want you to go to Lahore? Is he sending you to live with family?” 

“I don’t know…We don't have any family in Lahore...” I replied. I didn’t want to tell him about the goat. 

“Really? what was he thinking sending a child out to the city alone. Did he say why?”

“No…he just told me to go to school.”

“Oh I see. Lahore has good schools.” Then he started telling me about different parts of the city and where he’s lived. To be honest, I didn’t pay attention. Instead I wondered why everyone was so obsessed with the cities. I hadn’t seen much of Mingora since we were at the bus stop basically the moment we entered it, but it hadn't felt that special. Maybe all of the things that Uncle Rehmat had told us about cities were true after all.

I remembered Mina complaining to Abu that she wanted to come to Lahore. What if she was sitting here, with Uncle Zubair? What would he have done to her? I shuddered at the thought.

The speed of the bus as well as the quiet chatter of other passengers was rhythmic and constant now. Moin Uncle was still talking, but was he talking to me or on his phone? Uncle Zubair was snoring. Of course he was tired; we'd had a long day. Was Ami crying at home? Or were they all gathered around dinner glad to be rid of me? I hadn't said good bye to Bilal. Did he know I was gone? Who told him? 

“Hey kid,” I woke up when someone placed a hand on my shoulder. My first reaction was to glance at Uncle Zubair. He was still asleep, his head now tilted up to the ceiling of the fast moving bus.

Everyone else in the bus seemed to be sleeping as well, even as we went over a violent bump.

“Look,” said the man whose leg I was sitting on. He moved back the curtain and I looked around Uncle Zubair and out the window. The first thing I saw was moonlight reflecting off water…water that was below us. How were we driving over water? Was I still asleep?

“Look there,” he said, and he pointed to the edge of the window.

I craned my neck to look and my mouth fell agape. There was an endless expanse of light. Lights and nothing but lights stretching to the horizon, scattered between little black flecks, punctuated with long continuous lines, all sparkling yellow in the dark of night. We were approaching fast, and as the water fell behind us, the view occupied more of the window.

Suddenly there was another bump and we were driving past houses, people lying on charpai’s outside buildings with signs, mosques, and more houses. But the bus was above them, and I could see past everything nearby to the glittering lights that covered the whole world.   

“Welcome to Lahore, kid.” Moin Uncle said. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number and started talking.

The bus stopped two more times on the road. On the first stop, the driver opened the door and a man came in. He was wearing a blue uniform and had a large gun strapped across his back. I stared at it as he walked around looking at the people on the bus, questioning some of them. I’d only ever seen guns in Mina’s picture books.

Then he got off and we continued. I stared out of the window, finding patterns in the lights. But the bus took a turn and all of a sudden we weren’t driving alongside the lights – we were driving towards them. And as the bus went downhill, the expanse of lights disappeared behind buildings. Then we were surrounded by other cars, and strange three wheeled vehicles that I also recognized from colouring books as Rickshaws.

Bright lights and noises were everywhere. There were signs that glowed, flashed and changed colours on every building that fought for space by the road, and even on the stalls in front of them. Hordes of people moved and gathered at these buildings or stalls, merging seamlessly with the crowded road. Motorcyclists, often with three or four people huddled on their machine were driving between all of the other cars and buses, swerving and turning without hesitation.  

We drove around a circle, past several roads and suddenly it wasn’t so crowded anymore. The road was big, there were lots of trees and gardens. We passed large houses with walls and fancy gates in front of them. Then we were back in a crowded area, with lots of people and shops cramped along the sides of a bumpy, small road. Then we were rising, the road going upwards – I wondered how it did that without mountains anywhere, and then we were on a road far above all of the chaos and I could see lights again.

Before I knew it, the bus turned into a courtyard where several other buses were parked. Lots of people were lining up around some bus or another, or crowding around the big building where you bought tickets. The bus stopped in one of the spots, guided by a man wearing green with a large gun on his back.

Everyone in the bus was starting to move and gather their belongings when the black box at the back shrieked “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have arrived in Lahore. Thank you for riding with us…”

“Come on kid,” Moin Uncle said. He grabbed my bag, pushed it into my hands and urged me out. I left quickly while he woke Uncle Zubair and followed behind.

Glad to stand fully, I walked away from the crowd and the men with guns that were gathered around the door and luggage compartments. 

It was warm, I noticed. And humid. There were so many noises: the constant talking and movement of people as they embraced families and friends, someone yelling at someone else, the roar of buses as they moved in and out of their parking spots, the occasional zoom of a car or motorcycle outside the wall that separated the courtyard from the main road.

Moin Uncle and Uncle Zubair were standing aside from the crowd talking to one another. I walked up to them.

“Where are you going to take the boy?”

“My friend’s place,” Uncle Zubair said.

“Where’s that?” I could tell that Uncle Zubair wasn’t happy about being questioned.

“In Samanabad,” Uncle Zubair said. “I can take him on my rickshaw.”

“Oh really? I live in Samanabad. I’ll drive you both.”

“But my rickshaw is here…”

“Don’t worry about it, get it tomorrow. Let’s go. We don’t want to keep your friend waiting.” The man started walking towards one of the cars that was in the crowded parking area. “What’s his name by the way?”

Uncle Zubair pretended not to hear but started walking some distance behind us.

“Uncle, his name is Tariq Masood. He has a rickshaw repair shop.” I whispered.

Moin Uncle's car was bigger and cleaner than Uncle Gulzar’s. There was a man standing next to it smoking a cigarette. He shook hands with Moin Uncle, and the two spoke Punjabi as they crossed the car to sit next to one another at the front. I sat in the back with Uncle Zubair, who looked sullenly out of the window.

As the car started moving, Moin Uncle asked his driver in Urdu, “Do you know a man named Tariq Masood in Samanabad? He has a rickshaw repair shop.”

“In Samanabad? No…But there’s a Masood repair in Icchra.”

“Oh, is that the one you were talking about Zubair?” 

Uncle Zubair’s fists were clenched and he stared out the window. “Yeah.” 

Then we were driving through more crowded, bright and life filled roads, eventually taking a few turns to end up in small, quiet alleys surrounded by silhouettes of cramped houses. The driver stopped next to a walled building that had a big, faded blue sign above its gate of metal bars. In the dim light of a nearby lightpost I could just make out the Urdu writing for "Masood." We got out of the car and walked up to the gate, behind which was a large courtyard and several rickshaws. 

“Where is he?” Moin Uncle said; Uncle Zubair was gone. “Did you see him?”

The driver, who was still sitting in the car shook his head. “I just heard him leave the car.”

“Well, would you look at that. He ran. God will punish that man. Hey kid, did you ever talk to this Tariq Masood?”

I shook my head. “But Abu talked to him on the phone. And he wrote a letter for him, but that man took it.”

“Okay. Well, let's pray that he's awake.” He pressed a small black circle next to the door and there was a ringing sound from inside the building.

After a few minutes, the door to the building slammed open and a large man, moustached with a bald spot on his head, stood in the doorway and cocked his head to the side in confusion and anger.

“As Salam Au Alaykum!” Moin Uncle shouted as the man crossed his courtyard.

“What’s going on?” He spoke Punjabi, and while I understood that single sentence, I didn’t understand much else of the heated exchange between the two men. There was a lot of gesturing in my direction, but at best I could only make out some Urdu words.

At some point the man looked at me and started talking quickly. I struggled to follow.

“Speak slowly and in Urdu; this is a Pathan boy.” Moin Uncle said. 

“Kid, I never talked with your father. I know a rickshaw driver named Zubair, but I never asked him to find me a boy.”

“But…I heard Abu talking to you…” 

The man shook his head. “Wasn’t me.”

A woman appeared in the doorway, and covering her hair with a dupatta, walked quickly across the courtyard.

“Tariq, what’s going on?” She glanced at Moin Uncle and I, “As Salam Au Alaykum.”

 “Wa Alaykum as Salam” We said.

“Asma, go back to bed. I’ll tell you later.” Uncle Masood said.

“No no, tell me now.” 

“You know Zubair, that Pathan kid that came for new tires?”

“The one who left his family in Peshawar?”

“Yes that one. He went to Swat, and told this boy’s father that we’ll take care of him so he can get an education in Lahore.”

“Really? Why would he do that? Where is he now?”

“Moin bhai," he gestured at Moin Uncle, "said that Zubair took the money this boy’s dad gave him for his upkeep.”

“What, and left the boy stranded in the city? That’s horrible.”

 “It’s his parent's fault. You can’t trust people like Zubair. What did they think we're living in America or some place where people don't do bad things?”

Moin Uncle cleared his throat. “So, what can we do about this boy? Surely god is watching us.”

Uncle Masood looked uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t have room for a boy.”

His wife, Aunty Asma said, “but we can send him back to Swat can’t we? Why doesn’t he stay the night and we’ll get Naveed to drive him to the bus station tomorrow?”

“Okay. I have some friends in Mingora. They can ask around and find the boy’s family.” Moin Uncle said.

“Excuse me…” I said, and all of the adults looked at me. “My parents don’t want me back in Swat.
Abu told me to come to Lahore and go to school here because school in Lahore is really good. He said he doesn’t want me to be a farmer. I don’t think he’ll be happy if I went back. I can help you with your business, I promise. I’ll go to school and spend the rest of the time helping you with whatever you need. Oh, also…” I dug through my bag and pulled out the other envelope. I extended it to Uncle Masood, who took it reluctantly and started looking through the notes. “This is the rest of the money Abu gave me…If it pays for my upkeep I would be very happy if you let me stay in Lahore.”

“Aww, he’s cute.” Aunty Asma said. She squatted down so her eyes were level with mine. “What’s your name son? How old are you?”

“Alam,” I said. “I’m ten years old.”

“That’s a wonderful name.” She turned to her husband. “He’s the same age as Danish.”

“Asma…you can’t really be thinking this.”

“Tariq, look at the poor boy. He’s all alone here.”

“It’s not our problem, Asma. We can’t take care of another boy. We can’t afford it.”

“But look, he just showed up at our door step. Don’t you see that this is a task set to us by God?”

“What if it’s a scam? What if he’s a thief come to take our things?”

“Tariq! He’s just a boy far from home. Do you think his parents sent him to Lahore to steal things? God gave them a challenging life and they wanted better for their son. You would have done the same for Danish.”

The man rolled his eyes, and his wife squeezed his hand.

“God rewards those who do well by strangers.” She said.

“Fine. I'll think about it; not promising anything. It's late. Let's all go back to bed. You can stay for the night.” Uncle Masood said as he started opening the door. “I’ll want to talk to your Dad on the phone first thing tomorrow morning to figure out what he was thinking sending a kid here all on his own. Give him a piece of my mind.”

I nodded. Mina had written down Abu's phone number for me.

As I entered the courtyard, I turned around to say goodbye to Moin Uncle and thank him for his kindness, but the man was already getting into his car. 


Author's Note: 

For some reason or another, I found this chapter really painful to edit ._.
Hope it turned out okay though!! 

Chapter 4 is actually written, and needs to be edited. But it will probably be delayed because I plan on writing another, unrelated short story before I get to it.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think :)