Saviour

It was in the bus, yesterday.

We were waiting at the PMO gate to get our entrance passes checked while the 'guests', those non-PMO, had to go to the army post to sign in with their NADRA ID cards.

The weather seemed to be taking a turn toward winter last week, but were we wrong! And so it was, stuck in a sweltering atmosphere with a revving 'zrrrrooommm'-ing engine like the ones we used to have in my first school, AUS.

A group of quite-obese ladies were sitting in the front seat, filling up the space with their loud Punjabi gossip; the maids, with quick succession to wickedness of daughter-in-laws, to what happened in last week's so-and-so sitcom on HumTV. Did they spare any field of gossip? Oh boy, not them!  You'd think they were some kind of Obese Encyclopedia of Punjabi Nonsense, audio version. No need for a hearing aid even if you happen to experience auditory trouble, guaranteed!

10 minutes of waiting and I was beginning to grow sick of it all. The guards gazing suspiciously, the ladies chattering incessantly, a silly child throwing tantrums at the back, and the as-yet long queue of waiting guests at the window. All of it!

Unremarkably, in stepped a girl of about 10yrs of age.

She seemed a Pathan-i by look, and the pink net frock she was wearing even in such heat seemed to put a stamp on her Pashtoon-ness (no offence intended!). She had a small white handkerchief folded into a triangle and tied around her hair. It was difficult to grasp the outlook of her footwear among all the tangled feet in the crowded bus, but I spotted a colourful 'khussa' as she stepped over bags blocking the aisle to get to her mother. She instantly reminded me of the picture of Mariam on the book cover of 'A Thousand Splendid Suns', walking along the steppes of Afghan soil.

As soon as she'd snuggled right next to her mama, she began to ask her how did the entry go? What did the guards ask? Hopefully, no trouble at the post? Her girlish voice came chiming back. No mama, it was alright. The guard was very nice to me. I signed on the slip myself, and the guard patted me on the head.

She'd spoken in Urdu - albeit accented - so I was able to understand her words despite the buzz of talk all around.

And then, her mother put her arm around the girl's shoulders and kissed her on the head. Bravo, my daughter! I'm really proud of you. That was the first time I was able to see the mother: white 'chador', missing front teeth, deeply freckled skin, and a perpetual worried look dimmed only momentarily by her daughter's feat of the day. Her eyes lined with tears of gratitude were shut in a gesture of love as she kissed her daughter, and then stroked the girl's head, making her handkerchief come loose.

The girl was smiling. All of a sudden, she turned her face back.

And in that fleeting moment, I caught her eye flat on. She smiled a smile that seemed to say: yes, I've done it. And I will do it again. And someday, I'll free my mother of all the worries that shackle her and others alike. Someday, I'll break the taboos of our region. I'm a warrior, and I know it.

Her 10-yr old face looked triumphant as she turned away.

She was truly the saviour of the day.