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Thursday, May 29, 2008

The Human Clay

The goddess of night was spreading its wings and it was already dark as this group of friends enjoying the cool breeze took to the colorfully illuminated Mall Road, Murree. On the corner of a street they saw a kid of tender age selling toys. It looked strange for a kid to sell toys that actually he himself should have been playing with. There was innocence on his face which forced this group of friends to stop by and purchase something from him albeit that stuff was only for kids. A feeling of gratification was depicted on the kid’s face as he received the money. Several hours later on their way back to their lodging when most of the shops had closed they saw the same kid again still sitting in his place with the hope that he might get some customers. Perturbed, they approached the kid and asked him why he wouldn’t go back home, his parent would be waiting.
“I have no home, I have no parents, I sleep here”, replied the kid.
“Where are your parents?” asked one of them to which the kid replied that they had died. He further said that he would look for the customers till the last shop on the block had closed because he wanted a lot of money.
“And what are you going to do with that money?” asked one curiously.
“I shall buy a gun.”
“Why the gun?”, they asked.
“I shall buy a gun and kill Musharraf because he killed my family.”
When I heard that, it felt like my soul was bleeding. Literally, I was weeping with. The kid had said only a few words but he had whispered a lot of things. There was hatred in those innocent eyes as he uttered those last words and a mysterious somberness covered his face, quite akin to the dark night. I experienced mixed feelings of pity, rage and hatred. What was life worth to this kid whose sole aim of life was to buy a gun and kill someone whom he perhaps didn’t even know?
To the world, this kid is a terrorist descending from a terrorist family. I wonder what would be the feelings of our President if he heard of a small kid selling toys in the street only to buy a gun and kill a man called Musharraf. What, if any, would be the feelings of the sacred cow for whose satisfaction this kid’s family was bombarded?
Crime does not pay, who knows that one day the innocent blood spilled so ruthlessly may speak out for itself and flow away with it those who feel that their feet are above the ground. Who knows!!


Anonymous said...

Is this a real story, quite strange, amazed to hear all that.....


SDuch stories , though very rare , indicate towards bitter realities of life. Knowing about such things & sharing them whith others is importent but most importent is to strive for an invironment free of cruelty,unequality,depriviation and unjustice.