If you haven't read Part III, click here.
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She learnt of the encounter on the lake only two weeks
later. Mohan’s battalion had descended upon the shikara like a hound of tigers.
Shards of old pots hit the water as they uncovered the grenades. Armed men in
pathanis seemed to appear out of nowhere. Two men lay dead within minutes in
the cold lake as grenades went off. Ismail opened fire first. In the shootout
that followed, Bashir and Qadir were the first to go. Ismail dove headfirst
into the water, never to be seen again. The militia had been overpowered. As
shouts of jubilation ran across the shore from the army tents, Gulaabo stared
out at the lake, hand holding gun, eyes shining with tears. She had promised Allah
she would avenge her beloved land and her son. It was all finished now. As she
stood in the blazing sunset, it struck her how much of the red in the lake was
human blood. Gulaabo wept as paradise bled. She decided she would rather die than go with
the Fauj. It was time. She closed her
eyes and raised the gun to her head. She hit the ground as the last grenade
exploded in the midst of more gunfire with an impassioned cry, “Ya Allah!”
Now, Miriam walked amidst the debris, her pheran dripping
wet at her feet. A streak of blood ran through the water close to the remains
of the old houseboat. The wood was beginning to rot. The stragglers had long
disappeared, leaving a ghostly air around the ruins. Greenish algae made the corner more slippery
than ever. There among the floating rose petals, Gulaabo’s gun lay entangled in
weed. Who would have thought, for all those years, she hid her son’s old grenades
in her beloved rose-pots…
Gulaabo amidst her gulaabs
In the distance, an army boat patrolled the lake. One of
them had wavy black hair… Or was it just her imagination? Anger and hurt rose
through her like hot lava as the boat passed by in the distance. She would restrain herself from
calling out his name several times hence. She had been but a pawn in the games
of the armies. Another woman that they had “used,” as she had heard Ismail tell
her so many times before… Did she have Gulaabo’s blood on her hands? She would
live on, never again to see that steely yet comforting gaze look back at her. There was no looking back. Not from the boat,
nor in life.
Miriam turned around, bloodstained. Her heart was silent –
the calm after the storm. She walked away slowly as the sun set on the lake.
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