Love Knows No LoC

by Arpit Vageria

  As per the organizer’s instructions for the next event, Kabeer and Zoya were now scheduled to fly to Delhi on the next available flight the following day.

  CHAPTER 37

  October ’16

  In Delhi, Zoya was taken aside and thoroughly checked at the airport by security officials. Kabeer remembered that it had been just as difficult for him to clear security at Allama Iqbal International Airport in Lahore. Kabeer waited for almost an hour for Zoya to get through the procedures.

  Zoya’s eyes were heavy when she emerged and she pushed him away crossly when he comfortingly put his arm around her. Kabeer decided to give her some space.

  ‘Thanks for not saying a single word to the policewomen who kept rechecking my stuff because of my nationality.’

  ‘It would only have made the situation worse.’

  ‘I stood up for you when you were on the verge of getting arrested, why didn’t you do the same for me?’ she asked bitterly when their car was speeding out of the airport.

  ‘Your father is a powerful politician and you were able to pull strings. I don’t have as much influence as you have, Zoya.’

  ‘I wasn’t on talking terms with my father, remember?’ Zoya said. ‘Also, you didn’t stand up for me when that flat owner spoke ill of my country. Would that have diminished you as a patriot?’

  ‘Zoya, do you honestly expect me to defy the security system of my nation when Indian soldiers were wounded less than a day ago. Do you want to see me behind bars? I too had a similar experience in Pakistan, but I didn’t raise a hue and cry about it.’

  ‘The problem is, I have come here to settle down with you, Kabeer. The least I can expect is for you to meet me halfway,’ Zoya snapped.

  ‘Sweetheart, I will cross the oceans to be with you. I know that it’s tough for you now, but just give it a little more time and India will fall in love with you. We should realize that for our countries, each of us are outsiders. But every time someone points a finger at you, I can’t help but think that I’m partly at fault too. Should I regret writing that letter? And what if you hadn’t called me back that day? But when I see you sitting next to me, all my doubts vanish and my faith in our togetherness grows even stronger,’ Kabeer hugged her. Zoya sighed and melted in his arms.

  When they arrived at Taj hotel, they asked for the room that they had booked while they were still in Bangalore—701.‘Sorry sir, but you’re two days ahead of schedule. However, we can offer you a room on the same floor, 702. Would that be all right?’ asked the receptionist with a plastic smile on her face.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Kabeer. They fell asleep holding each other, without making love, unaware of the storm bearing down on them. It would lead them down a road where they would come face to face with a reality that would change their lives forever.

  CHAPTER 38

  October ’16

  Three days later, Zoya delivered what was the most spectacular show of her life. Despite the unrest about the encounter at the border, the audience chanted her name so fervently that she wondered at herself for ever doubting the love of the Indians.

  After the show, she received a lot of cards, sketches and Indo–Pak peace messages made by her fans, but what caught her eye was a beautiful portrait of her grandfather, Amaan Ali, and herself made by an old woman who seemed to be in her late eighties.

  ‘I was one of the first ever Indian fans of Amaan sahib and I have sent my sketches and paintings to him regularly while he was alive. My name is Haseena Begum.’

  Zoya remembered the lovely paintings in her house that her grandfather loved and the beautiful signature on each of them.

  ‘Thank you so much, Dadi jaan,’ Zoya hugged her. She exchanged numbers with her and Haseena gestured to her grandson to note down Zoya’s number. The young man looked just as smitten with Zoya as his gran was with Amaan Ali. They vowed to keep in touch.

  ‘India isn’t that bad, Zoya,’ Kabeer smiled to see her opinion of the Indians undergoing a change.

  ‘It’s the best,’ she replied as she hugged him. ‘Tonight was full of surprises. But there’s yet another surprise that I want to give India tonight.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you,’ Zoya said, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Anyway, you’ll know very soon.’

  People were filing out of the auditorium when Zoya ran up to the mic, ‘I’ve got an important announcement to make.’

  People stopped and turned around.

  ‘A few months ago, I had my doubts about coming to India. I thought people would hate me for being a Pakistani, but let me tell you that my country, Pakistan, is as beautiful as India and the people there also yearn for peace just as you do. When I lost my grandfather while I was doing a concert in India, there was criticism from both countries, but there was one person who stood like a rock through all my good and bad moments and that’s you, Kabeer,’ she applauded and the people joined her, chanting ‘Kabeer! Kabeer!’ over and over again, until Kabeer was forced to step out of the wings and into the silver spotlight at Zoya’s side.

  ‘When I lost hope to live, you gave me breath,’ Zoya continued smiling at him and clasped his hand in hers. ‘When I was setting like a sun, you were there to tell me that I don’t have to fear the night. You showed me that there’s beauty even in the darkness as long as there’s someone who truly loves me. I’m glad to have you in my life. Mere words cannot express how much I love you. Will you be mine forever, Kabeer?’ Zoya smiled at Kabeer.

  As Kabeer struggled with his emotions, a familiar voice came through the amplifier systems, ‘First tell us, Zoya, which country is better? India or Pakistan?’ Vishal Sharma stood by the footlights with a mic. ‘Also,’ he continued nastily, ‘aren’t you and Kabeer already sleeping together? The bottom line is, your land sponsors terrorism and killed those Indian soldiers. There’s no denying you’re a part of a terrorist state who’s trying to make a name for yourself in India. There are also rumours rife about your grandfather being involved in terrorist activities—’

  ‘Do not cross the line, Mr Sharma!’ Zoya cut him off abruptly. ‘Scandalmongers like you go beyond any limits for a scoop. My country is and always will be great; your country has also exported terrorism into Pakistan. Did you forget that?’ Zoya choked on these words and added with a voice thick with unshed tears, ‘Yours is a failed nation that has no qualms about thinking ill of its neighbours.’

  Kabeer shook his head, wanting to comfort Zoya and at the same time disapproving of her rant.

  ‘Wow! And what have we here,’ scoffed Sharma, ‘an Indian cricketer standing by as a Pakistani in India denounces his country,’ Sharma hooted with raucous laughter.

  The audience began to boo Zoya.

  ‘Do you regret the killings done by the Pakistan army in India?’ Sharma charged.

  Zoya was on a roll now, nothing and nobody could stop her, not even Kabeer, ‘I don’t regret the killings done by the Pakistani army in India because you don’t regret the killings done by the Indian army in Pakistan,’ Zoya snapped, ignoring the fury in Kabeer’s eyes.

  A hush fell upon the auditorium as Kabeer finally spoke, ‘Our worlds are different, Zoya. Our countries are different. Mine is a nation that seeks peace and yours, I am sorry to say, exports terrorism to the world at large. I was wrong to have assumed that a Pakistani would see and speak sense, but you’re just as ignorant and violent as any other Pakistani.’

  Zoya slapped him.

  Silence.

  Tears blurred Zoya’s vision and her bosom heaved, ‘This nonsensical person did her utmost to ward off all dangers and keep you safe in Pakistan.’

  Her security personnel escorted her to the hotel before the storm finally arrived. Kabeer and Zoya broke their promise of undying love. She left India on the next flight, leaving the fragments of her broken heart behind.

  Sometimes, life can change in the blink of an eye, leaving behind a lost hope that can never be rekindled. Sometim
es, you have an answer to the questions life throws at you, but sometimes you get trapped by them, so much so that it’s difficult for you to come out of them. Ever.

  CHAPTER 39

  April ’17

  Kabeer and Zoya went from being the international icons of love to a joke.

  As much as a bad breakup takes from one, it also gives. It demonstrates the worth of each person in our lives. Sometimes the lessons learned after a breakup aren’t the ones we expect.

  Six months had passed and although Kabeer tried calling Zoya several times, she never answered or returned his calls. According to the media, she was dating a Pakistani popstar, Zaid, with whom she had been spotted on countless occasions. Zoya remained on Kabeer’s mind despite all his efforts to forget her, and the gossip about her latest fling cut him to the quick.

  Following a six-month sabbatical from cricket, Kabeer was determined to make his mark on the pitch again. Unfortunately, one day before the match, he got into a fracas with a reporter and was disqualified from the game.

  Sometimes, the worst of your days can become the best and the discovery of the boarding pass to Bangalore felt just that to Kabeer.

  The letter that he found at the end of the trail of clues indicated that he should journey to Pakistan, and the message in his own handwriting: ‘I can’t wait to see you now.’ He felt giddy with all kinds of thoughts colliding and jostling in his head, and couldn’t decide what to do. Ignoring the message would only underscore the finality of his goodbye to Zoya, a thought that filled him with agony. He couldn’t imagine having to say those words to her nor could he imagine going through the same emotions again and again.

  Kabeer kept wondering about the identity of the person who was leaving this trail of breadcrumbs for him. Why couldn’t Zoya just call if she wanted to talk and get back with him? And if it wasn’t Zoya but some sinister shadowy person, would it even be safe for him to go to Pakistan?

  His phone rang at that moment. He was both surprised and alarmed to see that it was his grandfather calling. The old man didn’t generally call him, unless it was urgent.

  ‘I am in no mood to listen to your lies,’ his grandfather started speaking before Kabeer could even greet him. ‘Now tell me, where are you?’

  ‘Delhi.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘Someone, supposedly Zoya, left me a series of clues that led me here. I have travelled to Mumbai and Bangalore as well. And now the next clue is asking me to go to Pakistan.’

  ‘What sort of clues are they?’

  ‘Her boarding passes and a part of my handwritten letter.’

  ‘Do you believe them?’

  ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘Just ask yourself.’

  ‘I want to believe them.’

  ‘Does that mean you want to go to Pakistan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Pack your bags. I’m coming with you.’

  ‘It’s not easy to get a Pakistani visa for an Indian.’

  ‘I think it’s high time I told you something that I’ve been keeping to myself for years. Plus, we’ll leave in a week. I’ll get a visa, you don’t worry about that.’

  His grandfather abruptly ended the call, leaving Kabeer with a multitude of questions swarming in his head. He desperately wanted to meet Zoya one last time.

  He was about to make the most impulsive decision of his life and he wasn’t sure where it would lead him but he swore to try and piece back together the fragments of his and Zoya’s life one last time.

  Against all odds, within ten days Kabeer and his grandfather set off on their journey to Pakistan.

  CHAPTER 40

  June 1947

  Two friends sat in a lawn in the backyard of the two-storeyed house. A Hindu family lived on one floor and a Muslim family lived on the other.

  ‘Why are you going to the other side of India?’ asked Amaan.

  ‘It’s called the “Partition” and we have to live with our own people,’ replied Yashwant sadly.

  ‘But your people are here. Your friends are here, and I am here, Yashwant.’

  ‘Naming a certain part of the land as India or Pakistan doesn’t change anything—it’s a place where we haven’t ever lived,’ Amaan protested. ‘How does it matter what they call this land?’

  ‘It would matter, Amaan. You’re Muslim and I’m Hindu. We have to live on opposite sides of the border.’

  ‘Have you already decided to leave Lahore?’ Amaan scowled. ‘You’ve already started saying “my people, your people”.’

  ‘That’s how they’re talking everywhere.’

  ‘What matters is what we want. This is our house, Yashwant, and it will remain our house. It doesn’t matter whether it lies in Pakistan or in India. Your people make your home and not vice versa.’

  ‘You’re Muslim and I’m Hindu, don’t you understand? It’s two different worlds now.’

  ‘But neither of us is religious, anyway. I love celebrating Diwali and you love celebrating Eid with us. So what does religion have to do with where we live?’

  ‘A nationality will be imposed upon you from August. We have been proud Indians until now and moving a few miles away from here won’t change anything. There are Muslim people still living in India.’

  ‘And I’ve seen Hindus choosing to remain here,’ Amaan replied.

  ‘You’re putting words into my mouth as usual, Amaan.’

  ‘I could say the same about you, Yashwant.’

  ‘Time to go,’ Yashwant’s mother was carrying his younger brother on her hip and a suitcase in the other hand. His father was doing the heavy lifting, with a hold-all slung over his shoulder and a large suitcase in each hand.

  The adults were trying hard to hold back their tears. It was a wrench to leave behind the people who were as good as family. They would now be a part of a different nation now. Yashwant wouldn’t be able to play with Amaan any more or even see him. Nobody said anything because whatever had to be said was spoken through tears.

  ‘Take some money. You’ll have to build a new house there. But remember, you always have a home here in Pakistan.’

  ‘You also remember that there’s a home for you in India. You’ve paid for it already.’

  Yashwant and Amaan stood by as their parents exchanged empty promises they knew they wouldn’t be able to keep. It seemed highly unlikely that they would ever see each other again.

  A bullock cart led away the sad procession. The two little boys were still mad at each other and didn’t bother even waving goodbye.

  Kabeer drifted into a trance-like state as he listened to his grandfather’s story. He wanted to meet Zoya now more than ever. In his heart he knew they were meant to be together.

  Yashwant was overjoyed to see his childhood home. He had left the place almost seventy years ago and had never expected to see it again.

  CHAPTER 41

  April ’17

  It had been a little more than sixty-nine years since Yashwant last stood in front of this house. Nothing much had changed apart from the wider roads and a few new constructions. He was surprised to see that his house had remained intact.

  The house had been named after Zoya and Kabeer’s great-grandmothers. Kabeer wondered why and how he hadn’t noticed this before.

  Kabeer rang the doorbell. There was no answer. He tried telephoning Zoya, but his cell phone wouldn’t connect. His grandfather walked into the garden, gazing around with interest at the tall trees and beautifully manicured lawns. Kabeer waited for Zoya to answer the door.

  After about half an hour, a car drove through the wide, wrought-iron gates and drove up to the portico. Zoya, more beautiful than ever, appeared both shocked and surprised to see him. Kabeer realized how much he had missed her over the past few months. He promised himself that he would never let her go again.

  It was the moment Kabeer had been waiting for. He waited for Zoya to draw closer. She walked past, completely ignoring him. She left the door ajar, however.

&
nbsp; He had run through this scenario so often in his head that he had convinced himself that he’d breeze through it and win her over in a matter of minutes. However, as he stepped inside, he found he was tongue-tied and his legs felt like jelly.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Zoya asked acidly.

  Kabeer was nonplussed and wondered about the trail of boarding passes that had led him here. She seemed to have no clue about his strange adventure.

  ‘I am here to finish the journey that we started together.’

  ‘I too wanted that, but now I doubt if it can ever be possible,’ Zoya replied, raising her eyebrows at Kabeer’s grandfather seated on the steps of the porch. ‘What is he doing here?’

  ‘It’s his house; he doesn’t need permission to be here.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Zoya scowled. Kabeer noticed a picture on the wall of two little boys sitting side by side. He had seen it before but hadn’t attached any importance to it because at the time he hadn’t known the story behind it. ‘That picture, do you see it? That’s your grandfather, with his arm around my grandfather. Their families lived together in this house before my grandfather was compelled to leave for India after Partition.’

  Zoya looked at Kabeer’s grandfather in amazement. She remembered her Naanu jaan talking about his childhood friend, Yashwant, who had moved to India in June 1947 and how he had desperately wanted to contact him. Zoya was overwhelmed with joy as she realized that, in a way, she had fulfilled her grandfather’s wish of getting Yashwant back into this house where they had spent their childhood.

  She started crying and hugged Kabeer.

  ‘Thank you for coming back, Kabeer. I knew that you would return.’

  ‘Then why all the drama? Why didn’t you answer my calls and leave those random clues in the hotels? And when did you visit India?’

  ‘I kept a very low profile on my last India trip and I was really happy that the media didn’t get a chance to find me. We always talked about the randomness of our relationship and were proud of that and suddenly that night, that journalist broke us up in front of the world where we wanted to be the love story people got inspired by,’ she replied. ‘Everything ended that day but deep within I knew that you’d be going through the same pain as I was.’