He was surrounded by a swarm of little children. Some were trying to touch him, others were shaking his hand, and some were simply overjoyed just looking at him. He had blended in beautifully with the kids; his entire job was to make them laugh and entertain them. He was a clown.
An international book fair was underway at the Expo Center. Countless publishers and magazine companies had set up stalls displaying their publications. A massive crowd was visiting the fair, showing great interest in the books. There was reading material available for every age group, and many visitors brought their young children along. To attract these little ones, some of the larger stalls had arranged for entertainment.
At the stall of a major magazine, a man dressed in a clown costume, along with artists disguised as a giant Mickey Mouse and a bear, was entertaining the children. While the older folks knew there were humans beneath those disguises, the little kids genuinely believed they were interacting with a real, living clown, bear, and Mickey Mouse. These performers had been there since 11:00 AM, drawing children's attention through their antics. Sometimes they would jump, sometimes clap, and other times dance to captivate the kids.
Eventually, the clown stepped away and started walking toward the washrooms. He stopped near a large wall where a full-length, life-sized mirror was installed, reflecting everything from head to toe.
The clown stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself intently. Beneath the costume, the human being saw a clown staring back—decked out in colorful, baggy clothes, with large, round, bright green hair. A big, round, red nose on a whitened face completed the look. He stood frozen like a statue, trying to recognize himself. It felt as though the clown in the mirror was laughing at him, mocking him.
Suddenly, he saw a man appear behind the reflection of the clown in the mirror.
"Are you standing here?" the newcomer barked harshly.
The clown spun around quickly to look behind him.
"I... well... I..." the clown stammered, trying to explain.
"Leave the excuses... get back to the stall immediately. We didn't hire you to wander around instead of doing your duty. We brought you here by paying good money. Go, hurry up," the man maintained his aggressive tone.
The clown silently lowered his head and walked back toward the stall.
---
A loud knock echoed on the door.
Shariq was busy reading a college textbook in his room. The knock startled him. In the adjacent room, his sister, Sadia, was giving medicine to their ailing mother. She called out, "Brother, please check who is at the door."
Before Shariq could get up, the door was pounded on again, even harder. It seemed whoever was there was in a great hurry. Shariq quickly stepped out of his room, crossed the courtyard, and reached the door.
"Coming, just a minute... who is it?" he called out as he neared it. He opened the door to find a neighbor, Khurshid Sahab, standing there with two or three other men. Seeing so many people made Shariq slightly nervous.
"Yes... yes... what is the matter?"
"It's nothing good. Come with us quickly... your father has had an accident. He is in the hospital. Come right away," Khurshid Sahab blurted out in a panic. Shariq's body went ice-cold. It felt as if someone had violently ripped the soul right out of his body.
"D... did... my father have an... accident??" broken words stumbled out of his mouth.
"Yes, come quickly. His condition is not good," Khurshid Sahab urged rapidly.
Shariq managed to compose himself to some extent. If his mother found out, her health would severely deteriorate; she was already a patient. Thinking for a brief moment, Shariq decided not to tell his mother or his sister, Sadia, about the accident just yet.
"I'll be right back." Shariq turned back and went into his mother's room. "Sadia, stay right here with Mom. I am going out for a quick errand. Bolt the door from the inside."
"Where are you going, Brother?" Sadia inquired.
"I'll be back in a little while... have some work with a friend." With that, Shariq stepped outside and accompanied Khurshid Sahab toward the hospital.
Reaching the main road, Khurshid Sahab hailed a rickshaw, and they rode to the hospital. On the way, Khurshid Sahab explained that his father, Shehzad Sahab, was walking along the side of the road when an out-of-control car hit him from behind. He was thrown several feet into the air and rolled across the ground, sustaining severe injuries to his legs. Coincidentally, Khurshid Sahab had witnessed the whole thing, so he rushed Shehzad Sahab to the hospital at the earliest opportunity to ensure timely medical aid.
Shariq’s heart was trembling violently, strange omens and terrifying thoughts rising in his mind that he couldn't shake off.
Upon reaching the hospital, the grim reality became clear. All of Shariq's fears materialized; his father was caught in a battle between life and death, hanging by a thread that could snap at any moment. Doctors were trying their best, but Shariq sat numbly on the floor outside the operation theater, legs outstretched. Other acquaintances were there too—friends of his father—all trying to comfort the boy. Shortly after, the news arrived that Shehzad Sahab had lost the battle for his life.
---
Shariq felt as though he had been left standing barefoot on the scorching sand of an endless desert, and the protective canopy over his head had suddenly vanished. The heavy responsibilities of the household fell squarely onto his young shoulders overnight. Now, he was the sole guardian of his ailing mother and sister. While his father was alive, Shariq had never felt the need to earn a living, yet he was deeply aware of his responsibilities. He understood his parents' struggles and was studying diligently to secure a good job to fulfill all their dreams. Now, however, Shehzad Sahab's sudden death had shattered all those dreams to pieces in an instant.
His mother had saved a small sum of money for hard times, which helped in this crisis. A little compensation was also received from the company where Shehzad Sahab worked, but Shariq knew this money wouldn't last long. He had to do something. He paused his education and began searching for a job. Naturally, he applied for his late father's position at the company first.
"It's difficult," the manager shook his head negatively. "Your father was an experienced man, and you don't have any work experience. If it were in my power, I would have adjusted you somewhere small, but the company's situation isn't good either. Several hundred people have been laid off. Now, even if we need to hire a watchman, the owner issues direct orders."
"Did you speak to the owner on my behalf?" Shariq stared at him intently.
"Yes, I did that too. Perhaps you don't realize that Shehzad Sahab and I were very good friends. It was upon my insistence that the owner sent money to your house. At that time, I even suggested hiring Shehzad Sahab's son instead of just giving compensation, but the owner refused. He has hired one of his own close relatives in Shehzad Sahab's place."
Hearing the manager, Shariq hung his head in despair. When he began looking for other jobs elsewhere, it felt like an uphill battle. He wandered from place to place, but failure was his destiny at every turn. Wherever he cast his net, the well came up dry. Heavy clouds of gloom and hopelessness gathered all around, ready to pour down severe hardships at any moment. Their boat was already trapped in the middle of a whirlpool.
Shariq was still very young. Although his mother's condition had somewhat stabilized initially, the sudden shock of Shehzad Sahab's death made her frail again, and her dormant illnesses resurfaced with full intensity.
To make ends meet, Khurshid Sahab—the only neighbor who checked up on them—helped secure Shariq a job through his relentless efforts. It was at a large carrom board parlor. Shariq started going there for a hundred rupees a day. Under normal circumstances, let alone working there, Shariq wouldn't even walk past the place, but harsh realities left him with no choice.
Early in the morning, Shariq would open the shop, sweep and clean, and then sit on a chair. Many young boys and students would show up who had left their homes for school but bunked off to hang out here. The entire day was filled with nothing but profanity and arguments among the players. Shariq kept himself away from the disputes. Often, he wanted to run away from this suffocating environment, but the thought of his sick mother and younger sister kept him anchored.
Two grueling months passed. During this time, Shariq had asked several acquaintances for a better, more respectable job. People made promises, but nothing materialized, forcing him to stick to this unsavory place.
One evening, an argument broke out among four boys playing carrom. They were accusing each other of cheating. The others present tried to intervene, but it backfired and the fight escalated. Shariq watched helplessly as it turned physical. They ended up smashing and breaking things in the parlor before storming off, leaving a complete wreck behind. Someone informed the shop owner, who rushed over. Seeing the state of the shop, he took it out on Shariq.
"Why didn't you stop them?" he lashed out viciously. "Your job isn't just to sit here comfortably. Protecting everything here is also your responsibility."
"B... but they were older boys," Shariq's throat felt bone-dry.
"So what? They wouldn't have killed you, wouldn't have murdered you... and now, will your father come and pay for this damage?"
Hearing that, Shariq snapped back. "Take the damages out of my pay, but don't you dare drag my father's name into this."
"Oh, stop trying to play the emotional martyr," the owner sneered, making a face.
Shariq continued working there until the cost of the damages was fully deducted from his wages. Afterward, he handed the keys of the shop back to the owner.
"Hey, you're taking this too seriously... look, my brain just short-circuited in anger, so some rubbish came out of my mouth," the owner tried hard to stop him, but Shariq had made up his mind that day that he would not work there under any circumstances.
Upon returning home, he didn't tell his mother about it, but Sadia noticed his expression and asked him in private.
"What happened, Brother? Why are you so quiet?"
"Nothing, just feeling a bit tired," Shariq tried to brush it off.
"You get tired every day, but you aren't this quiet every day," Sadia sensed that something was definitely wrong.
Initially, Shariq tried to dodge the question, but eventually surrendered to her persistence. Sadia remained silent for a while before saying, "Look, Brother, there must be some blessing in disguise. Besides, my heart says you'll find a decent job very soon."
"I hope so... otherwise, things will get very difficult," Shariq replied.
Sadia’s intuition proved correct. A distant acquaintance informed Shariq that a friend of his needed a young man for a decent, respectable job with better pay. The exact nature of the job was unknown to him, but he handed over his friend's address written on a piece of paper.
Shariq planned to visit the place the following morning to try his luck, but fate had other plans. Early the next morning, his mother's health deteriorated severely. Their medicine had run out, and only a tiny bit of cash remained. Total darkness loomed ahead. Shariq ran to fetch the neighborhood doctor, who checked her and prescribed some fresh medication. Shariq paid the doctor's fee, leaving him completely broke—unable to afford the prescribed medicines, nor having any money for their meals.
"What do we do now, Brother?" tears welled up in Sadia's eyes.
"Allah is the provider. I'll go see; perhaps something can be arranged," Shariq comforted her, though his own existence was cracking under pressure. The only logical step was to meet the person who had offered the job opening.
With the address slip and his mother's prescription in his pocket, he reached the location. It was an office situated in a grand building. Two or three other candidates were already waiting. Following a brief interview, Shariq landed the job, which required no educational degrees.
---
"You were not supposed to move from here at this time," the stall owner whispered harshly but strictly to the clown. "This is rush hour. Don't you see how many kids are here? And entertain them properly. You can't just stand there like a statue."
The stall was packed with families. People were buying books while little children interacted with the clown, Mickey Mouse, and the bear.
The clown turned and looked at the stall owner, realizing he was being watched. The owner signaled with his eyes. The clown nodded and started dancing. The little children clapped in delight. The clown danced in a comical, exaggerated manner. Within moments, a huge crowd gathered around. The owner looked quite pleased now; books were flying off the shelves at a rapid pace. Seeing the clown's smiling face and dancing, many children began to jump along.
This commotion continued until 9:00 PM. Gradually, the hall began to empty out. By 9:30 PM, only the stall workers remained. The people inside the bear and Mickey Mouse costumes took off their heavy heads; they were tall fifteen or sixteen-year-old boys.
The clown walked toward the washrooms. This time, the owner didn't stop him.
He went and stood before the mirror once more. He looked intently at the reflection—a smiling, comical clown stared back. Then, he took off the clown mask from his head.
Now, his real face was visible, with tears streaming down his cheeks in thick lines. Who could have known that behind that smiling facade lay a cascading waterfall of tears?
He reached into his pocket, and his palm filled with currency notes that happy parents had tipped him throughout the day. Clutched alongside the cash was his mother's prescription slip. Now, not only could the medicine be bought easily, but he had also secured enough funds to arrange food for his family for the next few days.
This was by no means a bad bargain. He smiled warmly, looking at the resilient Shariq standing right there in the mirror.
*** *The End*
