"Look! This time we're celebrating Independence Day with full fervor!" I announced enthusiastically, making my wife jump.
"Really? How?" excitement lit up her face.
"You've always wanted a festive house – lights everywhere, paper flags, a big flag on the rooftop, family and friends over... shared stories of freedom. This year, my long-cherished dream is coming true. I've successfully saved ten thousand rupees!"
I paused, waiting for her to guess. She smiled, "Knowing each other's desires is the essence of this bond. A white shalwar kameez with a new green waistcoat..."
"Yes! Three years of yearning, battling household expenses... but this time, God willing, it’s happening. Alhamdulilah!" Tears welled up in my eyes.
Eleven-year-old Ahmad clapped, "Abbu! It’ll be like Eid! So much fun!" We pulled him close. Joy shared is joy doubled.
August 13th was a day off. I went to the Urdu Bazaar alone, avoiding the crowds for Ahmad. The street was alive with stalls – caps, badges, stickers, flags, colorful glasses.
My joy was short-lived. The road was blocked. Broken pipes, stones – sewage issues. A detour through Dal Bazaar was necessary. Famous for its spice mills, especially chili grinding. Dangerous, but necessary. My dream waistcoat awaited me just beyond. A glimpse of me in that green waistcoat, like our national flag, would be euphoric.
Unfortunately, chili grinding was in full swing. Airborne spice attacked my eyes. It felt like burning coals. I screamed, "Is anyone there? Help me! My eyes!"
A couple of people laughed, "Chilies in a chili market, what else?" Insensitive!
I couldn't open my eyes. The pain was unbearable.
"Splash water, sir. It'll be fine," a kind voice said. Lifeline!
"Where's water? Please take me! It burns!"
"Handpump by the hotel. Come."
Good people still exist. The stranger helped me wash my eyes. Relief! I opened them to thank him, but he was gone. Angels come in many forms.
I decided to rest at the hotel and ordered a cold drink. The first sip was heavenly. Then I saw a boy sitting in the shade of a bank wall.
Twelve or thirteen, frail, looking sick for years, dirty clothes, matted hair... Hunger etched on his face. He watched me. I gestured for him to come.
"Are you hungry, son?"
Tears rolled down his cheeks. He nodded. My heart sank. I made him sit and ordered food.
A few minutes later, he was calmer.
"When did you last eat? What does your father do? Do you go to school? Work?"
He looked overwhelmed but answered, "No father, sir. Sick mother. Little sister. Mother used to work, but got sick. Savings are gone. I tried to work, but the owner cheated me and beat me when I protested. I prayed to God, and today He sent you. Indeed, He is capable of all things."
He sobbed. My eyes blurred. God's wisdom! He guided me, through the pain of the chilies, to this deserving soul. He sees everything.
"Come," I stood up with determination. "You, your sister, and your mother will not sleep hungry. We'll get her medical treatment. Let's take food from here. They must be waiting with hope. Come, let's not delay."
The boy looked at me with disbelief and joy.
After buying provisions for their home and medicine for his mother, I still had enough to celebrate Independence Day simply with my family. On my way back, these words echoed: "Someone is running the universe... That is God... That is God."