Brotherhood seldom crosses violence , it has weight...and comes in all ages...
I was a spectator, to their actions, and now I am a voice of their love. Aman and adil , two brothers, in identical dress, skinny and lean and together. Just when I reached and was siting at the bus stand on one of the chairs, they gave a careless glance at me and went on with their play. Perhaps they were playing who behaves more well, outside the house. So they were following instructions their mom gave them in anger. “sit here” she shouted . They preferred the floor unlike me, and took their place on the ground without any complains about their preferences. She came with a sack full of bottles , as it seemed from the noise that sack made . And told them “take care of this, I’ll return in a moment! “
Aman was elder. He pulled Adil’s arm and dragged him above on the stack. He placed him carefully there . As carefully as a muslim would place Quran. His concern for Adil was evident from what he was doing. He was in every alternate second looking at Adil, if he is fine, if he is feeling uneasy in siting because of the height of the huge sack, his everything was Adil’s movements. Their mother and father came with a set of luggage for them to board onto the bus. His father climbed up the back ladder of the bus to board the luggage there. It seemed mostly what I would call trash. I wondered why they are transporting trash from one place to another. Adil and Aman too fragile to contribute, to my surprise, were contributing. All the while her mother was facing difficulty in lifting the luggage to handle it to their father. Adil jumped and pushed the luggage as if it was a balloon . just to help her toil less. To help her stressed forehead get some relief. Aman on the other hand was busy helping Adil balance his moves. And also was taking care of Adil’s cough. He kept giving him water at regular intervals.
While her mother was shouting at Adil to keep off the luggage and let her manage, Adil looked innocently and jumped a few baby steps and again tried to help. As all the luggage eventually got loaded , Adil started coughing incessantly. Aman rushed at the ugly water cooler to fetch some water in his broken bottle and returned back to see Adil coughing blood. He got scared. Not to see the blood, but to see his brother in pain. He felt a sharp pin piercing him. He tore a part of his vest that was identical to that of Adil’s and wiped his mouth. Their mother was patting on his back and shouting for aid to the ignorant crowd. I rushed to the crowd of spectators that surrounded the family. He was not fine, and so was not his brother.
Adil stoped coughing as he stoped breathing. His mother felt numb, motionless under my eyes. I checked Adil’s pulse and told them it has stopped, and saw aman run somewhere. While his mother and father were in tears and wrapped up adil beside them, I was searching for Aman to see if he’s alright. Aman came running into the crowd pushing them away ,still not shouting and wailing, with a sack. This time and empty one. But large enough to gulp Adil. Aman wiped the tear on his cheek and pretended to be strong. He managed to raise his voice to audible levels and said, “ this is important , we need to take this along with the bottles also “
His mother saw Aman falling speechless after his decision to preserve his brother. His motive to move on keeping the things that mattered the most. Trying to make an effort of not letting life change under his dear brother's absence. An effort of not letting Adil think, that Aman did not wait till he wakes up again.
Hopes in childhood often counters the reality which we realise as we grow up. And having someone who shares your childhood is someone very precious. A person that remind you of your best days, at your worst times . Its very important to preserve people, the bonds and the memories.