Daily Times

“Be a Baloch.” I hated these words of his. As if, I was not a Baloch. I didn’t say anything in front of him since all my other colleagues agreed with his words. Once, I asked him who the real Baloch were. “A real Baloch is a real lover of his/her land,” he said. “Like Shay Mureed, Mast Toukali and Mulla Izzat who gave up everything; one for Hani, one for Sammo and one for Mehruk, the real Balochs have done everything possible for their motherland.”

I always talked against him, like he wanted to show that he was an intellectual and considered himself a nationalist. I wanted to convince my friends that he was an arrogant and obnoxious person. Sometimes, I felt I was doing something against my conscience, but there was nothing I had done with a moral conscience. Time kept moving further ahead when a day came that we both were going somewhere. On our way, we met someone. He asked me, “Who are you and who do you belong to?” “I am Ahmed and I belong to a Meer (a big and rich person) in Turbat,” I replied. I came to find out that he knew that person. After a while he asked him who he was and to whom he belonged to. “I live nowhere and belong to Adam (A. S), and I am a Baloch.” That man didn’t talk to him afterwards and left. I was happy that he was not given any sort of lift by the passer by.

Once, on another occasion while all friends were sitting together, he said, “We sit in gatherings all the time and say words against the cast and religion of others: that he is a slave, he belongs to a lower cast. I am still confused about what the word slave means. These words should belong to those nations and tribes who are free in their realm of living themselves. Yet, I failed to declare any difference between Langat and Seyao (two characters in a Balochi movie ‘Balochistan Hotel’).” As he left, I told my friends that he had, at that time, brought us in the categories of Langat and Seyao.

He already knew that I was a person who belonged to a different house. And so did my other friends. Every time whoever who should not be named was not present in our gathering, I would talk against him. One day a person similar to me said, “While you were not present, your friends talked a lot against you and your nature. They called you obnoxious and a very big miser. Some others said that you were a disloyal chum who is used to looking at mistakes in his friends.”

I tried to become good but as it was my habit, I couldn’t be good.

We used to sit in Haji’s hotel or garden after we finished our tasks every day. One day, while I came as I was sad, all my friends came to me to look after me. He came towards the end inquiring about my sadness. He wanted to equally indulge in it, but I didn’t like him. I said in a firm voice, “I am not sitting in a police station that you are asking me so many questions. Don’t ask me anything.” He became pale and disappeared before my very eyes. After that, I never saw him again. A week had passed, no one from us had heard from him. My companions went to his village asking about him, but he was missing. After inquiring his society mates, we came to know that his house had been locked for a week. Weeks, months and years passed by but there was no trace of him. After his disappearance, I realised that I had lost someone special in my life. I wished a lot, to search for him and make him my companion again, but I failed. His disappearance was a big loss for me which I only came to know after he had gone.

He always guided us into staying united and wanted to make us one despite differences in cast and religion and his being of a real Baloch. But it was I who was happy to be a person of a big cast.

I knew one thing though, that if he was alive and living somewhere then the residents in that place would be a real Baloch. Whenever I think of him, my heart suggested to go and look for him but I had no clue where he could be, there were no ideas in my head.

It has been three years now that I am affected by tuberculosis and sleeping on my bet. My son came to me once and said, “Father, I have seen a dream. Far from here in a village, an old man was sitting under a tree and advising the people to come out of their differences with others peoples’ cast and religion and calling them of a lower cast. All are equal in their own spots. Be a real Baloch. Children, adult and old people all surrounded him and listened to him carefully. He was suggesting them to be the heir of good characters. At the end he gave the example of Meer Balach and that if he was remembered as a great Baloch warrior then Naqeebo and Chawash were not forgotten as well. After this I woke up from my dream.” After sharing his dream, he saw me crying. I said to my son, “Go and play my child.” I knew he was the man I was searching for and wondering about every day of my life. I struggled to go and look for him but my feet deceived me.

This is an English translation of a Balochi short story written by Ahmed Umer.

Published in Daily Times, January 11^th 2018.