A Pact with Sun

S

AEEDA’S mother had been ailing for a long time—fever, cough,

body-ache, painful joints and what not. Treated by a variety

of physicians for weeks, she often showed signs of

improvement but soon relapsed into her old, sick self, one

complaint substituted by another. Though weak and

colourless, she was forbidden normal food and was under

strict orders to remain perpetually confined to her small,

dingy room with doors and windows fastened, deprived of

sunshine and fresh air.

When she became critical, her relatives and neighbours

persuaded her to consult a specialist even though his fee

was likely to be high. Life is more precious than money, they

said. Saeeda’s mother was poor but she heeded their advice

and sold a few trinkets to pay the doctor’s fee and the

cost of medicine.

The doctor came in a few days and examined her and

prescribed effective but costly medicine. To the question as

to what she should eat he said, “Anything you wish to eat —

chapati, vegetables, milk, fruits, etc. In addition to all this,”

he added emphatically, “leave this dark hovel and occupy a

bigger room with doors and windows open. Sit in the sun

every morning from eight to nine. Sunshine and fresh air,” he

concluded, “are more important than medicine.”

The doctor and his advice became a subject of noisy

commentary among all present. Some favoured while others

opposed it. Exposure to sun and air for someone afflicted with

chronic cough was dangerous, an experienced lady declared. A

younger neighbour nearly quarrelled with her over this. Too

exhausted to participate in the debate, Saeeda’s mother

remained quiet but determined to follow the doctor’s advice.

“Forget the consequences,” she said at last. “I’ll carry out his

instructions to the letter. Move my bed into the next room and

let me sit in the sun on my charpoy for an hour daily.”

It so happened that the sky remained overcast next

morning. The same was the case the following day. Saeeda’s

mother was dejected. She muttered, “O Lord of mine, why

have you ordered the sun to remain hidden? How will I

ever be cured?”

Saeeda was playing with her doll nearby and she heard

her mother’s lament but kept calm. Later in the afternoon,

when she stumbled on a spot of pale sunshine in the

courtyard, she ran to her mother to say the sun was there.

“No, no”, said everybody present. “It’s too late and chilly. Your

mother can’t sit out there.” Disheartened, Saeeda returned

to her doll. There was no sun really except for its last remnant

entangled in the top branches of the family mango tree.

Now, children have at their command a secret language,

foreign to grown-ups altogether, in which they fluently

communicate with trees, flowers, animals, the sun and the

moon, perhaps even with the Almighty. Using that special

language, Saeeda addressed her remark to the last departing

ray of the sun. “Dearest sister, do come tomorrow with lots of

warmth and brightness. You see, my mother is ill and needs

your help.”

“Surely,” answered the light,

“don’t look unhappy. We’ll be here

at the fixed hour.”

Next day, early in the morning,

when the sprightly sunrays

embellished themselves for their

journey down to earth, the sun said,

“It’s our day off again. We’re staying

up here. The road to earth is

blocked by an army of thick, mucky

clouds.” The little rays so much

wanted to go down for a lark but

they remained quiet. One of them,

though, who had made a pact with

little Saeeda said, “Sir, I can’t stay back. I’ve given my word

to Saeeda whose mother is ill and needs our help. I’ll pierce

through the clouds to reach Saeeda’s courtyard. How else

will her mother be cured?” Hearing this, all the rays nearly

staged a revolt against their father, the sun. “Fancy staying

back again,” they said in a single voice. “What will the people

of the earth say about us? That we of the heavens have

turned liars?”

The sun relented. “Please yourselves,” he said. “Mind your

clothes, though. The clouds are mucky.”

“Never mind our clothes. We can always change. But go

we must.” And the rays rushed towards the earth. The clouds

stood guard between them and Saeeda’s courtyard. The little

rays focussed their heat — and they had enough of it — on a

battalion of clouds, which had to flee from its post. The rays

got through, shooting past the bewildered clouds. They were

already late.

Saeeda saw the whole host of them approaching and her

heart leapt with joy. She shouted, “

Amma, Amma! The sun is

here. Come out.” The old lady’s eyes welled up with tears of

gratitude. Her c

harpoy was placed in the courtyard and she sat

on it for an hour reclining against bolsters. It had been months

since she had felt the sun on her hands and face and breathed

in fresh air. She thought she was in a new world. Though pale,

her face glowed and her eyes shone bright. She saw her child

too bathed in sunlight and kissed her. The morning air brought

in a new fragrance from nearby flowers. The birds chanted a

new tune. Saeeda’s mother felt better already.

She is fully recovered now, but she still follows the doctor’s

advice — an hour of sunlight and lungfuls of fresh air every day.

Z

AKIR HUSAIN

[translated from the Urdu and

slightly modified]