Life’s Labour Lost

Clad in a dark brown frock-shalwar, with a finely woven red stole laced with green stripes draped delicately over her head, Sheherzad’s bluish velvety sweater caught the faint rays of sunlight, making her appear ethereal. A quadrangular pink hankie rested softly in her left hand as she ducked slightly, flattening her hair. When she smiled her soft, dimpled smile, it had the power to stop time. But that day, it turned me into an object of ridicule.

My gasping breath betrayed my tardiness to class. I was late to college due to massive traffic jam in the town. As I stepped inside, her face lit up like a thousand suns. Her gaze followed me, her narrowed eyes brimming with unspoken emotions. We exchanged cheerful, cursory glances, the kind of silent communication that only enamored pair understands—a shared language understood amidst the chaos of bustling bazaars and crowded classrooms.

In the corner of the room, she sat oscillating her ballpoint pen, licking her lips nervously. Her quizzical smile, a perfect mix of mischief and longing, melted my heart. Even in her silence, Sheherzad spoke volumes. She had carved out a privileged space in her heart for me, an ember of unrequited love that refused to die. But Sheherzad was from a world far removed from mine. She was ridiculously rich, I was pathetically poor. She was a star, radiant and untouchable, while I was a simple earthly creature, yet yearning. She wanted to embrace me, live and die for me but my uncommon living standard and style didn’t allow me to jump into the black hole of love. I was told that it is a trade where you lose your heart, with all its beats.

She would look for opportunities to be near me. That was the extent of intimacy. Known for her simplicity, a girl of unparalleled goodness and sweet temper, Sheherzad was a ray of hope in hopelessness. For me, she was a beautiful mess, a colourful chaos, a creative confusion, a wishful wonder, a daring dream. It is a fact that young help the young with the logistics of love. She would, sometimes, address me as “baya” when someone known to us was around, just to avoid possible trouble. She was, perhaps, enjoying the feeling of being a soul-mate.

One cloudy day, I was little unwell and didn’t go to college. As clock ticked 4, I opened the window of my room, craned my neck through the curtain, to overlook the caravan of students on their way home, amid slow drizzle. Out of nowhere, she nervously shouted, “darwazee treaviv yalle (please open the door).” She was all wet. I gently recommended that she change her outfit first. Meanwhile, I prepared her favourite Nunchai. She smiled on hearing a clink of cups in a green coloured wooden tray. I stood there on my knees, poured a steamy salt tea from a thermos flask. I offered her a blanket, and with it, our conversation unfolded.

“Where were you today?” She enquired.

“In your heart, in your mind, No?” I teased. “Aap b Na”, her words came out in a soft, hesitant murmur. We promised each other to be loyal till our last breath. She imagined herself sitting in the room as my bride, her hands decorated with henna.

“You know Sheherzad,” I lifted her up, “After marriage, girls don’t call their husbands by name. What would you call me?” I asked jokingly. She looked into my eyes and responded, “Zov myoun (my life).”

Caste hurts

And then I realized not just poverty, caste too kills love. Her world was a fortress, guarded by wealth and power, while mine was an open field, vulnerable to every storm. A terrible week later, we met at our village spring—Yaarbal, in the nursery of willow trees. Trilling, warbling, fluttering and chirping of birds sitting atop the trees made the surroundings serene.

The gentle gurgle of water and the melody of birds created a sanctuary far removed from the tumult of our lives. Her eyes, pools of unshed tears, met mine. “Why do you keep your heart locked away?” she whispered.

I hesitated, my voice trembling. “Sheherzad, I have nothing to offer you. My world is too small.” Tears blurred my vision. “I cannot bear to see you suffer. I am powerless against them.” As we sat together, her voice quivered. “I would give up everything to be with you. But they…they’ll never let me.”

Her father, a man of unyielding pride, had already chosen another for her—a man whose caste and wealth matched their own. Sheherzad’s pleas fell on deaf ears, her resistance met with threats and punishment. Her once-bright laughter dimmed, her spirit battered by the relentless weight of her father’s cruelty.

Days turned into months, and the walls around her life closed in. Her father’s wrath was unrelenting. He forbade her from leaving the house, monitored her every move, and crushed her spirit under the weight of his iron will. The day of her engagement was announced, a grand affair to be celebrated with pomp and splendour. Sheherzad’s dreams were sacrificed at the altar of societal expectations.

As her wedding day approached, I began each morning lost in her photos and letters, tears falling as memories of our time together flooded back. A fortnight before her wedding, we met somewhere in Varmul, my hometown. Her face was pale, her eyes hollowed by sleepless nights. “This is the end for us.” she declared.

I held her trembling hands, my heart breaking with each word she spoke. “I will always pray for you. Is there anything else I can do for you?” She shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she continued, “Just make me proud, true relation doesn’t die with the person physically not with us. You are my immaterial possession.” I am sapiosexual by design; I get attracted to highly intelligent people. Was Sheherzad one? Indeed.

The departure date

I watched from a distance as she was bundled on the back seat of the car along with her husband. My self-esteem plummeted to depressing depths. The drums thundered, the crowd danced, the pitch intensified: “Lagya Lagya Mahraazoo, ho, lael chaya pyaraanoo hoo.” The car accelerated. She was taken away, a prisoner in the guise of a bride. My heart shattered. Feeling numb, the poignant monologue from the movie “Someone like You” was running in the laboratory of my mind and warm tears trickling down my cheeks, “there are few things sadder in this life than watching someone walk away after they have left you; watching the distance between your bodies expand until there is nothing but empty space and silence.”

As the car sped along the winding road, her partner glanced over to find his bride’s body cold and lifeless beside him. Sheherzad had suffered sudden cardiac arrest. Almost an hour later, in the dead of the night, came the cries of agony and shouts of horror. Everyone in the locality rushed to her house. The slain, we learned later, had been in extreme mental mess as her father had pushed her into forced marriage.

Some sane souls spoke of love, of choice, of a woman’s right to marry a person of her choice—something even her faith allows. But her father never listened. Father’s love for her daughter was a prison, built with walls of caste, locked with the rusted chains of his pride. He did not see her pain. He did not hear her silent screams. Her dreams were crushed beneath the weight of his ego, her tears unnoticed as they fell into the emptiness between them. Barefoot, the “stubborn” father ran towards the ambulance carrying his daughter, shivered like a leaf, cried like a wounded animal.

Wedding songs turned dirges when my slain ‘soul-mate’ was taken to her final resting place. The day after Sheherzad was submitted to soil, the signs of remorse and regret were palpable on her father’s pallid and feeble face. A lot of water has flowed down the Jhelum since then but I always catch myself thinking about her. Wish, I could remove my memory, abort the program, until all of the files are deleted and gone. But it doesn’t happen in reality. Sheherzad- my lifeline, my twinkling guiding star, is smiling from skies.

At around 4:00 AM on April 11 (Friday), I dreamed of her. She whispered, in a voice heavy with sorrow, “I see you breaking without me. I feel the emptiness clawing at your soul. I know you’re aching for someone, for love that feels like your sheherzad—but your heart refuses to open, afraid of more loss, more betrayal. You have been cast aside by those who once swore they were yours, left to piece yourself together alone. And I know the weight of that loneliness is suffocating you.

But listen—no matter how shattered you feel, no matter how cruel the world has been, I am with you. In every choice you make, in every battle you fight, in every night you spend drowning in silence—I am there. This pain will carve you into someone even stronger, even fiercer. And when the world turns its back on you, remember this one truth—I have never left. I’m yours, now and always.”

Disclaimer: This piece is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.