Yesterday I was clever so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wiser so I am changing myself- Rumi.

This one quote from Rumi had been a joke for her for as long as she could remember. Her father Mir Farooqi was adamant on the fact that this quote is the essence of life. 

But Dua begged to differ. It was the world that needed to be changed, it was this backward world, with its misogynist, chauvinistic ideas. This world with its violence. The dreamers, the idealist, the poets, they are the ones that needed to change. 

Why should she change herself? She was already wise, right? She knew right from wrong, she knew that hoping for clean and wholesome freedom for this foreign rule was a fool's idea. 

She knew that this country will burn when the time came. 

She also knew that no matter how many parts the country is divided into, Men will rule, Women will be sidelined as was the norm of the society. She knew that the great women fighting today will not be remembered as much as the men will be. 

A day to the women's name, the country to the men's name. 

That was what this society did to women, it took and it took and women gave without expecting anything in return. So again Dua thought it was the world that needed to change not her. 

But her father was adamant and she was stubborn so, they were at an impasse when it came to this one quote. 

" I won't change myself Abba, why should I? You have given me the wings, why should I not fly high?" She asked her father, as her younger brother, Abdullah, and Omar watched on. 

The Mir brothers were quite used to watching this tennis match of words between their sister and their father. The debate was years old, and it was now a part of their Sunday rituals. 

The debate could be carried out only during Sunday's when their mother was out at her friends for a quick gossip session. Allah forbid, she would hear Dua talk like this, she would have had her way with Dua and a chappal. 

Mir Farooqi was a different story though, " Dua Jaan, there is a difference is flying high, and flying so high that the sun burns you. Soar as high as you want, you abba will stand by you but do not forget even the mightiest of the birds do not fly above the atmosphere, they stay at a place from where the rain doesn't touch them up in the clouds but not so up that they leave the world behind, and fall due to lack of perspective." 

Mir had always been ahead of his time, allowing his daughter to study in the best institutes, in a time when most fathers didn't even let their daughters out of the house. 

He heard her voice, and let her speak her mind. He valued what Dua said. She knew she was blessed by Allah. She was utterly grateful for it. 

But she was still not agreeing with her father, who as open-minded as he was, still wanted to keep within the society. He still thought that some rules were right. He was one of the Idealists she thought needed to change. 

She was about to retort with a counterpoint but their mother's voice filtered through the open windows and they had to put an end to the debate early that day.

"This isn't over," Dua said to her father gathering Rumi up and putting back on the shelf, lest Aisha Begum saw it and figured out that they were debating again.

"I will hold you to it," Mir laughed at his daughter's expression saying that she was not defeated. 

Aisha Begum entered the house and the house was up with activity again, the servants and workers all up and about following orders that they had previously neglected to follow.

"Dua, Abdullah, Omar, come on down now." The children's mother shouted at them, " and bring your Abba with you," She shouted, ever the Indian women, Aisha begum never took her husbands name, even after 25 years of marriage. 

The rest of the Farooqi family proceeded downstairs for what Dua was sure was tea served with fresh gossip about all the affluent Hindu and Muslim families from Delhi to Lahore. 

As it was happening the Nawabs of Awadh had a new a scandalous patch up marriage, and somewhere in Lahore, a Hindu girl had almost run away. 

Suddenly Aisha turned to her daughter, " You won't run away would you?" 

Dua exchanged a look of mischief with her father and said, " No Amma, I wouldn't run away. I would definitely tell Abba before I run," 

"And would definitely help her run," Mir replied instantly. Aisha Begum looked on the verge of a breakdown, but her children started to laugh, and that laughter was enough to make her melt. 

" You two are going to be the death of me, I say, and you Dua mark my words, you won't be able to run, It would break your abba's heart and for all the things you could do, and for all the things you can go against, one thing you can not do is break Farooqi Sahab's heart, my child," Aisha said this is in a manner one would say that the earth is round. 

And it was true, everyone in Lahore knew it to be true. 

"Whoever said I would leave Abba to break his heart," was Dua's response, knowing full well she will start an argument as old as time itself. 

"Why Jaan, you will leave eventually, when you get married." came Aisha's response and the Faqoori men held their breath's for a blowout any minute now, only it did not come. 

"Why are you back so early begum, I would have expected you to be back right before lunch but you were gone but for an hour,"  Mir had intervened as soon as he sensed the two women in his life gather up their tempers. 

"Uff Khudaya, I totally forgot, I had to come back early. Farooqi Sahab, they were going to arrive soon, the extremists Muslims, and from what I heard they not just protesting. The conditions are getting worse," Aisha begum, a women most vendors of Lahore feared was speaking in whispers.

Mir sighed he knew it was a matter of time, the tensions had been mounting high. Even the few of educated class like himself had tried to dispel this burning rage and fire by trying to make a common people see. This fire was one that the British had started. 

But it was not working, the fire had been lit and Mire was sure it was going to burn the country one day. That day was not far now.

" I know, we have a meeting tonight at the central hall, let's see what happens there, and if things don't seem to die down in a few days then I am afraid that we will have to start packing up. You all should be prepared." Mir Farooqi was a man who loved his country and wanted to believe in the goodness of the countrymen, but he was not a fool. 

He could se clearly that the situations did not allow for him to let his guard down, if this was the way the country will be going then so be it. He would not let his family burn in that fire. 

It was with this sombre thought of living their family home, their home behind that the Farooqi family eat their lunch in silence that day. 

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As Mir Farooqi walked that day to the meeting he could help himself but be startled by the littlest of sounds, a walker smiling at him with a nod looked as if he was conspiring against Mir. A child going on a cycle nearly made him jump out of his skin. 

And Mir knew that most of the people of his beloved city were going through something similar. It had been like this for a few weeks now, Mir had this intuition that something was going to go horribly wrong, but he had no idea what? It was more of an educated guess than an intuition the countries politics had taken a turn for the worse. 

Nehru, try as he may, was not able to bridge the gap, and Jinnah was being stubborn, though right in his own sense. It was a long time coming, but an actual partition of the country would bring devastation unless it was planned. 

But when he entered the City hall he had not expected to find this unflinching silence. Usually, there was an outrage and cries of opinions all around but today everyone was silent. 

He was met by Ishtiyaq Sahab and Depaklal Ji, who were his greatest companions and friends. But where they would have greeted him with great enthusiasm or at the very least with smiles today they greeted him with a simple nod. 

This enough to make Mir wonder what big news had this whole meeting already in a damp mood? Was it another war? or a confirmation of the partition?

Mir need not ask, his friends already gave a telegram towards him. Mir took it without any questions and took a deep breath, mentally bracing for what he was about to read. 

And Mir had been right in racing himself. It was indeed something that left his mind reeling. His legs almost gave away but his friends held him strong. 

5000 killed in communal riots in Calcutta, in direct reaction to Jinnah call for direct action. Leading to protests, which in turn made the Hindu fanatics retaliate with equal brutality. They are calling it the Great Calcutta killings. 

Mir had always prided himself on his intuitions, and today his intuition told him that it was time to leave to a safe place because this was just the begging. And Allah only knew at what toll of bodies this aggression would stop. But Mir knew that Independence will come at a cost to big, that none of the leaders had thought off. 

Soon the meeting was called to order and the day's agendas had to be changed at the whip.

So, that day, when they had to discuss the girl's school and the evening classes for the workers, they ended up discussing who was going to stay and who was planning on leaving to the other side. 

Mir also wanted to discussed to tell as many people as possible to get ready for evacuating at times notice, but no one heard him. They were all thinking that the British will give them time. That will have plenty of opportunities to travel from one side to another. 

Mir Farooqi though knew different. He could feel it in his bones. More than 5000 lives were lost when there was no mention of partition, he shuddered to think what will happen when they do announce the partition, who much of this violence will turn into senseless anger. 

But no one was listening, and those who were will probably pay no mind to him. 

As the meeting ended, Mir, Ishtiyaq and Deepak all stayed behind along with others, talking in hushed whispers. The three friends were also discussing what they wanted to do. 

It was quickly decided that they will be relocating to Delhi soon. Mir knew his family won't be happy but maybe years down the line they could come back t visit their home. 

The hall had almost emptied, and Mir was also leaving when he was approached by Haroon Sheikh, the Editor-in-Cheif of The Weekly Statement. A good man, how very recently took over as the editor-in-chief after his father had decided to retire. 

" Aslamwalekum Mir Sahab, I was just wondering if you will be willing to write a series of articles for the paper. About warning them, " Zaroon said greeting Mir, they had already been introduced at many such meetings. 

" Sure, if it makes the people aware then I would love that, why don't you come home tomorrow and we can discuss it then," Mir invited Harron over. He really liked the boy. 

"Absolutely, Me and Abba will be there tomorrow," Zaroon was just about to leave when Mir called him back. 

"Bring Rehana with you, if her health permits it, Dua will keep her company," Mir knew that Zaroon's wife Rehana was dying. In fact, everyone in the city knew it, and while she was not making any appearances in public, it would be good for her to find a friend in Dua. 

"I will ask, and I am sure if she is feeling better then she will love to come," Zaroon smiled a small wistful smile, that clearly showed his agony at his wife's fast-approaching demise.

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Hello, Lovelies. This is just my take on one of the ONC prompts, hopefully, It will turn out good. 

Let me know what you think of it. 
Afaf XOXO