The Letter That Never Arrived

Part 1:

     The Drawer that was Forgotten Aarfa encountered the drawer when she was cleaning her old wooden trunk belonging to her grandmother. It was obscured behind zarves of shawls and blurred photo albums and their latch rusted. pulling it open, she stood motionless. Within were piled a pile of old yellowing envelopes--all carefully fastened, all written in the same handwriting: 5th Battalion, Siachen Frontline To Lt. Haris Ahmed. It was more than 30 letters, bound with red silk ribbon. Aarfa fluttered heart. She asked the silent room quietly, Who is Haris? Dadi had never said this name before. Her grandmother was called Safiya: she was a strong woman, a woman of silence, a woman who led a loner life. Widowed young they supposed. There was something in these letters that did not seem touched, nor, in a way, violated. And queer--each letter was stamped with a post stamp. Each of them was notated: “Returned: Undelivered.”

Part 2: 

Aarfa was not able to sleep that night. Untying the ribbon she opened the first letter with care.

“14 th January 1985

To my best beloved Haris,

God bless you. I learnt that the battle in the Siachen area has intensified. I watch at the window mornings and nights, Longing to get a letter of thine. Mummy believes it is all foolish of me, yet I know I am so far not foolish, because you said you would write me.

Fear not--I have not mentioned our engagement to any one. You have my ring under my pillow. I tell it at night.

See you later.

Love always,

Safiya”

One by one Aarfa read the letters.

Over the months the tone of Safiya changed, she went hopeful to heartbroken, affectionate to desperate. Safiya wrote in the last letter dated December 1986 that:

I have heard that your battalion was broken up. Nevertheless no one can tell me where you are. I have written thirty letters. This is the final hopefully, because I will wait--you see. I will wait to see you whether it is before you die or in the next life.”

A drop of a tear came out of the eye of Aarfa. But why did not he respond? He fell dead?

Part 3:

The following morning, Aarfa made up her mind. She would uncover what became of Lt. Haris Ahmed.

 She began with the Pakistan Army Records Office. Her call was greeted with the usual red tape—forms, waiting, blind alleys.

 Then came good fortune. A retired old officer named Col. Imtiaz agreed to meet her in Lahore Cantt.

 He grasped the letters in shaking hands. "These… are more than thirty-five years old."

 "Yes, sir. They were all sent back."

Col. Imtiaz glared at her. "Do you have any idea why they were brought back?"

 Aarfa shook her head.

 "Because Lt. Haris Ahmed never existed to us. At least, not on paper. There was a Haris in the 5th Battalion… but he was listed as MIA—Missing in Action in 1984. The family never reported the body. There were. rumors. Classified reports. Some claimed he defected."

 Aarfa scowled. "Defected?"

 The Colonel sighed. "Crossed the border. Or was captured and never came back. The army let the case drop quietly."

 "But… he was writing to my grandmother until 1986."

 "Or she thought so."

Part 4:

Aarfa returned home with more questions than answers. That night, her father found her rereading the letters.

“What are those?” he asked.

She told him everything.

Her father looked stunned. Then he walked silently to the bookshelf, pulled out an old family photo, and handed it to her.

In the corner of the photo was a man in uniform.

“That’s your Dadi’s brother. His name was Haris.”

Aarfa gaped. "But the letters… they were romantic."

Her father nodded slowly. "They were close—too close. After Partition, the family was split. Haris entered the army. Safiya was obligated into an engagement she did not want. But I always guessed there was more."

The truth fell into place like the pieces of a puzzle.

Lt. Haris wasn't a fiancé. He was her forbidden love. Perhaps her cousin… or worse—her adopted brother.

The tragedy was deeper than Aarfa had ever envisioned.

Part 5:

Resolute to put an end to the enigma, Aarfa shared on a war veterans' and families of fallen soldiers' online forum. She got an email after a week.

Subject: "I Knew Haris"

The email was from a veteran man in Rawalpindi. He said he had been a colleague of Haris'. Aarfa met him the following weekend.

"Your grandmother adored him," the man replied. "But she was betrothed to someone else. Haris lost his mind after she was wedded off. He abandoned. He attempted to come back to Lahore—but the military caught him. He was branded a deserter and was never seen again."

"Why didn't she know?"

"She must have kept writing… hoping the letters would find their way. But the army intercepted all mail. They wanted to remove him from the books."

Aarfa's eyes welled with tears.

He handed her the last object: a small, rusty tin box. Inside it was a picture of Safiya and Haris at the Shalimar Gardens… and a ring.

She was all he had," the man murmured. "And he died with her name on his lips.

Part 6:

Aarfa went back to Lahore and stood beside her grandmother's grave. It was a still winter morning. The letters, the photograph, and the ring were kept in a little box.

"I know now," she said softly. "I know your story, Dadi. And I promise… it won't be forgotten."

She buried the box beside the grave.

 

 ***** THE END *****