Vasandwali-Winning Entry of Short Story Writing Competition

Recently, Journalism Society held a Short Story Writing Competition, with the highlight being that the students had the liberty of choosing their own theme to write a story about. Good idea, no? Well, they received several excellent contributions and out of those five winning entries were announced.

The winners of Short Story Writing Competition (in no particular order):

Kiran Bhimani

Maheen Farooqui

Lubaina Ehsan

Rahim Rasool

Mahnoor Sohail

The Student Blog Team (SBT) contacted the Journalism Society and got the privilege to the publish the winning entries. Well, hold on to you seats as you read the short story written by Maheen Farooqui of A2S1.

 Vasandwali

Image Source: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzrprjMDVm1qkhropo1_500.jpg

Omar kicked his football along the muddy banks of a narrow river. It didn’t go far. The football was losing air quickly and was about to collapse. But he’d kick it around anyway because that was his only friend in his village, Vasandwali. Omar stared at the flooded rice fields across the river and sighed. Mosquitoes swarmed above the stagnant water. The flood had destroyed his crop, so food was scarce. He stared across the horizon and watched the sun set behind the rice fields. He reminisced the one time when he had been to the city, he loved the vibrancy of the metropolis but the shackles of bonded labor meant that he could never abandon his village.

A gentle poke in the back disturbed Omar’s thoughts. It was his sister, Marvi. “Please let me play”, she asked timidly looking at his football. “Girls don’t play football”, he sneered, “now go back to the kitchen where you belong and find something else to do.” With that Omar stalked off towards his cottage where he heard his father calling him.

“But I spent the entire morning doing chores!” he heard Marvi call from behind. Her voice was shaking and he could sense that she was near to tears. He was remorseless. Inside his cottage Omar found his father sitting beside his mum. “She’s getting worse”, his father said gravely, “none of the herbs are working and the baby might die. I am going to the outskirts to find medical aid.”

Omar’s father stood up and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Son, I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Take care of Marvi, be good to her, and protect her”, he said. And they began arrangements for the journey.

By evening Omar’s parent’s left for the outskirts where some flood relief camps were set up. Omar was in a bad mood, he was annoyed by the constant mosquitoes buzzing in his ear. All of a sudden he heard terrible screams coming from the river. He rushed towards it and saw Marvi being swept away by the furious waters. The river was too fast for him but luckily Marvi was able to cling on to a sturdy rock. Omar grabbed a large stick from the soil and held it out. Marvi grabbed on to it and soon was safe on the river banks.

“You stupid girl”, Omar yelled, “You could have died!”

“Oh brother, you saved me. I was so scared I thought I’d drown!” she shivered.

“Shut up! Do you know how much trouble I would be in if you died?” Omar stopped and looked around. 

His football was gone. He had left it right there earlier that day. He tried to control his indignation.

“Marvi, WHERE IS MY BALL?!” now Marvi shivered, not because of the cold.
“I… it... I... was... playing and it fell… it fell into the water”, she stammered.
Omar stormed in an uncontrollable outrage, “You lost my ball Marvi?! You pathetic fool! My ball it’s gone, it’s gone! I wish it had been you instead!” with such awful words Omar thrashed her. She wept silently all the while.

Several days had passed since his father’s departure and Marvi grew sick. When her coughing would not Seize, Omar began to worry. One morning he decided to apologize to her. He sat beside her and held her hand. She was red-hot. He observed her hand carefully, and whispered, “I’m sorry.” She turned towards him. He was staring at the bruises and mosquito bites on her arm. “My head aches” she said meekly. Looking at her sorry state Omar grew very pitiful. He gently massaged her head and quietly wept.

“Don’t cry”, she said. “I miss my ball”, he lied. Marvi managed a weak smile. She pointed to a bundle in the corner of the room. Omar walked towards it and uncovered his ball. “I went searching for it by the river yesterday. I knew how much it meant to you. I just wished it… it could have bonded us.” Saying that Marvi grew quiet and her breathing slowed. Omar hugged her, but when he let her go she fell back slowly and lay very still, eyes closed.

Omar stayed beside her body till nightfall when his family returned from the medical camps. His mother was too ill and his father too grieved to admonish him for his irresponsibility. Amidst the mourning Omar listened to the cries of the baby, his new baby sister. And he realized how lucky he was. Too often do people realize the true value of someone or something only after they lose it, but Omar was given a second chance. He stared into the wide eyed bundle which he now held in his arms and afforded a smile, realizing his blessing. He looked at her and whispered “I will protect you.”