Amaltas

Rameen Ali

Daastan Publishing

First Published in Pakistan by Daastan PVT LTD

House # A-41, Madni Street, Lala Rukh, Wah Cantt, Punjab 47040

www.daastan.com

www.meraqissa.com

Text copyrights © Rameen Ali

Book Design copyright © Bushra Cheema

Illustrations by: Bushra Cheema

Edited by: Mariam Rizvi

The moral rights of the writer, illustrator and editor have been asserted.

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or posting of this book on websites or through any other means is prohibited and considered illegal.

Please note that Amaltas is a purely fictional work. The names, characters, and events portrayed in the novel are entirely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, events, or locations is entirely coincidental."

ISBN 978-969-696-881-8

To unity and courage; who are the catalysts of change.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Call of the Mountains. 1

Chapter 2: New Awakenings. 4

Chapter 3: The Village School 8

Chapter 4: A Rocky Beginning. 16

Chapter 5: The Road Not Taken. 19

Chapter 6: Result of Fortunes. 20

Chapter 7: A  Way Forward. 25

Chapter 8: Facing Adversity. 28

Chapter 9: The Seed of  Change. 36

Chapter 10: Amaltas Blooming. 40

Glossary. 46

Chapter 1

The Call of the Mountains

aliya drew the thick cream-colored curtains, allowing the sunlight to infiltrate through the window, illuminating the living room. She opened the terrace door allowing fresh air to stir, looking at the view of the busy main road. It was a regular Sunday morning in the summer, which meant a late start to the day, accompanied by a desi breakfast of halwa puri and aloo chana. There was a long animated discussion at the dining table, followed by a steaming cup of doodh patti.

However, this Sunday was different as it involved a terrific plan for Amal to spend a few weeks of summer in her maternal grandparent’s village. She had visited them when young with her parents, but to venture alone seemed even more exciting. Her parents had some work to attend to in another city and figured it would be better for Aaliya to connect with her grandparents and have a change of scenery.

Aaliya was a bright and naturally curious child, imaginative and strong-willed, but sometimes she had a difficult time managing her emotions and became impatient. She was tall, with dark brown hair, which was usually mistaken for black, and dark, deep-set eyes. Her hair was almost always tied up in a messy ponytail.

Amal’s father propped the newspaper against the wooden mahogany table while finishing his cup of tea. Her mother began clearing up the table. She wore a light orange printed lawn shalwar kameez, with her hair tucked neatly into a bun. She paused her work to ask her husband if everything was ready. At once, Aaliya rushed into her room to gather the last of her belongings, as her mother had already packed everything she needed.

Aaliya looked around her room lovingly. It was her favorite part of the house; it was her sanctuary. The room was decorated in green, with white velvet curtains and a crown-shaped bed. Her most loved possession was a writing desk. She had a bookshelf filled with her favorite books. She couldn’t help but feel grateful for all she had and whispered Alhamdulillah spontaneously. The excitement of the journey made her overly chirpy and slightly giddy. Aaliya slung her backpack on one arm, dragged a small bag out of the room, switched the lights off, and closed the door.

Taking one last look at her house, Aaliya sighed deeply before settling into the backseat of the car. They began their drive, and Aaliya gazed out the window, watching people entering shops and noticing the bustling roads filled with cars, motorbikes, and rickshaws.

Lahore, the city she lived in, had so much to offer — luxuries and facilities. But as her father often reminded her, “We have a price to pay for every luxury and facility as nothing is free. It involves a lot of hard work and time.” Her father always emphasized giving back to the community and helping others whenever possible.

Gradually, the scenery slowly changed from buildings and marketplaces to fields of colorful flowers and crops, a truly beautiful sight. The traffic thinned out, the road became bumpier, and the shops became more scattered. The journey was long and tiresome, and Aaliya had dozed off in her fluffy cloud of dreams. Once the car halted to a stop, she jolted awake. It was time to meet her grandparents after five long years.

Chapter 2

New Awakenings

aliya woke up to a loud, piercing sound of a rooster; this tumultuous sound made the city’s traffic noises not worth complaining about. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and took in the simple yet tidy room where she was staying.

The furniture was of plain wood, consisting of a cozy bed, a cupboard, and a wooden table with a chair. The navy blue colored curtains, though made of light cotton, failed to keep the sunlight out. After a moment, Aaliya acknowledged where she was and jumped up excitedly from her bed, only to realize that the bathroom was well outside the living area of the house. She grabbed her sanitary bag and rushed outside.

Stepping onto the front porch, Aaliya noticed her surroundings more clearly than the previous night. A medium-sized swing adorned the porch with two square-shaped maroon velvet cushions. Aaliya looked out from the veranda and saw a flight of stairs leading down a narrow road from the house. Children were running around, perhaps on their way to school. Aaliya let out a long yawn, catching the attention of a few curious onlookers. Soon, she was dressed and ready to explore, but her name called drew her attention. A sweet, tantalizing aroma wafted towards her nose, and she headed straight towards the kitchen.

Aaliya and her grandparents sat together for breakfast, savoring some delicious paratha and ghee shakar with fried desi eggs. Her parents had already left for their business trip just after Fajr prayers. After the meal, Aaliya took a leisurely walk around the large house with her grandparents, who smiled as she excitedly pointed out each fruit and vegetable growing in the yard. The view of the green pinecone-laden mountains was a soothing sight making Aaliya feel she had caught a glimpse of heaven.

In one of the corridors, a vase filled with bright yellow, fragrant, flowers was placed near an open window overlooking the mountains. Aaliya couldn’t resist reaching out to touch them and raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“What type of flower is this, Nani?” she asked her grandmother.

Nani smiled softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners, “These, my Jaan, are Amaltas flowers, the golden shower. They mark the change of the seasons, my dear.”

Later in the day, her grandmother encouraged Aaliya to explore the village but reminded her ‘to be very careful and come back straight home, right before Maghrib’. Aaliya eagerly put on her shoes. She wore a lovely deep red colored shalwar kameez with a chiffon dupatta that covered half of her head, a shade that perfectly complemented her skin tone and dark eyes.

Aaliya observed people working diligently in the heat, carrying out their chores as she wandered outside. Women were fetching drinking water from the pump and carrying it back to their homes. Aaliya felt relief that her grandfather had running water in his house, sparing them from fetching it from the nearby watering hole every day. One woman caught a glimpse of Aaliya, and a corner of her lips curled into a smile.