Chapter 4 FREEDOM

"Once you learn and read, you will be forever free." -Frederick Douglass.

The weather was beautiful. An old couple was seen sitting on a big rock in front of his aged home. He was looking at the half-moon and stars above on the roof of heaven.

At once, a romantic mature woman popped up and embraced from behind her smiling old husband. Cheerful aged couple enjoying life!

'How do you feel when I chase after young girls?' The old man asked.

'Oh well, I don't bother my head on that.'

'Oh really?' He looked surprised.

'Of course. Even dogs chase after cars they can't drive!'

The old man turned and looked at his old woman with a wintry smile. He drew her closer into his bosom and kissed her on the forehead.

Early one morning in October 1992, Iqbal ran away from work. He jumped onto the back of a tractor, where many adults and children were already sitting. An hour later, they arrived at a meeting of the Bonded Labour Liberation Front, BLLF.

Iqbal listened with interest when Ehsan talked about the law against debt slavery. The problem in Pakistan was that people don't obey the law, and the police and courts often helped factory owners rather than the waifs of the society.

Ehsan asked Iqbal to tell the other children about his experiences. At first Iqbal didn't dare, but then he stepped up to the podium, took the microphone and poured out his heart. Tears broke out from the empathic souls that were moved by his speech.

To enrich his own purse, Ghullah refused to let Iqbal leave the carpet factory. But Ehsan didn't forget the little boy, and he asked some of his colleagues to find out more and help Iqbal to freedom.

Iqbal was finally freed to go to school. He was very happy to be able to start attending 'Our own school', as the BLLF school for former debt slaves was called.

He told his friends and children in other carpet factories that they don't have to stay with their owners any longer. Faaiz called his mother. He was two years older than his friend, Iqbal. Faaiz knitted his face while talking to Ummuh, his mother.

One could tell by his look that there was something eating her up. Ummuh reserved her full smile - a smile that lit up her wrinkled face.

'Son, what's the matter?' She asked softly.

'Ummuh, I want to go to school.' Faaiz snapped. 'I want to join my friend, Iqbal to school.'

There was a little silence till she said, 'We are poor. You know that.'

'Yes, ummuh.' His little heart pounded against his ribs slightly. His voice was shaky.

'So you won't be getting two square meals like other children.'

'I understand.'

Silence fell again. A longish silence clouded the air. The little boy hung his head to the floor waiting for the mist of silence to clear.

The dream of schooling jumped hurdles except his ill-fate with his master whom had seized him as a collateral to his father's debt. No excuse. And I'm sorry won't be enough to douse the heart of his master.

So the possibility of pursuing his dream was overstretched to cut. Those thoughts drummed on her head.

'What of your work?'

Just let me get there, just let me. An imaginary parchment of his vision was flipped open before his very eyes. For a time he chew cud literally - contemplating the vision he lived in.

The resonance voice of his friend, Iqbal, echoed through the walls of his inner being. He saw light in education. A brilliant future. Aloud he said, 'I like school.'

He said this quietly. His mother understood him.

'All right. You'll join your friend then.'

'Thank you, mother!' He said with air of excitement. Faaiz wanted to say more but he was not used to expressing strong feelings in words. However, his eyes spoke all.

Again his mother understood the message. She was happy too. Her heart had felt like bursting with joy when the thought of her only child would start learning how to write and read. She snuggled him into her arms and softly brushed his curly hairs.

Oh son, you're the only eye I have. You are. You are. Please don't bring shame to me. Even in death, let me not bow in shame or shake head in regret. She said in her thought.

'mother, I promise!' Faaiz said in a whisper. 'I will never bring shame to you. I'll be a doctor to make you proud.'

Then she wondered. Had he been a seer? Or else how could he had divined her unspoken thoughts? Ummuh prayed for him. And she instructed him to uphold his Islamic faith and be closer to Allah.

'Go back to work now.' she said. 'And do not disclose it to anyone. Okay?'

'Nap!' Faaiz nodded.

Slowly, slowly the thick clouds blotted out the stars. And a silver-white half moon hung on the roof of far heaven. When Kharma, his bosom friend who he took as his immediate elder brother, came home at night, Faaiz took him aside.

'Kharma, I shall go to school.'

'School?'

'Yes.'

'Who said so? Has the debt been cleared?'

'Not really. But inshallah, it will.' Faaiz said, looking around to be sure of no shadow of a man in a hide listening.

He proceeded after confirmation. His voice dropped to a whisper. 'Our futures lie in education; not in chains.'

'Really?'

Even if we spend our whole lives as slaves, our debts would still be counting without end. The forth coming children will suffer from our sins as we are suffering from that of our fathers.

So of what use is such existence? Is there any other path to real life. I mean real life that's worth living. Of course not!

Freedom is light and the way. And education is freedom. Debt slavery is an unending suffering. Death. Hell. Do you thirst for freedom or eternal slavery?

'Freedom.' Kharma answered thoughtfully. 'Freedom is life!'

'Good!'

'So what's your plan?'

Faaiz drew closer and whispered something into his right ear. They both nodded and smiled.

'I am glad to hear that. I wish to go along with you.'

'Of course. Why not?' Faaiz said, tapping him on the shoulder. 'We are brothers. Our skins and blood speak in one voice...'

'Thanks!'

'Not at all.Talk it over with your parents. And let me know their response. And be careful of the walls.'

'Alright.'

The message of freedom was secretly passed across to all children serving as debt slaves. And miraculously, the seed sown by little Iqbal grew to a big tree and came to fruit.

The children in the Muridke area started to leave carpet factories in their hundreds and thousands. Iqbal, the leading figure spoke at the meeting. He emphasized on liberation. Education. Futurity. And he always ended his speeches by saying:

"We are...".

And all the children respond: "FREE!"

In marches and meetings, Iqbal and other children protested against the use of bonded labour and demand change.

Black out. The light came in and flashed a perfect scenery of pupils learning in the classroom.

While the teaching was going on, a woman walked in with her son. They both drew eyes and attention. The woman approached the teacher to lodge her complaints.

'Please help me talk to my son.' the mother implored. 'He doesn't read and he dreams of becoming a doctor."

The Teacher looked at me with a beguiling smile and said; "Al-Baatin, I will tell you a beautiful story, and you will tell me what did you gain from it, okay?

'All right!'

Abdul-Akeem found himself in a cruel prison, a jail where he wasn't given enough food for four years. With hunger in his stomach and mind, he prayed for his salvation.

Just as a miracle; the jailer brought him a long loaf of bread as a relief for the four years torture and accidentally the key to the jail fell off him without knowing.

The sight took him by surprise yet he was in a dilemma of which one to take.

As he was taking the bread, the jailer came and take the fallen key, leaving the prisoner in the jail for another term with just a loaf of bread.

After the teacher had spoken in parable, she asked the boy for a moral lesson from the story. The boy answered beautifully.

'Education is like the lost key.' The teacher said. 'Pleasures is the bread. The bread would definitely be eaten and be no more. But the key is freedom. Freedom is till eternity. Make your choice wisely, boy!'