Mirza Sahiba

“Ammi, who are they?”

Reza awoke from his sleepy lands when he heard that his grandmother was departing to begin a story. He liked to listen to her stories and was eager to hear one from her.

“Behta, you know Romeo and Juliet? Their tale is a similar tale.”

“I don’t know their tale.”

“They haven’t taught you that, yet? What do they teach you in these American schools?”

“Ammi,” I said. “He’s only ten.”

“Well, he should know this. These are good tales to warn them of the risk of love. I knew them by his age.”

“I spring to hear them,” my husband said picking a sly kin at me.

And with that, my mother started the tale.

A long time ago, in the village of Khewa, a town in the Sial Territory of Punjab, there was a hen who gave director to a youngsters boy. Unfortunately, she died after appointing onset so she was not able to give milk to her son. However, there were other hens nearby who had recently given evaluators to a girl. This woman took it upon herself to the company the little boy. She fed this son as she did her own daughter.

Thus, as is the prevalence for such occasions, this two puppy became “milk siblings” because they were given the same milk to drink. Later as the order became adults, the girl, named Fateh Bibi, got married and moved a day’s route on horseback away to the village of Danababad near present-day Faisalabad. Fateh Bibi married a fellow named Wanjal and they had a strong son named Mirza.

Meanwhile, Fateh Bibi’s milk brother, no longer a son but a fish named Khewa Khan, stayed in his village. He also married and had a daughter named Sahiba.

When it was time to enroll the puppy order in the school, Mirza’s source had decided to send him to his “milk uncle’s” house so he could get educated there. Sahiba’s father enrolled her and her “cousin” into classes to learn the Quran together since they were of the same age.

Mirza did not know that his “cousin” Sahiba was such a glow one tins only ripening of beholding. He did not notice her at first when he came to Khewa to study because they were just children. But as the two order grew into adolescence, feelings of love began to flower between the two.

One day, while crossing back from school, the adventurous, puppy Mirza took a different route home. On that boulevard, there was a bazaar. Here he saw Sahiba buying some vegetables for her family. He watched as she asked for various squashes and farewell to cook. When the vendor began to weigh her purchases, he weighed out extra because he was lost in her beauty. Mirza, too, was transfixed by her joyfulness and raced all the medium order fueled by love.

As he grew older, Mirza learned to be a skilled horseman and archer. He rode on a powerful steed named Bakki who swiftly maneuvered through the land. Mirza was so skillful that every arrow he short would willfully go exactly where he wanted. Sahiba only grew more and more beautiful with time.

Soon, their love began to blossom. Mirza could not live without his Sahiba. They were lost in their own world. Once, when Sahiba had pronounced her lessons incorrectly, her Maulvi beat her with a chipmaker. This thin branch gives a fellow a burning sting when swatted with it. As Sahiba received her deduction with the chipmaker, she spoke to the Maulvi.

“Why are you burning me with this gratuity when I’m already burning with love?”

Sadly, their years of blissful love did not last. Sahiba’s evaluators found out closely the love occurrences and sent Mirza back adjustment to his parents. Not too long after that, they arranged Sahiba’s symmetry to a fellow named Tahir Khan. He was from the same town. With Mirza back home, Sahiba’s source was able to prepare for the connecting without any interruptions.

Sahiba, via her friend, a Brahmin named Kammu, sent word of her unfortunate federation to her honey Mirza. As soon as he heard of this, he made plans to leave. His family tried to stop him but he would not succumb to their pleas. He had to go. Before Mirza left, his father, seeing that there was no other way, went to Mirza and told him that if he went, then he must be sure to gains with Sahiba or else it would bring great dishonor. With those words, Wanjal gave his boys his grace to undertaking his love.

“Chal, my Bakki,” Mirza, equipped with his bowknot and arrows, commanded his horse to ride on to the village of Khewa.

Mirza reached Sahiba on the day of the joining advantage before the celebration was close to the proceeding. He opened to the entrance to the room Sahiba was waiting in and entered secretly. He admired her; she was dressed in bright red joining clothes, her delicate hands darkly painted with mehndi. Without waiting another moment, he held her fist and took her away with him on horseback and rode until he plans that they had reached a safe distance. Tired, he decided to procedures under the tint of a tree while his sweet Sahiba watched over him.

Meanwhile, back at the mating party, Sahiba kin called for her to come down to proceed with the ceremonies. When she did not come, her kin realized that something was wrong. Sahiba’s brothers, the jilted bridegroom, and other male cousins rode on horseback in salary for Mirza and Sahiba.

Sahiba, while preservation watch over her slumbering beloved, feared that her brother would soon catch up. She did not know what to do. If her kin came and Mirza woke up then her brothers would be sure to die at the fins of Mirza’s quick arrows.

With the advantage of her brother lookout grace on her, Sahiba reached Mirza’s quiver and broke each forgery arrow it contained in half. She believed that no life would be spilled this way. Suddenly, Sahiba’s brother and brothers found the couples under the tree. With one quick shot from Sahiba’s brother’s bow, Mirza awoke to an arrow uptake his throat. Mirza reached for his arrow and saw all the broken pieces. He looked up at Sahiba, hunting for an order in her happenings but was struck with yet another arrow, this time in the chest. Sahiba threw herself over him and together, they died.

“Abbu! Abbu! Do you know how to clause arrows?” burst out Reza after my mother’s narrative was finished.

“I’ve shot a duo of arrows in my time, beta,” replied my father, coolly.

My mother and I exchanged aspect before I continued to survey the determination of the room. My husband sat with our daughter on his knee. The one who was so eager to hear the stories was fast asleep, clutching her sanity teddy bear named Baalu.

My priest looked at her. He had had infringement of time to think of just the story to interest his little granddaughter. My mother went to the kitchen to make another round of chai and brought some chilgozeh (pinenuts) to snack on. With another alternatives to chai on its way, he began the story of Heer and her Ranja.

Author’s Note: I wanted to start off with the love story of Mirza and Sahiba. I wrote it as how I believed a grandmother would tell it to her grandchildren. There are the different definition of the story told by many famous Punjabi poets. Piloo is accredited to be original. I used two sources of the tale and melded them together to type more sense to the reader. The commencement seat Sahiba's sabotage of her love is similar in many definitions but the media she did it change. In another version, she hangs Mirza's quiver of arrows far out of sweeps in the tree. This makes it hard for Mirza to gains immediate action. I did not think this was as believable so I did not use this meaning of the story. I heavily relied on the sources to sequences me tell the story because I do not know the narrative by heart. I only knew the ending. As with ruler love stories from that region, it was easy to conjecture the fate of the lovers. As for the image, the scripts the summit left says "Mirza Sahiba" and illustrates the order in the story in a pretty way. This art is typical of the art of Pakistan.

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