If one possesses gold, gems, or corals, it is wise to take precautions so they are never lost. The same holds true for a pearl plucked from its shell. It possesses a unique grace; when strung into a necklace, it becomes a thing of sublime beauty. Its brilliance is astonishing, shimmering like the eyes of a silver fish darting in the light. Yet, if such a treasure slips from one's hand and vanishes back into the vast abyss of the ocean, no amount of human effort can retrieve it. Sobbing, wailing, or crying out in despair will be of no use. In certain moments, the will of the Almighty holds supreme significance, regardless of one's religious faith.
Long ago, during my high school days, I had an overwhelming passion for kittens. It was a time when I yearned to love and be loved deeply. It was also an era when I moved closely among the world of cinema and its stars, feeling no grand pretense in standing beside famous personalities for a photograph.
My true obsession, however, was kittens. I asked every schoolmate I knew if they could arrange a beautiful kitten for my home. None of them had kittens; instead, they all had Alsatian puppies. They all offered me a "cross" for free. Back then, I didn't understand what "cross" meant in that context. Since my father was a Station Master, the only "cross" I knew was a railway level crossing. I used to watch the Gatekeeper come to take the level-crossing key from my father and the Signalman come for the signal key to close the gates and turn the signals green. Whenever the news arrived that a train had reached the previous station, I would watch my father and the entire staff spring into alert.
Later, I realized that the "cross" my friends spoke of was a matter of breeding. Back then, I used to wonder what humans would do—perhaps they would arrange a Pomeranian, a Labrador, a German Shepherd, a Poodle, or a Bulldog from within humans? I would laugh to myself at the thought.
Those friends lived in the Police Quarters behind the I.G. Chandrasekharan Nair Police Stadium in Palayam, a place known as Brigade Lane. But for us, as followers of Islam, raising a dog was out of the question. In those times, it was considered strictly forbidden (Haram). It was believed that if one touched a dog, they had to bathe seven times to be purified. Religious texts reportedly said that angels and blessings would not cross the threshold of a house where a dog resided. So, permission to raise a dog was never granted at home. Moreover, there was another story—now a piece of history—of how I jumped the wall of Malini's house with Nasar to buy a kite for my cousin Zeenath, only to be bitten by a dog on my thigh and leg. That scar remains, both on my body and in my soul.
Eventually, Salma Mami (the wife of my grandmother’s nephew) helped. Her family and ours were very close, through both my father’s and mother’s lineage. The fish curry she made was exceptionally delicious. They also ran a hotel—the famous Salim Hotel in Palayam. Salim has now been the General Secretary of the Palayam Muslim Juma Masjid for fifteen years; today, if the Palayam Mosque intervenes, there is nothing in the capital city that cannot be accomplished.
Back then, Salma Mami and her children lived right behind our house. It felt like one single home. When they heard my voice as I returned from school for lunch, they would immediately bring over their special fish curry. Salma Mami and her daughter Latheefa were very fond of me. They finally found and gave me a charming little kitten. Someone had trained that kitten to chase a crumpled ball of paper with the precision and agility of the legendary footballer I.M. Vijayan.
After a long time, perhaps she grew tired of me, for she jumped away and vanished. I searched everywhere, but she was nowhere to be found. She had been my only playmate after school hours. Salma Mami comforted me, saying that when we grow close to something, we must also have the strength to face the possibility of its loss. I searched every house I knew and scoured the roads. There is a notion some people hold that if cats, dogs, or even humans are of the female gender, they will eventually run away. If we try to argue otherwise, they will silence us with their own life experiences.
Much later, I found two more kittens. A pregnant cat had brought them to my terrace, carrying them in her mouth, and she would nurse them there. Sadly, one died in the wind and rain. As I stood watching the beauty of her nursing the remaining kitten, the mother cat—perhaps unable to bear my constant gaze—picked up her child and ran away to an unknown place. ๐ญ. Palayam Nizar Ahamed Copyrights © All rights reserved. Author:
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