Chicken Biryani

It was almost sunset when he stepped out of the university gate. The time, when the sun, as a last gift before goodbye, turns the sky the color of honey and everyone, after a long hard day is ready to go home. So was he. He had planned to leave the university early but one thing after the other had come up and he found himself at the bus stop only fifteen minutes before the university gates would officially close. The almost deserted main road was an evidence of the fact that the political tension in the area was gradually rising as more people came to know about the terrible event of last night. The scarcity of public buses had compelled most of the students to stay home & only a few who lived nearby had been able to get to the university. Most of them had also preferred to stay home considering the riots that were expected.

A political leader or two had been killed. He did not know who and did not even care. It had become a custom now and like all other people, he had learnt to live with the sudden strikes, unexpected outbreaks of violence and abrupt transport closure. His mother had begged him not to go that day but he had paid no heed. After all, mothers always worry over trivial things. If he stopped going to university at her every request, his attendance percentage would be reduced to such an extent that he would have to repeat the entire year altogether. Thinking about his mother brought to his mind the thought of his favorite Chicken Biryani that his mother had promised to cook for him that day.


Fifteen minutes had passed since his arrival at the bus stop and not a single public bus had gone by. A car or two had zoomed pass him at such high speeds that he had been unable to even catch a glimpse of the drivers. It always happened in such situations. People, eager to reach the safety of their homes, put their feet a little harder on the accelerators. A little fear crept into his heart. What if he could not get a bus home? He could spend the entire night at the bus stop but his mother would go berserk. He had a cell phone but he couldn`t call home because the phone line in his home had been dead for months. His mother hadn’t gotten a cell of her own since she could never figure out how to operate one. The thought of his mother waiting with the delicious Biryani made him wish he could fly home.

At last he spotted a bus on the nearly empty road. The huge multicolored thing thankfully slowed down as it neared him. The conductor, in stereotypical fashion, was leaning out the door with one foot resting on the steps of the vehicle & the other suspended in mid air. He asked the half dangling individual whether the bus would pass through NIPA roundabout. The conductor turned his head, and banged his hand on the steel door, an indication for the bus driver to move on. The bus was gone in no time, with the conductor shouting & cursing something in an incomprehensible accent about the trouble in the city.

The hurried attitude of the conductor increased his dread a little but soon he spotted another bus coming his way. It was packed with people, all anxious to reach their destinations before the situation got worse. As it stopped, he somehow managed to get a foot hold between the feet of two people standing on the steps and the bus moved. His mother had always instructed him not to ride standing on steps but this time he had no choice. The sky was getting darker and waiting for another bus would have wasted more time and a part of him believed that there would not be another bus now, at least not until morning. With the thought of his mother he remembered the delicious Biryani at home and his stomach lurched a little.

Almost halfway to his house, the bus came to a halt. A lot of buses stood there, vacant, the passengers forced to stand outside. There was some trouble up ahead and no driver was willing to go any further. He stepped out along with the other passengers, many of whom had started cursing the driver for bringing them to the middle of nowhere. Unhappy passengers started dialing numbers on their cell phones to inform their loved ones of their whereabouts and this latest delay in their travels. It seemed the entire city had been pushed to a state of standstill. He just stood there, confused and now totally scared. His house was just two kilometers from here. He decided to take the risk and started moving on foot.

He was now able to asses the situation more carefully. Everything was shut, without a single soul in sight. The American fast food restaurant usually bustling with people was closed, its shutters down and foreboding. The hawkers who usually stood by the roadside with their portable carts loaded with all sorts of fruits and vegetables were nowhere. The moustached man selling “Water Pump ka Mashoor Tarbooz ka sharbat”, & the young boy of “Hasan Bun Kabab” were nowhere, their makeshift wooden shops closed & pad locked. Even “Geo Pan shop” which was always surrounded by people longing for a pack of cigarettes or a quick pan was closed. Their absence made the road look abnormally wide.

After twenty minutes of continuous walking he heard the rumble of an engine behind him. It was a jam packed bus which stopped for him for a second or so and then zoomed again with him hanging on the steps for the second time that day. This bus was an answer to his prayers since with each passing moment his fear was getting stronger and stronger. The tense and pale faces of the people sharing the bus with him did not help either. They passed a still and soundless town. Banks, schools, grocery stores, everything stood closed and silent.

The bus kept moving and finally stopped at the NIPA roundabout. A few rangers stood here who stopped the bus and ordered the driver to turn back. While the driver stood arguing with the ranger, he dropped off the steps, onto the ground. Turning left, he moved towards his house which was not very far from this point. He passed the very familiar landmarks. The nearby clinic ran by a local doctor where his mother usually came to get her blood pressure checked, the small video shop dealing in the latest CDs and DVDs, the grocery store where his mother generally sent him to bring a thing or two, the bakery, the medical store, the barber. Every door stood closed and every shutter was down but nothing seemed that threatening any more because he knew his house was only a short distance from here where his wonderful mother was waiting for him with his favorite Biryani. He would have a cup of tea after the delicious meal and start studying for the viva tomorrow or perhaps watch that new movie his friend had given him.


The air was still deadly silent, the evening quiet but close to his home he knew everything was going to be all right. The main gate of his bungalow at the end of the alley had come into complete view now. He knew that his worried mother was waiting inside ready with the spicy sizzling Biryani. No doubt, she would be angry & scold him first for leaving the house on such a day but eventually she will calm down & thank Allah for safely bringing him home. Following his mother, he also thanked Allah for letting him come home safely.

All of a sudden the ominous silence was broken by the deafening sound of a gunshot. It pierced through the still air causing the birds resting in a nearby tree to take flight. The flapping of their wings added to the commotion & several dogs in the neighborhood barked at this sudden disturbance. Then as suddenly as it had happened everything was wrapped in silence once again. The dismal, gloomy silence that spoke of unseen horrors hidden in its depth. He lay there, sprawled at an odd angle in a pool of blood, his bag beside him and the Biryani inside getting cold.