The Wind Before The Storm
948 Words
Chapter 4 – The Wind Before the Storm
Noorpur, Punjab
April, 1947
The morning did not begin with sunshine.
Dark clouds covered the sky, hiding the golden sun behind thick curtains of grey. A restless wind swept through the mustard fields, bending the flowers as though they were whispering secrets to one another.
Rain was coming.
Even before the first drop had fallen, everyone in Noorpur could feel it.
The village woke as it always had. Farmers prepared their bullock carts, women lit clay stoves, and children rubbed sleep from their eyes before getting ready for school.
But something was different.
The laughter that usually filled the streets had grown quieter.
Everywhere people stood in small groups, speaking in low voices.
The traveler who had arrived the previous evening had become the only topic anyone wished to discuss.
"They say he came from a town near Lahore."
"He claimed people were leaving their homes."
"I don't believe such stories."
"They're only rumours."
"Perhaps."
"But what if they aren't?"
An old farmer leaned on his wooden stick and shook his head.
"We've lived together for generations. No rumour can change that."
Most of the villagers agreed.
Work had to continue.
Children still had school.
Life, for now, went on.
Joravar tightened the strap of his school bag before stepping outside.
His father sat on the charpai, staring at the cloudy sky instead of reading the folded newspaper beside him.
"Looks like rain," Joravar said.
His father nodded.
"It does."
Nothing more.
Usually there would have been another sentence.
A smile.
A joke.
Today…
There was only silence.
At the end of the lane, Afsana was waiting.
"You finally decided to come."
"I almost blamed the weather."
"You blame everything."
For a brief moment they laughed.
Then the silence returned.
They walked together toward school.
Usually they filled the road with endless conversations.
Today…
Only their footsteps could be heard.
After a long while, Afsana spoke.
"Everyone is still talking about that traveler."
Joravar nodded.
"My father too."
"My mother said people are frightened."
He looked across the fields.
"But frightened of what?"
Afsana didn't answer.
Because she didn't know either.
When they reached the school, even the playground felt different.
Children stood in small circles instead of running around.
Some whispered.
Others simply listened.
Inside the classroom, Master Abdul Rahman noticed the unusual silence.
He placed his books on the desk.
But instead of opening them…
He folded his hands behind his back.
"It seems," he said with a gentle smile, "none of you came here to study today."
A few nervous laughs escaped.
Then a small boy raised his hand.
"Master Ji…"
"Yes?"
"My father says the British might divide our country."
Another student quickly asked,
"What does that mean?"
The room became completely silent.
Master Abdul Rahman looked at the children for a long moment before answering.
"There are many rumours these days."
He paused.
"Some people believe India may become two separate countries."
A little girl frowned.
"But why?"
"Because some leaders believe people of different religions should live in different countries."
The children looked at one another, confused.
Then the teacher smiled softly.
"Let me ask you something instead."
He walked slowly across the classroom.
"Who is your best friend?"
Hands immediately shot into the air.
"Karim!"
"Baldev!"
"My cousin!"
"Salim!"
Laughter slowly returned.
The classroom finally sounded like itself again.
Master Abdul Rahman waited until everyone had answered.
Then he asked another question.
His voice was quieter this time.
"Now imagine someone tells you…"
"…that tomorrow you can never speak to your best friend again."
The laughter vanished.
One boy frowned.
"Why would anyone say that?"
Another replied,
"I'd still talk to him."
A little girl shook her head.
"That's silly."
The teacher looked around the room.
"Yes."
"It is."
"Sometimes…"
"…the world asks people to do things that make no sense."
Silence filled the classroom.
Joravar slowly looked toward Afsana.
She was already looking at him.
Neither smiled.
Neither spoke.
For the first time…
The traveller's words no longer felt like just another rumour.
Master Abdul Rahman quietly continued,
"Remember this."
"A country may be divided."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"But kindness… friendship… and humanity should never be."
No one forgot those words.
Not even after the lesson ended.
By afternoon the sky had grown darker.
School ended early before the rain became too heavy.
Joravar and Afsana walked home together.
Neither hurried.
The wind pushed against them as they reached the old banyan tree.
The carved initials—
J and A
—were still there.
Untouched.
Afsana gently traced the letters with her fingers.
"What if they're right?"
Joravar looked at her.
"What if people really make two countries?"
For the first time…
He didn't answer immediately.
The question was too big.
Too strange.
Finally he smiled.
"I don't believe rumours."
"What if everyone tells us we can't be friends anymore?"
He stepped closer to the tree.
"They can say whatever they want."
He rested his hand beside the carved initials.
"We didn't become friends because someone told us to."
Afsana smiled faintly.
"So…"
"We stay friends?"
Joravar nodded.
"No matter what happens."
She held out her hand.
He shook it firmly.
Not as another promise.
As a choice.
The first raindrop landed on the dusty ground.
Then another.
Within seconds, the skies opened.
Laughing despite everything, they ran through the rain toward Noorpur, trying to outrun the storm.
Behind them, the old banyan tree stood firm against the wind.
Its branches swayed.
Its roots held strong.
And the two tiny letters carved into its bark remained untouched.
Just like the friendship they had chosen to protect.
For now.
- Writer
