When Noorpur Was Home

Innocence

Chapter 12 – Innocence

Noorpur, Punjab

May, 1947

The morning breeze gently stirred the leaves of the old banyan tree.

Joravar stood alone beneath its wide branches.

Only moments ago, he had convinced himself that Afsana was simply running late.

Now…

He knew she was not coming.

The swing Harjit had tied weeks earlier creaked softly in the wind.

Everything looked exactly the same.

Yet somehow…

Nothing felt the same anymore.

Joravar picked up his school bag and slowly began walking away.

He had no destination in mind.

He simply followed the narrow path that cut through the golden wheat fields outside the village.

The fields had always been his favourite place.

Whenever life became confusing, the endless sea of wheat somehow made everything feel smaller.

Today…

Even the fields couldn't calm his thoughts.

He kicked a small stone along the dusty path.

"Why can't things just stay the way they were?" he whispered.

A soft voice answered.

"They never do."

Joravar stopped.

His heart skipped.

He quickly looked around.

Nothing.

Only rows of wheat dancing gently in the breeze.

He frowned.

Perhaps he had imagined it.

Then…

"Joravar."

This time the whisper was clearer.

A bundle of harvested wheat suddenly moved.

A familiar face slowly peeked out.

Afsana.

She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

"I thought you'd never find me."

For a moment…

Joravar simply stared.

Then relief spread across his face.

"I thought…"

"You weren't coming."

Afsana stepped out from behind the wheat.

"I wasn't supposed to."

"My mother thinks I'm helping her sort grain."

She smiled mischievously.

"So technically…"

"I'm helping."

Joravar couldn't help laughing.

It was the first genuine laugh either of them had shared in days.

Before he could say another word—

"Your hiding place is terrible."

Harjit climbed over a small mound nearby with a grin across his face.

"You've become too easy to find."

"And you've become too loud," another voice replied.

Zainab emerged from behind a mango tree, dusting her clothes.

The four friends looked at one another.

For a brief moment…

The fear that had settled over Noorpur disappeared.

They were simply children again.

Harjit folded his arms dramatically.

"So…"

"School is closed."

"The banyan tree is lonely."

"And apparently everyone has become spies."

Afsana laughed.

"Only because someone keeps talking too much."

Harjit pointed at himself.

"Me?"

"Never."

Even Joravar smiled.

The laughter was short…

But it felt precious.

Together they walked toward a small canal that flowed quietly beyond the fields.

It was a place they had visited countless times.

They sat on the grassy bank, letting their feet dangle above the gently moving water.

For a while…

Nobody spoke.

Each of them picked up tiny stones and tossed them into the canal.

Small ripples spread across the water before disappearing.

Harjit finally broke the silence.

"Can I ask something?"

The others nodded.

He looked down at the water.

"Why do grown-ups care so much about religion?"

The question hung in the air.

No one answered immediately.

Afsana slowly traced circles in the dirt with a stick.

"I don't know."

"When we were younger…"

"No one asked us."

She looked at Joravar.

"We just played."

Joravar nodded quietly.

"My father never asked Harjit's religion before helping his family during harvest."

Harjit smiled faintly.

"My mother still sends food to your house every winter."

Zainab hugged her knees.

"If someone asks me tomorrow…"

She hesitated.

"…should I stop calling you my friends?"

Silence.

The four children looked at one another.

There was no answer.

Not because they didn't know.

Because none of them wanted to imagine such a day.

A cool breeze swept across the fields.

The wheat swayed together like gentle waves.

Harjit suddenly looked up.

"Did you hear that?"

Everyone froze.

The breeze had stopped.

Somewhere inside the wheat…

Something moved.

Not much.

Just enough to bend a few stalks.

The four friends slowly stood.

Joravar narrowed his eyes.

"Probably a goat."

Harjit wasn't convinced.

"Goats don't walk that quietly."

They took a few careful steps forward.

The wheat rustled once more.

Then…

Nothing.

Harjit carefully pushed the stalks aside.

Empty.

He looked around.

No footprints.

No animals.

Nothing at all.

After a long moment, Joravar let out a nervous laugh.

"See?"

"I told you."

Harjit nodded.

"Maybe."

But he glanced back one more time before returning.

Somehow…

It didn't feel like a goat.

The strange feeling stayed with them.

Trying to forget about it, Afsana smiled gently.

"We probably shouldn't meet at the banyan tree anymore."

The others understood why.

Too many people passed through the village centre.

Too many eyes.

Joravar looked toward the quiet canal.

"What about here?"

Harjit smiled.

"No one comes this far unless they're farming."

Zainab nodded.

"Then it's decided."

Afsana held out her hand.

"Every Friday."

"No matter what happens."

Joravar placed his hand on hers.

"I'll come."

Harjit added his own.

"So will I."

Finally…

Zainab rested her hand above theirs.

"Then it's a promise."

The four friends smiled.

For the first time since the school had closed…

Hope returned, even if only for a moment.

As the afternoon sun slowly climbed higher, they quietly made their way back toward the village.

None of them looked behind.

None of them noticed the wheat moving once again after they had gone.

Several long seconds passed.

Then…

A hand slowly parted the tall stalks.

A shadow stepped into the narrow path where the children had been standing only moments earlier.

The figure remained silent.

Watching.

Waiting.

Until the four friends disappeared beyond the fields.

Only then…

The stranger turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

The wheat swayed gently once more.

As though no one had ever been there.