The Apple Picker's Son

Afaaq is a 12-year-old boy living on the outskirts of a town called Sujanpur-Tila in Himachal Pradesh with his parents. His father is a daily-wage worker, who migrated here with his family in search of work. On the side of a hill with no neighbors in sight, they live in a rough brick hut with a thin tin roof that rattles with the gentlest breeze. Outside their home grows a single apple tree that’s currently blooming with young fruit.

The first time we see Afaaq, he’s studying a text book while lying on his back in a grassy field near his house. While underlining a sentence he drops his pencil and it rolls downhill. Afaaq looks over his shoulder and hears his mother washing clothes behind the hut. Knowing he’s alone, he reaches out towards the pencil and it slowly rolls back uphill and floats into his hand.

Afaaq continues studying till he hears his father’s familiar cough in the distance coming up the dirt road. Afaaq’s father, Mahmood, is lean and short and weathered with more wrinkles on his forehead than a man in his 40’s ought to have. Afaaq watches his father walk up the path to his house. Mahmood stops and looks at Afaaq. Afaaq looks away and goes back to studying. Mahmood checks the apples hanging off the low branches, counting them in his fingers. He enters the house and coughs again as if to let his wife, Nahla, know that he’s home.

At dinner, Afaaq watches his parents discuss their financial situation. Mahmood is a migrant farm worker who is currently working on a tobacco field nearby where he’s being paid a meagre daily wage. He is waiting for the apple harvesting season to begin, at which time he will journey to Kashmir for several months and be able to earn more money. When Nahla asks him when that will be, Mahmood replies, “I will start preparing soon. When the first apple from our tree drops, I will depart.” Afaaq looks up from his plate to glance at the young tree outside the window, its leaves rustling softly in the dark.

A few days later, Afaaq is helping his mother put up the laundry on a wire tied between the tree and a bamboo pole. Mahmood returns home looking particularly troubled and demands some tea. Nahla follows him inside and starts preparing tea while Afaaq continues wringing & hanging up clothes. He listens to his father tell Nahla about some news that had spread amongst the other farm workers: four migrant workers had been killed by Lashkar-e-Taiba militants, and the Indian Army was waging several skirmishes in retaliation. Civil protests had broken out in the Kashmir Valley and none of Mahmood’s colleagues wanted to migrate there this year. Listening to all this, Afaaq looks up at the apples hanging above him, the red pigment creeping across the surface of every fruit.

Over the next few days, the tension between Afaaq’s parents grows considerably. Nahla doesn’t want Mahmood to go to Kashmir but this is the only sufficient source of income he can find. Whenever he gets a chance, Afaaq runs away to the surrounding forest to be alone. There, he makes a pile of rocks and tries to use his powers to lift them. After many attempts, each one more straining on his body than the next, Afaaq is able to make a small stone hover a few feet in the air.

Afaaq is reading a textbook one evening when he hears a soft thud beside him. He looks over and sees a single ripe apple lying in the grass. His heart skips a beat and Afaaq lunges to pick it up. He desperately scours the tree to see which branch it fell off of.

When Mahmood arrives home, he goes over the tree to inspect and count the apples, mumbling to himself with a hint of regret, “Any day now…” He looks over and sees Afaaq staring at him suspiciously. Afaaq keeps his hands to his sides, clenched into fists. When Mahmood turns away to go inside, Afaaq follows him in while keeping his eye on a particular apple that looks like its shivering in its place on the branch.

During dinner and while washing the utensils, Afaaq keeps his right hand in a tight fist. Later at night, Mahmood is smoking a pipe outside the house and calls Afaaq to his side. Mahmood tells his son that he’s decided to go to Kashmir. Afaaq tries to concentrate on his father as well as holding up the apple. Mahmood tells his son about the story of his ancestors: they were once nomadic shepherds of the Gujjar tribe, and knew the northern lands of India like the back of their hand. At night, they would sit around a fire and listen to the elders sing Gojri folk songs. Mahmood tries to sing but has a coughing fit and leads Afaaq to bed, humming the tune as they walk inside. As the lights inside slowly fade, the apple floats down and rests on the grass below.

The next day, Afaaq wakes up earlier than anyone and goes outside to find the apple but what he finds instead are two more apples that must have dropped in the middle of the night. Afaaq hears his parents waking up and he panics. With all his strength, Afaaq raises the apples and keeps them there when his mother calls him to help make breakfast. While Mahmood washes up behind the house, Nahla talks to her son, trying to cheer him up, “What would you like for lunch? Shall I go to the market and pick up some peanuts?” Afaaq can hardly reply, sweat forming on his brow as his fingernails bite into the palm of his shaking fist. Nahla becomes concerned and when she touches Afaaq’s forehead she realises he has a terrible fever.

Nahla yells for Mahmood’s attention and he rushes in, wiping his face with a towel. He sends Nahla off to the market to find a doctor. When she leaves, Mahmood takes care of his son and tucks him into bed. He sees Afaaq’s hand in a fist and asks him what he’s holding but Afaaq refuses to open his fist. Worried, Mahmood pries his son’s hand open but finds it empty. Outside, the apples fall to the ground. Afaaq quickly closes his fist again and clutches it with his other hand, pulling it towards his chest and rolling over to face away from his father. Mahmood doesn’t know what to do, so he reaches out his hands and softly massages his son’s back and shoulders.

Nahla returns to find Mahmood helping Afaaq vomit in a bucket, and she cries that the whole village is under military curfew and none of the clinics or pharmacies were open, but she managed to beg an old friend for some Paracetamol. Afaaq silently refuses to take the medication and his parents have to physically force it down his throat, apologizing profusely while doing so. Afaaq’s mother climbs into the bed and embraces him from behind, resting his head on her chest. Mahmood goes to shut the window but Afaaq protests, his eyes fixed on the tree. Mahmood quietly sits beside the bed and massages Afaaq’s legs. Both parents see Afaaq clenching his fist against his heart and look at each other helplessly.

A purple cloud lets us know that the sun is setting behind the mountains, somewhere far away. Nahla & Mahmood are still tending to their son. They try to get him to sleep, but despite him shivering from fever and pain, Afaaq stays alert. Mahmood becomes pensive and speaks his mind softly, “Son, are you worried?” Afaaq can’t speak, but he slowly moves his eyes from the tree to his father. Mahmood continues, “Do you not want me to leave? I won’t go if you say so…”

Afaaq lifts his head slightly and struggles to utter, “Liar.”

A heaviness sets in Mahmood’s heart, and he lowers his head. A silence comes over their battered home, accented by the lonely rustling of leaves. After a pause, Nahla starts singing an old Gujjar folk song. It is usually sung during weddings and is about a couple teasing each other over their lifetime together. Nahla sings the first verse and Mahmood the next, they alternate till the last verse which is sung together.

Kothe te aa mahiya, (Come to the terrace, would you? My beloved,)
Milna taa mil aake, (If you wish to meet, that is?)
Nai to khasmaa nu kha mahiya. (If you don't then you can go to hell.)

Ke leyna hai mitra to, (I would be happier seeing you than my friends,)
Milne to aa jawa, (But there is a problem,)
Daar lagta hai chiitra to. (I am afraid, if caught, I would be thrashed. So, I won’t.)

Tussi kaale kaale ho, (Why are you so restless?)
Kuch tee sharam karo, (Have some shame,)
Dhiya putra wale ho. (You have daughters and sons.)

Aye sare dand paye kade ne, (All of my teeth have fallen now,)
Assi taanu chunge lagde, (You still do like me, don’t you?)
Te sade dhiya put wadhde ne. (Even when our kids disturb you so?)

Ithe pyaar di puch koi na, (Huh! There isn’t much hope for love here,)
Tere nail nayui boolna, (Go! I won’t talk to you,)
Tere muh te much koi na. (You don’t even have a moustache!)

Maja pyaar da chak langa, (Even I would like to taste a little love,)
Je tera hukm hoye, (So if you’d command me,)
Meh to dadi wi rakh langa. (I would even keep a beard.)

Bage vich aaya kaaro, (Would you come to the garden, please?)
Jado asii so jaiye, (And when I fall asleep,)
Tussi makhiya udaya karo. (Would you mind keeping the flies away?)

Tussi rooj nahaya kaaro, (Then you should take a bath daily,)
Makhiya to darde ho, (And if you are still scared by flies,)
Gud thoda khaya karo. (You should eat a little less jaggery.)

Eet pyaar di pawage, (And now that we have found one another,)
Hum asi mil gaye ha, (We will live happily together,)
Geet pyaar de gawa ge. (And sing songs of love for one another.)

(Only Mahmood) Hum roz nahavange. (We will take a bath together daily.)

Afaaq listens to his parents sing this playful folk song together and he feels safe in their arms. As the song continues, his fist begins to open as he slowly loses the strength to stay awake. Outside, the three apples slowly float down to the ground. Afaaq closes his eyes and falls asleep. Nahla opens his fist and sees blood where his fingernails had sunk into the soft skin of his palms. Mahmood looks over and shakes his head, “My son, my son…”

When Afaaq opens his eyes, he sees his mother sitting turned away towards the fire and his father is not in the house. Afaaq sits up in a fright but at that moment his mother turns around and offers him a plate of freshly sliced apples. Afaaq’s shoulders fall to his chest and he quietly accepts the fruit. As he takes a bite of the apple, Nahla tells him that his father is smoking a pipe outside.

Afaaq walks outside and offers some fruit to his father. Mahmood runs his hand over Afaaq’s hair and gently pats his back, “Are you feeling better, son?” Afaaq nods his head shyly. Mahmood takes a puff of his pipe and speaks, “I don’t want your father to be liar. If you command me to stay, I’ll stay.”

Afaaq looks down and shakes his head. Mahmood takes a slice of apple and offers it to Afaaq.

In the evening, Mahmood stands at the door and kisses Afaaq on the head. He embraces Nahla tightly, then lifts his bags over his shoulders and leaves. He walks past the apple tree, down the grassy path that meets the road to the village. Afaaq and his mother stand at the door to watch him leave. When Mahmood reaches the bottom of the hill, Afaaq slowly raises his hand towards his father, and the back of Mahmood’s kurta lifts up as if being held tightly.

Mahmood stops and turns back to smile at Afaaq.

Afaaq opens his fist and raises it to wave goodbye to his father.

END.

[Note: You may listen to the song being performed here.]