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Peer e Kamil is the name of a very popular Urdu Novel by Umaira Ahmad. It was published in the last decade. Its second part is also about to go public. Peer e Kamil novel PDf download is a very valuable and amazing Urdu Novel Pir -e-Kamil pdf read online download complete novel peer e Kamil pdf. Peer-e-Kamil was my second Urdu novel and first by Umaira Ahmed. Being one of the most popular Urdu novels to be ever written, Peer-e-Kamil is a journey.
Its my lifes dearest desire: I can sacrifice everything for it. This has been my lifelong dream, and how can one just ignore or forget ones dreams? Imama shook her head decisively as she picked another peanut off her palm and nibbled on it.
Nothing is impossible in lifeanything can happen at any time. Suppose your wish does not come true, how would you react? Imama fell into thought again. To begin with, Ill weep a lota great dealfor many daysand then Ill die. Javeria burst out laughing. You just said you wanted a very long life, and now you want to die. Whats the point of living then? All my plans are built around my career in medicine and if that is not to be a part of my life, then what remains?
So you mean this one dream of your life will wipe out all other dreams? Yes, think of it that way. Your most important desire is to be a doctor, not to live long? You could say so. Very wellso, if you cant become a doctor, then how would you. Would you choose: A natural death of course. I cant kill myself, Imama replied casually. And if you do not die naturally, then what? I mean, if you do not die soon, despite not being a doctor, you would go on living.
I know that Ill die very soon if I cant be a doctor. I will be so heart-broken that I will not survive, she replied decisively. It is difficult to believe that a cheerful person like you can be so despairing as to cry yourself to death. And that too just because you were unable to pursue a medical career. Sounds funny, mocked Javeria.
Stop talking about me. Tell me about yourself. What is your hearts greatest desire? Imama changed the subject. Let it go Why let it go? Come on tell me You will be offended if I say it. Javeria spoke hesitatingly. Imama turned around in surprise to look at her.
Why would I be offended? Javeria was quiet. What is it that I will mind? Imama repeated her question. You will Javeria murmured. Why should your lifes greatest wish so affect my life that I would get upset?
Imama was quite irritated. Is it your wish that I not become a doctor? Imama seemed to suddenly remember. Oh, no! There is more to life than being a doctor, she stated philosophically. Stop talking in riddles and answer me, Imama said firmly. I promise I will not mind anything you say.
She held out her hand in a gesture of peace. Regardless of your promise you are going to be very angry when you hear what I have to say. Lets talk of something else, Javeria replied. All rightlet me guess. Your decision is linked to something of great value to me, right? Javeria nodded her head. The question is: But unless I know the nature of your wish, I cannot come to a conclusion.
Javeria, tell me please. The suspense is too much for me, she pleaded. Javeria was lost in thought. Imama studied her face. Javeria looked up at her after a while. Other than my career, there is only one thing I value most in my life,. Imama addressed her, and if you want to say something in that context, then say so. I wont mind. Imama was serious. Javeria was taken aback.
Imama was looking at the ring on her hand. A smile crossed Javerias face. My lifes dearest wish is that you. Javeria revealed her thoughts. Imamas face went white with shock. Javeria could not guess the impact her words had on Imama, but the expression on her face showed that the reaction was much more intense than she had expected. I did tell you that you would be offended, Javeria tried to redeem the situation, but Imama stared back without a word.
Moiz was howling with pain, doubled up and holding on to his stomach. The twelve-year-old boy facing him wiped the blood off his nose on the sleeve of his torn shirt, and swung the tennis racquet in his hand to hit Moiz on the leg. Moiz let out another scream and straightened up. With disbelief he looked at his brotheryounger by two yearswho was hitting him with the same racquet that Moiz had brought there. This was the third time they had fought this week, and every time it was his younger brother who started the fight.
He and Moiz had never had a good relationship and had fought since childhood. But their quarrels had been mostly verbal and included threats, but of late they had become physical. This is what happened today. They had come back from school together. When they got down from the car, the younger brother roughly dragged his bag out of the boot as Moiz was picking up his school bag. In the process, he bruised Moizs hand, making him wince with pain.
Have you gone blind? Moiz cried out as his brother walked off nonchalantly. He heard Moiz, turned round, looked at him, then opened the front door, and walked into the lounge. Incensed, Moiz followed on his heels. The next time you do anything like that Ill break your hand! Moiz shouted.
The younger boy took his bag off his shoulder, put it down, and with hands on his hips, defiantly faced Moiz. I willso what will you do? Break my hand? Have you the guts? Youll find out if you repeat what you did today.
Moiz headed toward. But his brother stopped him, grabbing his bag with all his strength. Notell me now. He flung Moizs bag down. Flushed with anger, Moiz picked up his brothers bag and hurled it away. Without a pause, his brother landed a sharp blow on Moizs leg. Moiz lunged at him, punching his face, and his nose began to bleed. Despite that, there was no sound from the younger boy. He grabbed Moizs tie and tried to choke him. Moiz retaliated by grabbing his collarthere was a tearing sound as the shirt ripped.
With all his force, Moiz hit his brother on his midriff so as to make him lose his grip on him. Now I'll show you! Ill break your hand! Shouting and abusing, Moiz picked up the tennis racquet that was lying in corner of the lounge.
The next thing he knew was that the racquet was in his brothers hand and was swung with such force that Moiz could not save himself. Blows rained down on him, on his back and legs. Their older brother came into the lounge in a fit of rage. What is your problem? You create an upheaval as soon as you get home! At the sound of his voice, the younger brother first lowered and then raised the racquet again.
And youarent you ashamed of yourself for raising your hand at your older brother? The eldest brother looked at the hand holding the racquet. No, he retorted without any remorse. He threw the racquet down, picked up his bag and walked away. You will have to pay for this, Moiz called out after him, rubbing his sore leg. Sure, why not! He gave Moiz a weird smile. Get a bat the next time.
It was no fun hitting you with a tennis racquetno bones are broken. Check out your noseits broken for sure. Furious, Moiz looked towards the staircase where his brother had been standing just a while ago. For the fourth time, Mrs. Samantha Richards stared at the boy sitting on the first chair in the second row by the window. With complete disregard for the class, he was busy staring out of the window. From time to time he would look at Mrs. Richards, and then turn back to the view from the window.
This was her first day as biology teacher at one of the international schools in Islamabad. She was a diplomats wife and a teacher by. They had recently arrived in Islamabad. At all her husbands postings, she had taken up teaching assignments in the schools attached to the embassy.
Continuing the syllabus and teaching schedule of her predecessor Ms. Mariam, after a brief introduction to the class Mrs Richards began explaining the function of the heart and the circulation system and drew a diagram on the board.
She looked at the student who was looking distractedly out of the window and, using a time-worn technique, she fixed her gaze on him and stopped speaking. A hush fell over the class. The boy turned back to the class.
Meeting his gaze, Mrs. Richards smiled and resumed her lecture.
For a while she continued to keep her gaze on the boy who was now busy writing in his notebook. Then she turned her attention to the class. She believed the boy was embarrassed enough not to let his attention wander, but just a couple of minutes later she found him looking out of the window again.
Once more, she stopped her lecture, and he turned to look at her. This time she did not smile. She continued addressing the class. As she turned to the writing board, the student again turned to the window.
A look of annoyance crossed her face and as she fell silent again, the boy looked at her with a frown, and looked awaybeyond the window. His attitude was so insulting that Mrs. Samantha Richardss face flushed. Salar, what are you looking at? Nothing, came the one word reply. He gave her a piercing look. Do you know what I am teaching? Hope so. His tone was so rude that Samantha Richards capped the marker she had in her hand and slapped it down on the table.
If that is so, then come up here and draw and label this diagram. She erased the figure on the board. The boys face changed a myriad colors. She saw the students in the class exchange glances. The boy stared coldly at Samantha Richards. As she cleaned the last trace of her diagram from the board, he left his seat. Moving swiftly, he picked up the marker from the table and with lightning speedin exactly two minutes and fifty-seven secondshe had drawn and labeled the diagram.
Replacing the cap on the marker, he slapped it down on the table just as Mrs. Richards had done, and, without looking at her, returned to his seat. Richards did not see him tossing down the marker or walking back to his seat. She was looking in disbelief at the diagramwhich had. It was far better than her work: Somewhat embarrassed, she turned to look at the boy. Once again he was looking out of the window.
Waseem knocked on the door for the third time; this time he could hear Imama inside. Who is it? Imama its me. Open the door, said Waseem standing back.
There was silence on the other side. A little later, the lock clicked and Waseem turned the door knob to enter. Imama moved towards her bed, with her back to Waseem. What brings you here at this time? Why did you turn in so early? Its only ten now, replied Waseem as he walked in. I was sleepy. She sat down on the bed. Waseem was alarmed to see her. Have you been crying? It was a spontaneous remark.
Imamas eyes were red and swollen and she was trying to look away. Nono, I wasnt crying. Just a bad headache. She tried to smile. Waseem, sitting down beside her, held her hand, trying to check her temperature. Any fever? Then he let go of her hand. You dont have fever. Perhaps you should take a tablet for your headache. I have. Go to sleep then. I had come to talk to you but youre in no state Waseem turned to leave the room. Imama made no effort to stop him.
She followed him to the door and shut it behind him. Flinging herself on the bed, she buried her face in the pillowshe was sobbing again. The thirteen-year-old boy was engrossed in a music show on TV when Tyyaba peeped in.
She looked at her son somewhat uncertainly, and entered the room, irritated. Whats going on? Im watching TV, he replied without looking at her. Watching TV. For Gods sake!
Are you aware that your exams have started? Tyyaba asked, standing in front of him. So what? You should be in your room with your books, not sitting here watching this vulgar show, Tyyaba scolded him. I have studied as much as I need to. Now please move out of my way. His tone reflected his irritation. All the same go in and study. Tyyaba stood her ground.
I will not get up, nor will I go in and study. My studies and my papers are my concern, not yours. If you were concerned about your studies, would you be sitting here? Step aside. He ignored Tyyabas comment and rudely shooed her away. Im going to talk to your father today. Tyyaba tried a threat. You can talk to him for all I care. What will happen? What is he going to do? Ive told you that Ive already prepared for my exams, so then whats your problem?
This is your final examination. You should be concerned about it. Tyyaba softened her tone. I am not a four-year-old who you need to nag.
I have a better understanding of my responsibilities than you so dont pester me with your silly advice. Your exams are on. Pay attention to your studies. You should be in your room. I will have a word with your father! What rubbish! Standing up, he flung the remote control at the wall and stomping his feet, left the room. Tyyaba, helpless and humiliated, watched him go. It was New Years Eve: A group of ten or so teenagers were roaring around the city streets on their motorbikes, doing all kinds of stunts.
Some of them wore shiny headbands to celebrate the coming year. An hour ago they were in one of the uptown supermarkets, teasing girls with whistles. They had firecrackers too which they let off to celebrate. At a quarter to twelve they reached the parking lot of the Gymkhana Club where a New Years party was in full swing. The boys also had invitations to the party and their parents were already there. When they got in, it was five to midnight.
In a few moments, the lights in the hall and the dance floor would be switched off and then with a display of fireworks on the lawns, the New Year would be heralded in. The partying would be on all nightdancing, drinkingall the festivities especially organized for the occasion by the Gymkhana. Lights off meant a display of complete abandonthat was what the crowds came for. One of the teenagers who had joined the party was on the dance floor, rocking to the beat and impressing all with his performance.
At ten seconds to twelve the lights went off. Voices and laughter filled the hall as people counted the seconds to the New Year, and this rose to a pitch as the clock struck midnight and the hall lit up again. The teenagers were now out in the parking lot, their car horns blaring away. Beer can in hand, the youth who was on the dance floor got on the roof of a car.
He pulled out another beer can from his jacket and pitched it at the windscreen of a parked car, which shattered with an explosion as the full can hit it. He stood on the car, calmly drinking from the can of beer in his hand.
For the last half hour Salar had been watching Kamran trying to master the video game: Salar was also in the lounge, busy writing notes. From time to time, he would look at the TV screen as Kamran struggled to win more points. Half an hour later, Salar put his notebook away, stifled a yawn, stretched his legs out on the table and crossing his hands behind his head, looked at the TV screen as Kamran started a new game, having lost the previous round. Whats the problem, Kamran?
NothingI got this new game but it is really tough to score, Kamran said in a tired tone. Let me see. Salar got up from the sofa and took the remote control. Kamran watched silently: The track that had challenged Kamran was like childs play for Salarit was hard for Kamran to keep his eyes on the car that was racing at a fantastic speed in the first minute, and yet Salar had complete control over it.
Three minutes later, Kamran saw the car swerve, go off the track and explode into smithereens. Kamran turned to Salar with a smilehe realized why the car had been destroyed: Laying the remote control down on the table Salar picked up his notebook.
Its a very boring game, he remarked as he jumped over Kamrans legs and went out. Kamran clenched his teeth as he saw the seven digit score on the screen. He looked at the door as Salar left.
They were both quiet once again. Asjad was beginning to worry: Imama had not always been as withdrawn as she was now. One could have counted the words she had spoken in the last half hour. He had known her since childhood; she was a lively girl. In the first year after their engagement, Asjad had felt happy in her companyshe was so quickwitted and vivacious. But in the last few years, she had changed, the transformation having become more pronounced since she started medical school.
Asjad felt that she had something on her mind. At times, she would appear to be worried and sometimes she was distinctly cold and distant as though she wanted to end their meeting and leave as soon as possible. This time too he had the same feeling. I often think that it is I who insists on our meetingperhaps it makes little difference to you whether we meet or not, he said despondently. She was sitting on a garden chair across from him, looking at the creepers on the boundary wall.
At Asjads remark, she fixed her gaze on him. He cast an inquiring glance, but she was silent, so he rephrased his words. My coming here makes no difference to you.
Imamaam I right? What can I say? At least you can say No, youre mistaken, that No, youre mistaken, Imama cut him short. Her tone was as cold and her expression as indifferent as before. Asjad sighed in despair. Yes, I wish and pray that it may be so, that I may indeed be mistaken. However, talking to you I feel you do not care.
What makes you think so? Asjad detected a note of annoyance in her tone. Many thingsfor one you never respond properly to anything I say. I do make every effort to reply properly to whatever you say.
What can I do if you do not like what I have to say? Asjad felt that she was more annoyed. I did not mean that I did not like what you say: Sometimes, I feel as if Im talking to myself. When you ask me if I am well, I say yes or nowhat else can I say?
If you want to hear a spiel in response to a simple question then tell me what you would like to hear and Ill say it. She was serious. You could add something to that yes or no. If nothing else, ask me how I am. Ask you how are you are? You are sitting here across me, talking to. Otherwise, youd be at home, in bed, sick. Imama, these are formalities And you know very well that I do not believe in formalities. Theres no need for you to ask me how I am; I will not mind it at all.
Asjad was speechless. Formalities aside, one can talk of other things, discuss something. Talk to each other about what interests us, what keeps us busy.
Asjad, what can I discuss with you? Youre a businessman, I am a medical student, What should I ask you? About the stock market position? Was the trend bullish or bearish? By how many points did the index rise? Or where you are sending the next consignment? How much rebate did the government give you this time?
Or shall I discuss anatomy with you? What affects the function of the liver? What new techniques have been used for bypass surgery this year?
What should be the voltage of electric shocks given to restore a failing heart? These are our spheres of work, so what points of discussion can we have about these that will help us to achieve love and familiarity? I fail to understand. The color of Asjads face deepened. He was cursing the moment that he had complained to Imama. There are other interests too in a persons life, he said weakly. Her family belongs to a particular sect but then she starts getting attracted towards Islam and tries to find the way to eternal success.
This is the time when her journey begins towards deep love of ALLAH and his Prophet pbuh with a lot of sufferings and hardships on her way. Salaar, the other main character of the story is totally opposite of her. Belonging to a liberal family, he is completely ungrateful of his blessings.
He is in constant search of extreme pain, and many times tries to commit suicide. Once Imamma saves his life and in turn he helps her to get out of the difficult situation ……….. And then there is a beginning of the difficult phases of their lives ……….. What made them fall in love with each other?
How do they suffer in their life?
Answers to all these queries can be found after the complete reading of the novel. Sabt Ali are some of the other main characters of this novel. How they contributed to this novel, that you can grasp only after a thorough study of this novel. How Immama Hashim and Salaar Sikandar meet each other in this novel? What is their relation?
How their purpose of life meets an end? I will recommend all of you to study this fabulous novel and get yourself enriched with spiritual thoughts. Individually, if a person just thinks for a while about himself, and about his responsibilities and judges himself and finds the moment -the moment of change — revolution then begins.