Eid is a time to spend treasured moments with your loved ones, but every year there are thousands of soldiers who sacrifice this in order to ensure everyone else can enjoy Eid with` their friends and family.

My name is Muhammad Asif and I am serving in an Infantry Battalion posted in North Waziristan for operation Zarb-e-Azb. I will spend yet another Eid far, far away from my home and family.

It is 29th day of Ramadan, usually a hot day in Miranshah. I am standing at an Observation Post. It has been 5 months since I was first stationed in this operation area. My company is deployed at the forward area near Afghanistan border.

While observing my area of responsibility, I start to think about my family, especially my 3-month-old son, Hassan. I can only imagine what he might look like because I’ve never seen him.

Last week, I was in Peshawar for an official purpose, and the moment my cell phone received signals I dialed my wife’s number. On second dial tone, she picked up.

“Hello, aap aa rahay hain na Eid per?”
(You are coming home for Eid this time, aren’t you?)

Yes, she was expecting I would be coming home. I heard hidden joy and an innocent wish in her voice. I felt my heart beat at the lowest level, and the hot wind turned into fire against my face.

“Nhe chutti nahi mili Lekin main koshish kar raha hun kay aajaun,” I said.
(I am trying, but it’s difficult. I’ll be home on Eid, if I get lucky)

I was lying to her in an effort to spare her feelings, and I think she knew that.

“Ye to achi baat nhe hui, pichli Eid per bhi aap nhe aaye or is baar bhi?”
(Not fair! You did the same last time…)

“…or Hassan ne to ap ko dekha bhi nhe hy, ap ki tasveer hi dekhi hy bus isne, aajayen please.”
(…and Hassan has never even seen you, except for pictures! Please come home this Eid…)

I felt with surety that tears were about to roll down from her beautiful eyes, and I knew that if I said anything further she would break down crying. I wanted to avoid this moment so I changed the subject hurriedly.

“Acha Hassan se to baat krwa do.”
(Let me talk to Hassan.)

She placed the cell phone in the hands of little Hassan, my beloved son, and he started playing with it and started making different sounds, his voice like birds chirping early in the morning. The urge to hold him in my hands and kiss him on his forehead was nearly killing me. No one can truly understand the intensity of it but a father separated from his family.

I had to disconnect my call as my senior shouted, “Hurry up, boys. We have to return back before the sunset.”

We were there for collection of stores. My mind was flooded with memories of last Eid when I was back home. I was newly married and it was our first Eid together. She asked me to take her to bazaar on chand Raat for shopping. She had a long list of items for Eid; bangles, tops, hair-bands, sandals, lipstick and yes, catchers. I still remember it.

Everything was in my mind, every single moment, the sparkle of her eyes, the happiness on her glowing face, her radiant smile. I still remembered the feeling of walking with her, holding her hand in mine. And there were my parents, my mother, who was waiting for her son to come and celebrate Eid with her.

My father is in his 70’s now. He speaks as if everything is alright with me being away for so long, but I know he needs me, wants me to hold his hand so he can walk easily. He wants me to be there in his old age to support him. It is very hard to hear voice of your parents when they say, “Koi baat nhe beta, is baar nhe to agli Eid per aa jana.” (It’s alright, son, if not on this Eid, Insha’Allah on next Eid you will be with us.)

But the desire of spending Eid with their son is tangible to me, and I can almost hear them in my mind shouting, “We want you here, son! We want you here…”

Eid is only one festival; there are many more heart-wrenching moments to come in your life when you stay away from family for so long.

But it is a Soldier who must always be there with a desire to keep the Green flag high, who is awake at nights so many of his countrymen can sleep and many families, like his, can shop and enjoy Eid festivities free from fear.

This heart-sinking sensation homesickness during all festivities never deterred and will not deter the resolve that we are ready to sacrifice every breath for the prosperity and defense of our motherland. We did not get an independent Pakistan on a plate as a present from the rule of British. We sacrificed all we had, and the spirit is the same now as it was then.

Yes, we are concrete in our determination, but a heartbeat is missed while thinking of my little Hassan. Nevertheless, I content myself thinking about the many we are defending here.

Sun of 29th Ramadan is ready to set. Tomorrow is Eid day. My Platoon Havildar came on my Observation Post to check that all is well.

“Haan Jawan, Morale kesa hy?” he asked.
(Yes, Soldier, where is the morale?)

“High hay, Sir,” I replied while watching the sun at Horizon.
(It’s on peak, Sir.)

He turned and smiled at the sun drowning in the west.

“Aik or Eid is Pak watan per Qurban.”
(One more Sacrifice (Eid) on this sacred Homeland)

A smile came to my lips as well, and I felt my heartbeat saying…
“Watan Salamat rahay, Eid to aani Jani hay.”
(God bless our Homeland.)

Pakistan Hamari Jaan hy or Pakistan per aisi lakhon eidain Qurban.

Long Live Pakistan.