Short Story: The Pain of The Petrifying Person

By: Haider Qureshi

The Pain of The Petrifying Person

The days of meeting are

All scattered;

And the night of loneliness

Now resides in the eyes!

after reading the book ‘The games of Magic!’ I take some tablets of musk camphor from my dad’s box to try out a game that was mentioned in the book. But a neighbor’s girl arrives to play. Her eyes are very beautiful. I tell her that I am going to set water on fire. She looks at me in a way that tells me that she was not taking me seriously. But when I ignite the camphor tablets and throw them in water they continue to burn and she looks very much surprised. Her beautiful eyes are full of wonder and they are lit up with a strange emotion. I, opening my eyes to the reality, note that she is more interested in me than my magic game, I find the shadows of love lurking behind her wonderful eyes. The magical shadows of love!

* * *

I haven’t been able to come out of her nascent spell of love. I know that as soon as I come out of it the magic of her youth will petrify me. And no magic book or knowledge or recitation of ‘Abracadabra’ will be able to convert me into a living human being from stone again.

She is talking incessantly over a variety of topics and I am just saying ‘yeah, yeah’, avoiding her eyes and instead, looking at the table before me intently. The summer has arrived and perhaps that is the reason a lot of moths were hovering around the glaring light bulb fitted in the ceiling. A lot of them have also fallen on my table. They are so small that a soft blow can make them fly. I rub a moth with my pencil without exerting any pressure. Obviously it has succumbed to the rub. But to my astonishment it begins to move again after sometime. Turning her attention to it I tell her, with my eyes still lowered that the moth is moving despite having died. She looks at it intently for a while and then lets out a tinkling laugh. I raise my head to look at her but nervously look down again, I want to remain bound under the spell of her child hood charm. I know the magic of her youth will turn me into a stone. And if once it happens then no magic book or knowledge or recitation of ‘Abracadabra’ will be able to convert me into a living being again. The echo of her tinkling laugh is still in the air. Her voice comes rustling through it. “It is the air from the ceiling fan that’s making you think that the moth is alive and moving otherwise the poor thing is very much dead!” I breathe easily and look at the dead moth that seemed moving due to the air. She speaks again, ‘The moths you haven’t rubbed off are also dead. All these moths are dead’, she waves at them, ‘They look alive due to the air!’ All these things are either illusory or quirks of fate. We, who look alive, are rather dead. Aren’t we?

‘You are right, we are dead moths looking alive under the magical fan of the fate (--- and no magic book or knowledge or recitation of Abracadabra will be able to convert me into a living being again). And, afraid of getting petrified, I cover my eyes with my hand too.

She softly removes my hand from my eyes and suddenly our eyes meet. Her gazelle eyes brighten up. I don’t petrify, instead I begin melting and a fragrance surrounds me. A savory sense fills me up. I was afraid of her unnecessarily. I look into her eyes deeply and unflinchingly and the lights and fragrances from her eyes and body invade my being and begin a dance of sorts within. I feel lost in the flavor of this newfound moment. I begin to feel alive.

She too looks happy but a strange sense of disenchantment is also peeping through her eyes.

‘We are not dead insects or worms. We bear witness to life! At least you and me!’

She becomes more disenchanted after hearing this.
The sound of pipers playing pipes is making my whole body numb. Except my face my whole body has turned into a stone. At my right is standing the moment when we had played the game of fire and water. She is still looking at me with wonder, after seeing water, catching fire.

At my left is standing the moment when lights and fragrances had traveled from her eyes and body into my being and begun a dance of sorts within.

Her palanquin is about to leave and I negate my own statement. She was right. We are all dead moths and worms looking alive under the magical fan of the fate! I now know the secret of the strange disenchantment that had crept up into her eyes after seeing me pleased and happy.

My face too has begun to turn into stone but before it is over the fragrances from her body turn camphor in my breath and get set in the form of tablets in my eyes.

The lights that had emanated from her gazelle eyes are now igniting those tablets. They caught fire and are floating on the water in my eyes. I begin to try hard to save myself from drowning in the water or getting immolated by the fire. I don’t want to turn into stone fully.

It is only to let life’s reputation be…!

* * * * *

Short Story: Some In complete Pages of a Wayward Life

By: Haider Qureshi

Some In complete Pages of A Wayward Life

The factory that produced sugar

To my misfortune;

Kept poisoning my heart

Ever and ever!

the story begins from the strange moment when my doubts about the fate had started taking a concrete shape. I was about to declare fate as a force that was being highlighted by the capitalists to exploit woebegone people when an unknown hand froze that moment into inactivity and I felt myself hanging in a limbo between doubt and faith.

* * * *

The change of power in the country brought changes in the basic policies too. The unnecessary leeway that was given to the laborers earlier had now changed into the unwanted pulls and pressures on them. It went to the extent that I, who was a much maligned and shunned laborer in the days of the enjoyable leeway, was forced to become an active member of the union. It was not a case of my self-interests or collective interests of the laborers. It was due to the deaths of hundreds of laborers who were shot at under the pretext of a very insignificant policy. And it was a practical warning by the quest of the time to fall in line and tow the government’s boat. The laborers, instead of getting intimidated, turned hostile and aggressive. The capitalists and their agents too dug their heels more firmly and a systematic controversy began to take shape. The chief of our union had to bite dust on many occasions when I challenged him many a time on issues confronting us. My extra ordinary wins further convinced me that the red herring of fate was the invention of capitalists and other exploitative powers. A ray of hope was cast upon me when I was in limbo between doubt and conviction. The ray helped me see a lot of sides of fate. But when it tried to tell me convincingly, that each and every edible grain and each and every drinkable drop of liquid is pre-inscribed with the name of its eater or drinker. I vehemently opposed it. The ray then showed me a drop of water on which, according to it, my name was inscribed. Along with the information I was also given power to identify the drop and be able to tell it by its taste. While returning back I was told by the ray. “You shall have full freedom to erase your name from this drop!”

* * * *

The industrial fraternity is in jeopardy. The mill’s administration is at loggerheads with its employees. On the other hand our streak of success has raised our morale considerably. But the bottom line of all this is that there is not even a remote possibility of an amicable settlement. My chief is fed up with me. Many carrots have been dangled before me to wean me away to other side as per their logic. But I am not interested and being true to my followers I am boldly marching towards my goal, the goal of deliverance from the masters’ tyranny. But an untoward incident left me shaken and shocked. One day the General Manger of our mill called upon me. All the board members too were present. The G.M. holding me responsible for the poor showing in the field of production and output by the mill gave me a dressing down for the first time and used a very foul language full of expletives and filth. Although I was not on my duty I still restrained myself and kept up my calm and dignity. I could have paid back in the same coin but I didn’t. But I somehow felt that I didn’t prove to be up to the mark because it was the first full-scale show down.

* * * *

The in-charge of the Mill’s baging house sympathized with me. He himself was an active member of the union. He offered tea and began discussing about our future strategy. As soon as I picked up my cup I smiled, knowingly. The drop of liquid that was bearing my name was in it. I looked at it keenly, thought for a while and then emptied my cup on a sugar full bag. The bag absorbed the drop, along with the rest of the liquid. My co-laborer looked at me wide eyed. This was, perhaps, my first success against the fate!

* * * *

Many important incidents took place one after another in the mill. The attitude of the Mill’s administration was so rude that the laborers thrashed four or five officers’ one day. But unfortunately the General Manager was not among them. He escaped unhurt. The police arrived and the arrests were made. Eventually the matter was settled on an agreement that fifteen laborers would have to resign forth with. My chief especially phoned me diplomatically and inquired after me. I tasted defeat again but consoled myself by recalling the literal dressing down of the officers given by the laborers, although they had done it knowing fully well that they would have to face stringent punishment and imprisonment. That they got away with this by tendering their resignations was a different story. But I still felt slighted, because I was not able to forget the dressing down the General Manger had given me. I was even ready to go to the extent of suing him to avenge my insult. I was even ready to face my fate!

* * * *

It was a holiday and nearly all the staff decided to go on a picnic. The party turned out to be full of amusement. But when I opened a bottle of a soft drink I knew that the drop bearing my name was in it. I emptied the whole bottle into the river that was flowing by with disdain and smiled triumphantly. It was my second triumph against the fate.

* * * *

My chief stepped up his vindictive activities against me. It looked he was bent on discrediting me totally. But one day it came to be known that the death had discredited him totally. He died after drowning in the river, although all the administrative board of the Mill was on its bank. A short while after this incident the administrative board of a soft drink company informed the govt. that a large part of the sugar it had bought for itself through black marketing was from our sugar mill. The ambit of inquiry began expanding.

* * * *

I had to go to Karachi for a few days to attend the marriage of a kin. A sea-viewing program too was chalked out there. I sat watching the tidal waves rising and falling, gamboling and dancing. Then I too started wading through them. I loved their way of first swirling and then going up to the beach in a rush to return again in a mischievous way. I remained lost in them for a while, then opening my mouth and curling my lips in the form of an ‘O’ I waited for an onrushing wave to fill my mouth with some of its water. But I suddenly felt jolted and shaken up from a deep slumber. The wave coming straight at my mouth was special. I could see the drop in it on which my name was written. I shut my lips tightly and when the drop approached me I shoved it away by striking at it sharply with my hand. It was perhaps my third triumph against the fate.

* * * *

The excesses by the Mill’s administration knew no bounds. It was not only brushing aside my skills and academic achievements it started adopting a hostile and aggressive attitude against me. Trampling upon our basic and just rights encouraged the rebel in me. I had by now begun to look the fate down upon. But I had to review my opinion regarding the mysterious ways of Nature when, instead of the general Manager, the officer who was responsible for getting a laborer arrested and thrashed by the police, during a raid, by foul means, was proved guilty by the court later. He had even got the laborer dismissed. All this prompted me to revise my opinion regarding the Nature’s ‘modus operandi’.

* * * *

When I picked up a glass of water to drink. My eyes began to shine. The drop bearing my name was in it. I put it down, filled up another and toasted it with the first one in the form of drinkers and drank. I then picked up the first one and saying ‘to the health of the fate’ threw its contents high up in the air. The water fell down on the earth and got absorbed. I felt like walking on cloud nine and very sure of myself that I could take on any kind of exploitative power because it was my fourth triumph against the fate.

* * * *

The investigations in sugar black marketing scandal were still incomplete but the rumors had it that the warrants had been issued against the managing director, the General Manager and some officers. The officers were said to be absconding but I inwardly prayed for a shameful end of the G.M’s era!

* * * *

When I went to see a friend of mine who lived in the sub-urban areas the dark clouds suddenly covered the sky. I should have made a hasty return but the weather was so pleasing and poetic that I remained there enjoying it for a long time. When it started drizzling I opened mouth and turned my face upward to collect some drops. My eyelids were bathing more quickly due to the raindrops falling. Suddenly I saw the drop bearing my name coming straight at my mouth. I shut it up and saw the drop fall on the ground. I began pitying on its helplessness. I had succeeded in defeating the fate through land, sea and now through the air. I marveled at my own greatness.

* * * *

The General Manager was spotted in the mill today morning. I thought he was on bail. But in the evening it came to be known that the police, after surrounding his house, entering it from behind by breaking the glasses of a window, had arrested him. I felt a strange sense of happiness.

* * * *

Still savoring that sense I went to the cane-carrier. Many trucks, trolleys and bullock-carts were stationed there loaded with sugarcanes. I picked up a juicy and freshly harvested cane and pealed it with my teeth. My first attempt at chewing and sucking the mouthful told me that the drop bearing my name had reached my tongue. The power of telling it by its taste that was vested in me confirmed my realization. The drop had completely mingled with my saliva in my mouth. I first tried to spit it out but changing my mind swallowed it deliberately. As soon as the drop went down a glow of light filled me from within. It brushed all the dust of pride off my ego and my ego too started glowing. I saw all my future clearly in that light and my face too began to radiate the light of contentment.

And that was when the frozen moment melted. The moment that had begun the story!

* * * * *

Short Story: The Torment of My Revealing Art

By:Haider Qureshi

The Torment of My Revealing Art

All the ways were lost;

By the time I knew them.

I have come back bearing

The biers of my destinations!

i am an artist, a painter. When I went through the infinitesimal quest of self and savored the pleasure of its acquaintance, its revelation surprised me no end. I tried to imbibe its touch into my being but strangely, though I was drenched in its intoxication, I was unable to touch it myself.
What kind of a revelation or disclosure it is! What type of knowledge or learning could it be? I asked my self.
“The outside world too should be able to comprehend this revelation up on you!” “Help it comprehend!” A holy voice sounds and ceases. I am an artist, a king of the world of colors. Colors that exude brightness, that turn into the towers of greatness when they take shape of words! They reveal all the secrets of life when they splash on stars. From, whence the springs of art issue. Then I, having faith in my artistic caliber, decided to paint a magnum opus on the canvas of my imagination. In the first phase I painted it with the red color of words. Crimson, red, pink and purplish.
I was deeply engrossed in painting and when the first phase was over I was astounded. All the redness of the painting was gradually turning into white. I had heard of the Urdu idiom “blood turning white” that means a nearest relative turning foe, it may not apply here though, but how about this color! And how about blood turning white. Blood is always red. If it is not red then it is not blood!
All the redness of the colors has become white and I feel, though idiomatically, that my own blood has turned white. I want to run away from within my body but find myself cloistered by its walls. Scared, I look back at myself. Then the very moment of my art’s revelation comes to life in me again. The revelation is the same, its touch is also the same but with a new taste, savor and intoxication. And perhaps, riding the waves of this new sensation I again begin transferring my skill on the canvas of my imagination. Though the colors of the earlier painting have all turned white, still there is some fragrance of them lingering. Some fading, pale but still red dots remain. Now I am painting the canvas with the greenness of words. Dark bottle green, eye-pleasing farm green and its innumerable shades that encompass all the beautiful, enchanting and venerable sights on this venerable earth. I continue to paint with a renewed zeal and zest, feeling a deep pleasantness and well being.
“But what is this!” I close my eyes with fear. But it invades my inner eyes and through them seeps into me. Helplessly I open my eyes again and it again comes out of me and spreads itself on the canvas. I can’t believe my eyes. I check the tube with its color tag. ‘Green’ is printed on it boldly. Then how about this yellowness instead of green! I ask myself. I pick up the same color tube again and squeeze it a bit. A lot of color oozes out with a spurt and dribbles down on the floor. I nearly cry out with fright. The tube contains only yellow color! Yellow color from a green tube. But the red tube had contained red. How then it changed into white on the canvas? I want to include the outside world into my unique experience of the revelation of my art upon me but the colors are playing truant. I am feeling a strange sort of helplessness.
This disability and a strange sense of disappointment have begun a dance of death around me. It looks as if they have succeeded in killing the artist in me and I find myself standing on a huge mound of sand at one side of which is a chain of huge mountains difficult to trek and at another side a vast and in-navigable sea. From one side I can hear terrible hissing of hundreds of serpents and devilish creatures coming and from other side the howling cries of marine spirits and witches. I want to traverse the path of self-identity, I want to call out myself for help but the din of the blood curdling sounds turns my shout into a whimper. I empty all the tubes of color in to a bowl, violet, indigo, brown, green, yellow, and red. I make an amalgam of all the main colors and begin to paint the canvas wildly with my fingers dipped into the amalgam. I go at it coarsely and devilishly and when my boiling anger subsides, an another bout of surprise takes me over. The canvas is now displaying my intended magnum opus.
I try hard to find the meaning of this meaningless happening and it was when the revelation of my art upon me concludes its manifestation. And the manifestation is so revolting and repulsive that I no longer wish to tell anybody about it. This manifestation includes not only me but it includes us all.
And perhaps that is the reason that holy voice is not rising from within, the holy voice that had commanded me once by saying:
“The outside world too should be able to comprehend this revelation upon you. Help it comprehend!”

* * * * *

Short Story:In Search of The Eve

By: Haider Qureshi

A short Story having the "post nuclear war" Background,according to Relegious Books.

written in urdu in 1980 and published in February 1981.


In Search of The Eve

Your dating me caused roses to bloom

In my body; What kind of an unseasonable nesting it is?

By the birds of dreams in my eyes I wonder!

i can’t believe that I am in Hades! Hades, the world of the dead, (Prior to the final transfer to Hell or Paradise, on the Day of the Judgement.)

I can’t believe that I am now in that world. Am I dreaming? Am I in the world of dreams? Or am I in the world of reality? It is most likely that I am in the world of reality. The conviction takes over me in the form of a whim and I sit up and remain so for sometime and then I get up.

My right palm, in the form of my fate lines, always contained my future and my left my past. I always flowed like a river in the present by reading those lines of my future and my past.

But today when I tried to read the right hand lines I couldn’t see any thing except a blur, a foggy in-distinction. I looked at the left and here too I was confronted by smoky air pollution. Helplessly when I tried to have an over view of my present I found all the fog of my future and all the smoke of my past engulfing me and dancing around me. And in that tragic hour I couldn’t even recall and say those prayers that were taught by my mother in my childhood. But I didn’t get disheartened. The dance of the smoke began slowing down and a ray of light emerged and started getting brighter and brighter.

“Alam Tara Kaifa Fa’ala Rabboka Bi Ashaa-Bil Feel…!” (A Quranic Verse)[Didn’t you see what God did with the people of Elephants]The fog started getting disbursed and the smoke began thinning. I recalled the tragic fate of the people of Elephants, as depicted in the holy Quran, They were so destroyed that their bodies looked like Chewed husk.I looked at the aftermath of the nuclear destruction and began envying the fate of the people of elephants as against this terrible fall out. They only looked like chewed husk. The nuclear-world-war has ended and I don’t know how and why I remained alive. The darkness of the horrific war is all around me. I need light to get out of this darkness. And the power, that had saved me from getting burnt to cinders, suddenly began endowing me with light. The light that had initially emerged as a ray had now transformed into a halo and seemed to be dawning upon me step by step.

“You don’t know ‘Hatam’ (the Atom). It is in fact an enormously built up fire by Allah (God) that would cinch hearts from within and cause blubbering!”

"An unimaginable misfortune is going to befall this world and you don’t know O addressee what kind of a misfortune it would be! This great misfortune would scatter people all over like dead moths and the mountains would become carded wool.”

"The earth would be shaken so that it would disgorge all its hidden contents and the people would wonder as to what had happened to the Earth!"

I recall that I was staying in a hilly terrain when the nuclear war had begun without notice and at its end I hadn’t been able to find an intact mountain. I had myself tried out as to what had happened to the earth and had thus involuntarily testified to the divine foreboding.

I can now recall that the two so-called-powers had fought over the oil-rich middle East, the bone of contention. They fought presumptuously under the banners of their cardinal virtues. But what eventually happened? I don’t know exactly but the light has begun dawning upon me step by step, ray after ray. The halo has its own diction.

“There will be a day, God says, addressing the fire of His wrath and solemnity, when the land of Israel will quake and the denizens of land, water and air will shudder with fright before me. It will storm with hail, fire and sulfur and thus I will make the heathen nations acknowledge my supremacy!”

"The Doom’s Day of its kind shall take place and the rulers will wage war against each other and a worldwide chaos and destruction will take place. And the center of all this upheaval and bloodshed will be Syria!”

"O Europe, Asia and the inhabitants of the islands, you too are not safe and n false god is going to save you. I can see the cities burning and the localities getting deserted."

I acknowledge the greatness and the holiness of God with all humility and I acknowledge my humility with utmost humbleness. The rays from the halo are spreading on my body but they are not reaching my heart. Perhaps that is why I have been able only to read about my past. Either the language of the future has changed or I have lost my ability to read it.

As the nuclear war has annihilated the progeny of Adam, except me perhaps, it is now my bounden duty to keep his race growing on this earth. Perhaps I am the Adam of the new era! I keep thinking, yes I am the Adam of this New World. But what should I do about the Eve?In the name and in praise of God I begin my quest of the new Eve. I witness the heart wrenching scenes of destruction on my way. The halo of light is with me and it is still shedding its rays on my being one after another. My clueless journey, in the quest of my Eve lacks a fixed course but continues. I come across a place where, it seemed, a cluster of bombs had been dropped over at one go. I get terrified and try to hide from the scene by closing my eyes but at the very moment the showering rays from the halo open them.

"Didn’t they walk the earth and witness the shameful end of their predecessors who were more powerful and more in number than they were. Their fine arts and the art of architecture far surpassed than their own. But the attributes of their predecessors didn’t help them because when the prophets of their time revealed themselves with their telling signs they ignored them and took pride in their little knowledge. They tried to laugh away the foreboding of their Prophets regarding the impending disasters and my wrath but the fate overtook them. But when they saw my wrath manifest they cried out that they never denied the oneness of Allah and always rejected polytheism. But it was too late because my wrath had already begun manifesting itself and this is my Modus Operandi that never changes and this is what my creatures have been witnessing since the Day One!”

I, hence, solemnly decide that the offspring of me, the new Adam, shall be trained strictly by the Book under my own supervision and my progeny will never be prone to the deceitful trick of Satan. The thought of training the offspring again started motivating me to look for a life partner. Nights and days have lost their meaning in my eyes because the halo of light is the only thing that helps me differentiate between darkness and brilliance. Whenever I feel tired I stop, rest, nap or doze. I try to keep clear of such terrible scenes of mayhem either due to their scariness or because of an inner urge to look for a life partner.When I come out of that area of catastrophe, I, for the first time in many days of travel and wandering, remember that I hadn’t eaten or drunk for that many days. The thought of hunger can’t simply be wished away. It started making me feel drained and exhausted, I even felt my soul dragging.I walk but the act seems laborious and in acknowledgement of God’s greatness and total might I begin to chant his praises. The halo of light above me suddenly sends a very bright ray upon me and I again start feeling panicky.

“Doesn’t Man know that I had created him from an insignificant drop!”

“And he, forgetting his lowliness becomes warring and egotist and starts talking loosely about me and my being…!”

I bend my knees before his majesty. I am unable to recall any prayer but my eyes begin to shed the beads of tears one after another as if a rosary of tears had snapped. These tears are the silent acknowledgement of my helplessness and God’s omnipotence. I remain prone in supplication before God for long and when I feel my heart a little lighter then I get up. The desire for food has died down considerably. I set out on my journey again and after walking for sometime I spot some greenery. I head towards that patch promptly.It is like an oasis. There are fields green with heaps of fresh harvest and there is a beautiful well kept garden at the center of which there is a wonderful spring of water. I don’t feel tired any longer but hunger has again returned. By seeing fish in the pool of the spring water I stop short. I wonder how this came to happen after such a great calamity thanks to which all the greenery had vanished or become poisonous and due to which all the living beings had to face extinction.The halo of light is still showering its rays on me, I am in two minds. If I eat the fruit that hang from the branches I could get poisoned and die. If I don’t then again due to the hunger and weakness I would have to die. I decide to eat. It is better to die on a full stomach than on an empty one! I have begun to engorge the fruit as much as I can. I don’t know how much I have gobbled up. I come to my senses only when I drink the poisonous spring-water to my fill. Now I am waiting for my death contentedly.But strangely I am feeling rejuvenated and vigorous. The halo of light too has begun showering more and more rays on me.

“He sends rains from above when we find ourselves at the tether end of our patience. He thus showers us with his mercy!”

“Come back to your God O sedated soul, heralding your return as an event of a destined meet of two admirers!”

I fall prone again before God. I now realize that the radio active elements that had invaded my body are now working as antidotes to the poison that had reached my stomach through fruit and water. They are now standing surety for my life and survival. And perhaps this is the reason why I successfully came out of those worst hit areas and why I am feeling strong and vigorous despite walking hundreds of miles non stop.

“And how many boons of God would you (dare to) ignore?"

I am now at rest regarding my food problem. I think of the two so-called superpowers and their pitiable end. Both were at times jumps ahead of each other in cunning and deceit. The halo of light descends closer to me and begins to alight upon me ray after ray. And suddenly I feel it fully resting on my being.“A great flame of fire shall be directed against you and the copper too shall be dropped from above upon you two on which you two will have no control. And now tell me how many boons of God would you (dare to) ignore…?” The halo of light goes back to its earlier place and begins to shower ray after ray upon me again, and I am now convinced of the total destruction of the two great powers.

The thought of questing for the life partner again alerts me and I again set out on my journey to find her with a zest and sense of sacred responsibility.I find a city intact not far from the oasis but the death ruled there too. The shops are open but the people are lying on the ground dead. Some seemed to be resting against walls and some shop owners looked sleeping with heads resting on the counters. But they were all very much dead. I recall a story I had heard in my childhood in which a prince enters a city and finds everybody petrified. I feel I am that prince. But the prince of the story could revive everybody by dispelling the magic of the magician. This case is quite different because it is a catastrophic consequence of a man working diabolically against another man.Like a tired and disappointed prince I half-heartedly enter a departmental store but suddenly step back in panic. There was disheveled and wretched man standing. But I stop stepping back, when I realize that it was I in a man-sized mirror.Is it.. is it me..! I refuse to acknowledge that but the reality makes itself felt and for the first time I become aware of my nakedness. And at that very moment another disheveled and wretched image appears in the mirror. It was a woman’s image. I turn hurriedly. Her face, despite its decomposed and panic-stricken features, tells me that she is a Westerner. Her eyes too are full of wonder and inquisitiveness. She is looking at me as if she is trying to identify me. She could be, perhaps, looking for her father, her brother and her son!

Suddenly her eyes brighten up as if she had finally succeeded in recognizing me and then running towards me she hugs me tightly and begins to cry. I don’t know in what capacity she is hugging me. As my daughter, my sister, my mother or someone else, but I am fully satisfied now that the progeny of Adam shall not cease to exist. The lines of my past and future are standing on my both sides respectfully and my naked present is hugging my naked body and washing away all the hatred and jealousies of the East and the West by its tears.The halo of light suddenly descends upon both of us and seeping through our bodies begins to enlighten our souls. And a very beautiful voice rises from within us.

“Now tell me how many boons of God would you (dare to) ignore?”

* * * * *

Short Story: The Sightless Light

By: Haider Qureshi

THE SIGHTLESS LIGHT

For how long this sightless light will prevail

And for how long O Haider
The torments of darkness
Are to be endured!

the glare of light has blinded me for a moment. There is a flood of light everywhere. The life-size mirrors that are hung on the walls are enhancing the intensity of the glare. As if scared I hold her hand tightly. I start feeling like a blind man in that moment. Have I really become blind? I know my eyesight is quite O.K. but it is natural to feel blind if your sight is failing you. Still I wonder why I am feeling it so forcefully.

She has pulled a chair and sat down. She is also urging me to sit. I can see my chair but the sense of blindness still lingers. I have sat down on my chair and looking at everything wide eyed. A sudden blare of music has sounded. And though it is in no way pleasing, the hall has responded to it energetically.

She looks at me and then rising, nearly drags me along to the center of the hall. There are other pairs too dancing to the tune of music. I am also dancing now but I am dancing to her tune. But am I really dancing? I think I am still sitting on my chair, holding its hand-rests tightly. I thing if I leave them I will fly. Or I will go and disappear in a crowd. Perhaps I am an inhabitant of darkness and perhaps that is the reason I am dipping into this flood of light. I have lost my wits and I am feeling suffocated. My chair too is taking dips into the flood of light along with me as if to show that it was incapable of saving me from getting drowned. A cluster of circles, semicircles and parabolas of light is dancing around me. The music is at the peak of its crescendo. The dance of light has become maddening but my blindness too has increased. I feel as if I am running in a dark alley and all the evil spirits are in my pursuit. I suddenly stumble over something.

“Please be careful and don’t make me a laughing stock!” Her voice has startled me and I am back again in the hall from that dark alley and now I am dancing very carefully. But to be realistic I am still sitting on my chair. Then who is her dance partner? To be realistic again he is I! The ‘I’ sitting on the chair has stood up. He is calling me! “Come back, come back and don’t repeat the story of the forbidden tree. You were expelled from the paradise and exiled to the Earth. There wouldn’t be any place to exile you again. Leave that eve and come back!” Involuntarily I step in the direction of the ‘I’ on the chair. The ‘I’ on the chair has stood up again. We embrace each other and he disappears in me and becomes one. The jarring note of music continues with the dance. She must have found a new dance partner by now, I think and glance in her direction on the dance floor. But she is not there. She is sitting in front of me. She looks irritated but helpless.

I was expelled from the paradise due to you and now I don’t intend to be expelled from the earth!” I say.

“Due to me…?” Her eyes are full of surprise.

“You were responsible for enticing me to the Forbidden Tree!”

“Me!”

“Yes, and the Tree was responsible for the expulsion!”

“The Forbidden Tree, you mean wheat…?”

“Yes, wheat perhaps!”

“Does wheat sprout on trees?”

Neither I know Arabic nor I claim to be a commentator of the Holy Book. It might have been sprouting on trees in Paradise!

“You are afraid of light. That’s what you are!” Her tone is acerbic.

“Your ridicules as this had prompted me to sin!”

“I hadn’t fed you wheat!” She nearly shouts.

“I don’t want to go into it.”

“Then why did you level this allegation against me?”

“Because I don’t want to be deceived again.”

“You are talking of deception and you fully well know that you can’t live without a woman.” She is fulminating now.

“Man is a symbol of lewdness and voluptuary. He always cares for himself and always holds woman responsible for his sins and short comings!”

“But wheat…!”

“Listen to me”, she shouts. “Pay heed to the appearance of wheat and pay heed to your weakness for the thing the grain ofwheat resembles and without which you can’t live. A lot of renowned and confirmed bachelors fell for it one day or the other.”

“Don’t bare yourself by your obscenity.”

“A bare truth is a bare truth and that is why it sometimes looks obscene.” The sharp edge of her sarcastic tone is laced withpoison. I again feel the sense of blindness seep into me.

“Why don’t you speak O inhabitant of darkness!” She is still taunting. All the lights have suddenly gone and I feel as if my sight is restored and that I can see now. She has edged closer to me in darkness. “Let the magic of the artificial light, whose inhabitant you are, fade and then see what happens.” I want to say this to her but cannot because the lights are back and with them my blindness. Now a stranger has joined us at our table. But his strangeness is not that overpowering. It is rather familiar and generating intimacy. “May I help you reach a logical conclusion in your unending debate.” His tone is sincere.

“The topic of our discussion is wheat that is responsible for our exile from Paradise.” I clarify.

“Are you sure that wheat was the cause of your expulsion!”

“I think it was!” I say and try to recall more clearly.

“Our scholars too interpret it that way or comment on it as they were told to!” She too supports my clarification.

“Instead of what, I think, you ate its husk!”

We laugh idiotically on his gaffe. “Try to remember…!” He continues. “The wheat you ate, was it red by any chance?” He too laughs aloud and disappears along with the fading sound of his laugh. We find ourselves woken up from a deep slumber.

“Do you know what red wheat means?” I ask her.

“Oh, yes, yes, now I know. He perhaps meant American wheat!”

“The bastard sounded a Commy!”

“I too think so.”

* * * * *

All the morning newspapers have heralded this news to the nation today that in apprehension of an imminent draught the government has signed a deal with a friendly state to procure thousands of metric tons of wheat on a long term debt repayment basis.

The ‘I’ in me has died before the rising of the sun!

* * * * *

I have again come to see my eve. Again there are the same lights and again there is the same music and dance. But my chair is lying vacant. These lights have started agreeing with my mood now and my blindness has disappeared.

I am not dancing now on her bidding. Instead I am making her dance on mine. But what is this? The dead body of ‘I’ in my being is clearly reflected in the life-sized mirror hanging on the wall. It is not shrouded and staring at me! Afraid, I turn my face the other side and there too I find the fearful sight in the mirror and a lot of dead bodies are scattered in that frame. They all are of ‘I’ that lived within me. I have begun thinking again.

‘If only my blindness could return’.

The music is at its rise.

Our dance too is gathering its momentum.

But the land from beneath of our feet has slid. We are now land-less and unearthly. We are dancing over our corpses. The lights have become brighter. The music has become louder and the dance faster. Faster and faster and faster!

Lights, music and dance.

The dance of the land-less over their own corpses!

* * * * *

Short Story: The Maternal Love

By: Haider Qureshi

THE MATERNAL LOVE

All this light emanates
From my mother’s face;
Where can you find this earthen radiance?
In the sun and the moon!

I am standing on the lawn watching the plane take off. My mother is bound for Switzerland by this plane to spend the summer there. Daddy has gone to the airport to see her off. Zabie and Rubie too are going with Mummy. The plane is out of the focus now. I re-enter the mansion feeling tired and flop on a sofa in the drawing room. I suddenly see a beautiful plane flying in the mirror. I look more closely. My God! The soul of my mother is flying by this plane. Am I…. Am I dreaming? Mummy….! I suddenly call out. ‘You had never boarded a plane all your life, then why this journey by a plane after death? But there is silence in reply.I leave the drawing room and now I am in the Dadder sanitarium. Mummy is being given many injections. All her sons and her daughter, i.e., me, are standing around her bed and daddy…. no not daddy, I mean to say Abbu (the word daddy seems to agree only with the word Mummy and the word Abbu only with Ammy) too is also there with anguish writ large over his face. I want to suddenly hug and comfort him. But I restrain myself. I never could ask for anything directly to him, I was so overawed by his towering personality. Whenever I had to ask for anything I did it via Ammy or through a hand-written chit. How could I venture now? Flustered I look back at Ammy. When our eyes meet, her dull eyes make my eyes glow with light.I am back in my drawing room from the sanitarium. That beautiful plane is not flying in the mirror now. Abbu… no not Abbu… Daddy is also back from the airport.
I have not yet written to Ritu’s Abbu regarding our safe arrival in Lahore. I sit down and start writing the letter.Zabie’s letter from Switzerland has arrived. They are enjoying their summer vacation there immensely. Mummy too has sent her love in lots. Daddy is also planning to join them for a week now. He has left, and my Abbu has taken his place. Let’s go daughter, your Ammy must be waiting for you. I look at the Dadder valley with all its loveliness and the river Sarran with its clear blue aqua-pura… no scenic beauty of Switzerland’s valley can surpass it. But Abbu, unmindful of all this, is hurrying towards the sanitarium, holding my hand tightly. I stumble over the way a couple of times but Abbu’s grip is strong. We enter Ammy’s word. All my siblings are there except Zabie. ‘Where is Zabie?’ I want to say ‘Zabie has gone to Switzerland’ but I can’t because Zabie, being the youngest, suddenly appears from behind looming large. I feel suffocated when I look at the oxygen cylinder lying near Ammy’s bed. Abbu goes out with the doctor and I am again back in Daddy’s drawing room.
Here rRitu’s Abbu is waiting for me.‘Where have all the people gone?’
Mummy, Zabie and Rubie have gone to Switzerland for two months and Daddy for a week.
‘Why didn’t they take you along!’ His tone is a bit acerbic,
firstly because Switzerland is not a satellite town of Lahore, secondly because somebody had to be behind here!
‘Shit!” had your real mother been alive, would she have gone on a pleasure trip leaving you behind like this?’
‘Please you do not provoke me against my Mummy. She is a very good lady. She always cares about us. It is like sowing a seed of hatred about her in my heart.’
‘I am only saying this to make you wiser!’
‘Man always misleads a woman and then conveniently holds her responsible for all his errors and the poor woman – she, due to her naivete, pleads guilty even of the sins she didn’t commit. The history is witness to this replication since Adam and Eve till this day.’ The heat of the moment would have carried me away further but the sound of a pen falling startles me. I pick it up again and begin to write a letter to Ritu’s Abbu. But a look at the just-begun letter startles me again. What exactly had I been scribbling? ‘Abbu – Abbu – Ammy – Abbu – daddy – Ammy – Mummy – Daddy -!’Embarrassed, I begin to write afresh.Daddy is back from Switzerland after spending a week there, and I have made up my mind to ask him point blank why at first he remained my Abbu for a long time even after the death of my Ammy and then became a Daddy after marrying Mummy? Why can’t he be my Abbu again? But I also know that I, who hadn’t ever spoken so boldly to Abbu, would never ever speak in this fashion to Daddy. Perhaps only Ammy could answer my questions! And again I am bound for the sanitarium. Abbu is still consulting the doctor. I enter Ammy’s ward. Ammy is now sitting. She is just a skeleton. I envision Mahatma Budh. My inquisitive eyes meet hers. Ammy is weaving her fingers into my brother’s hair. My brother’s eyes are watery. She is now patting Razia’s head. Razia too has become weepy. It is now Zabie’s turn, but Zabie’s eyes are full of an emotion of wonderment. Lastly Ammy beckons me, caresses my head and fondles me lovingly. I find a couple of tears sparkling in her sunken eyes, they look like embers smoldering under the ash.Ammy-!
‘I give myself up to her. I feel the ashes charging. What could it be other than the maternal warmth! I wonder. Abbu is through with his consultation.Your Ammy is now O.K. She is to be taken home dears.Ammy is O.K.!Ammy is O.K.!
I have heard about a lot of miracles. Is it also one?A special wagon has been ordered to shift her. She is made to lie on a couch in the wagon. I rest her head in my lap. All the rest too board the wagon that is now meandering through the steep hilly terrain of Dadder scaling its highs and touching its lows. We get severely jolted once and I suppress my cries and limit them to whimpers. The hope for miracles has died out. I straighten the limp neck of my mother.‘Your Mummy has sent these presents for you’. Daddy gives two beautiful packets to me. Ritu has woken up. I prepare milk for him. After giving him milk I unwrap the packets. One consists of valuable garments for me and for other siblings. The other is full of toys for the children. Among the toys there was a surprise. A toy plane. A plane exactly like the plane I had seen flying in the mirror with my Ammy in it, or her soul rather. I become speechless.
I again sit on the sofa in the position from which I had spotted the plane flying in the mirror. But there is nothing now. I stand upright before the mirror. My God! There is my Ammy instead of me smiling through the mirror. Not a consumptive and weak Ammy, but a young, healthy and beautiful Ammy an Ammy of the age when I was only six. I again want to be six years old, a naughty, mischievous six-year old. I again want to be scolded and beaten on my girlish vehemence. I also recall that I was six when I had completed the full recitation of the holy Quran. My mother had held her head high that day pointing out my tender age as against the accomplishment. The day of my saying ‘Amen!’ (to denote the completion of the recitation) was a day of kisses and hugging by my mother. She even recited some holy verses and blew them over my face to ward off an evil eye. Ammy used to call Abbu ‘Baauji’. I, too, had once called Ritu’s Father ‘Baauji’ but I had then broken down and started crying. How much water has flowed down the bridge since then. A very weak and emaciated image of Ammy is now peeping through the mirror. But this image too is smiling.‘Ammy you stood by Abbu solidly through his thick and thin but why have you backed off in his happy days?’My Ammy smiles weakly. ‘It has to do with my fate daughter!’‘Ammy, if you call it fate then what is tyranny on oneself?’‘Nobody’s writ runs against fate my tiny tot!’ she replies in a tired voice.‘I’ll blind the eyes of such a frightful fate!’ I cry out and feeling too tired and worn off myself I fall limply on a couch. Ammy comes out from the mirror, caresses me and kissing me on my forehead goes back to her mirrored niche. I turn over on the couch. I can still feel the warmth of her kiss on my forehead alive. Ritu is playing with the toys, sent by Mummy, on the floor. He is particularly interested in the toy-plane she has sent. The sounds of Rufi and Nuzhi, my other children, playing carom in the adjoining room are obvious. I sit up when Daddy enters my room and talk about the future plans of Ritu’s father. He exits after some time. I can still feel the warmth of my Ammy’s kiss on my forehead. I set out for the cemetery, where my Ammy is resting, to call on her.
I look for Abbu here and there when I reach her burial ground, presuming that Abbu has to be there as an attendant at Ammy’s shrine. I call out. ‘Abbu – Abbu!’
the sound of my crying dashes against the surrounding hills and rebounds Abbu-u-u- Abbuuun!
I shout again. And again the echo reverberates. ‘Abbu please hold me I am falling!’“Abbu pleaeeese-!’
it looks I am no longer shouting for my Abbu. Instead it looks I am hitting my head against the hills. It looks I am bent on breaking those hills to smithereens by hitting my head against them.Abbu-Abbu-Abbuuu-Abbuuuu-! I am now broken into pieces myself and the hills are standing unfazed as ever. Ammy you are right, you are right saying that nobody’s writ runs against the fate. Ammy, Abbu, I am all broken and scattered.
Suddenly I feel that somebody is collecting my pieces and setting them again in order. He has again set me as ME and now he is carrying me in his powerful arms out of the cemetery. I think my ‘Abbu’ has arrived and he is the one who is carrying me. I open my eyes and look at him. My goodness! He is not Abbu. He is Ritu’s father.
I am suffering from high fever. Daddy had to attend an important official meeting, so he has left. I am lying in my bed in a semi conscious position. I don’t know if it is delirium or what but I find my Mummy sitting at the head of my bedstead. She has my head in her lap and is pressing it very lovingly. I am feeling quite embarrassed over my way of thinking. I am trying to collect my words to say something, to recompense love for hatred.
I say; Mummy--you are- Mummy – a good one-! ‘But I miserably fail in my effort.
A couple of hot tears fall on my face (Mummy is weeping too). I have succeeded in collecting my senses.I don’t wish to open my eyes fully because I know my tiny tot Nuzhi is sitting at my head and not my Mummy.
I still try to be coherent.
‘Mymmy-my good Mummy – Please forgive me -!’

*****

Short Story: The Enlightenment

By : Haider Qureshi

The Enlightenment


The tides of the History Turn;
When ascetics, in their Fancy, Speak!

THE LUNATIC FELL SILENT AND LOOKED AT THE AUDIENCE THEY. TOO, WERE SILENT AND GAZED AT HIM in AMAZEMENT. THEN THE LUNATIC DASHED THE LAMP AGAINST THE FLOOR and it BROKE INTO PIECES AND ITS FLaMe DIED. THE LUNATIC DECLARED, ‘I AM BORN FAR AHEAD OF THE TIME, I BELONG TO THE FUTURE. THIS DREADFUL INCIDENT iS STILL IN THE PROCESS OF COVERING THE DISTANCES!
(an extract from one of Neitze’s similes)

When I try to enlighten the people, with a clay-lamp in my hand, which itself is a proof of the rising suns in my eyes, they look at me as if I am joking. Some laugh at me and some simply look at me without understanding and pass by.
The proof of the rising suns in my eyes, the clay lamp, is still in my hand. But nobody is inclined to believe me. I, myself become skeptical. Am I born one thousand and six hundred years ahead of my time. These people look that many years behind. They will never understand me. Then I go to my mother on a cue. I tell her that the future is all lit and that the clay lamp in my hand is proof of the rising suns in my eyes. She looks at me with anguish and reciting some holy verses under her breath she blows them over my face. My younger sister looks at me, scared, and tucks herself in the mother’s side. Smiling on the plainness of my mother and the innocence of my sister I go to Mubarakah and tell her that I have been appointed by God to convey the good tidings of a radiant future, and the clay lamp is the proof of the rising suns in my eyes. But ignoring my declarations she starts updating me regarding the bills of the shop-keepers and the children’s fees. Disappointed I go to Iffat and when I tell her everything seriously and insist that the light would emanate from the rising suns in my eyes she comes closer and touching the clay lamp in my hand says, ‘are you in the mood of writing a story?’ I assure her that whatever I am saying is the truth she exhorts me to write a story a story on the subject.
I am now fully convinced that I am born one thousand six hundred years ahead of my time. It had happened once in the past too. I had found then that I was born fifty years ahead of my time and when I died and was born after fifty years I had discovered that I was then one hundred years ahead of my time. And when I was born after one hundred years it tuned out that I was two hundred years ahead. And after two hundred years it was four hundred and after four hundred it was eight hundred and after eight hundred it is now the case of one thousand and six hundred years.
I, who am the tiding of the radiant future, am getting distanced from this world. I wonder about that zero duration in which all the spans of the centuries and the ages would get shrunk and my birth would not be construed as ahead or prior to my time. The- Zero-Duration in which man would never sacrifice himself for the Fire in the process of negating the Light. I would have to wait for that period.
The period of one thousand and six hundred years would perhaps double and keep doubling ever converting that gap into millennia. I don’t know when it would happen on time and when the rising suns is my eyes would just be a stone’s throw away from above our heads. Then nobody would dare to negate my claim.
I, then, come to the square of the city, along with the burden of the past and the present ages on my soul, and declare: “By not believing in me O folk you have denied yourselves a great enlightenment!” Even before my declaration is complete people begin deriding me over my foolishness. Their insults and epithets target me from all around. I try to take them in my stride with equanimity. When people get tired of the decision I, without completing my earlier announcement, ominously warn, look O people, devoid of the luminous insight, you have slighted the radiance and the light. Only those of you, who would take shelter behind my house, would be spared. I am one thousand six hundred years of my time, though, but an inferno is your fate. Saying this I dash my lamp against the center of the square and start hurrying towards my house. The derisive laughs of the people chase me. The same derisive laughs suddenly turn into cries of pain and agony even before I reach home. The clay lamp that I had dashed against the square had caused a widespread fire. It engulfs the city in a jiffy. The rising and leaping flames from all around and the cries and shouts of the anguished people cause a terrible chaos. I go and sit in my room. My mother looks at me in surprise and then again at the leaping flames. My younger sister is still with my mother, still tucking herself into her side. She suddenly pulls my mother into my room and sitting her sits beside her.
Mubarakah and Iffat too come into the room. They are both puzzled. After a pregnant silence, Mubarakah ventures; ‘there are a lot of people outside to allegiate their loyalty to you.’
It doesn’t matter now. Those who are in the shelter of my house and its walls would however be safe. I can’t accept their allegiance now. I will now come after three thousand two hundred years and then again after six thousand and four hundred years and likewise. Mubarakah’s and Iffat’s faces reflect fright along with their faith. My younger sister gets closer to her mother. My mother tries to envision through her blank eyes the moment when she had given me birth and I begin to wait for that zero duration when the rising suns in my eyes would come down to a stone’s throw and become the proof of their own being. And when I would not have to carry a clay lamp to pontify my claim.

* * *

My mother and my younger sister are sitting in front of me on a bench. Mubarakah, checking my pulse, says “Iffat had come to inquire after you, you were asleep then. She would come again after a while.” I then begin to wonder for what zero duration I was waiting!

* * *