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Short Story
PARO
By
Mohammad Hameed Shahid
Tethering the Motley in the yard he
muttered under tone: when sheaths ripen the coming asarh, I will buy another of
your pedigree. He tested the knot on the moving his hand gently on the ox's
back. This act sent a feeling of exhilaration through his whole being. He was
not entirely overwhelmed with that passion when his back felt a volley of
disrupted breathing. He turned upon his heels swiftly but by that moment the
sensational breath had changed into a shrill shriek, which pierced the space
all around.
They say it was Paro's last scream.
She was Wilayat Khan's wife, possessed with evil spirits. They also tell that
with this final cry of terror Paro recovered from her hysterical fits forever. This
incident however rendered her dumb and nobody beard her speaking ever again.
This condition pained those who recalled the good days, when, after suffering
the usual fit, she recovered from the evil influence and regained herself
completely. So much so that Wilayat Khan wondered
at her recuperation and the house resounded with the bursts of her laughter.
Nevertheless, it did not seem as if her
final scream had swept off her all uttering, smiling and shrieking, nor did
she subject to the fits anymore. Her lips were nonetheless sewn forever,
sealed as if it were with the crust of muteness. The hajjan Mom agitated over Paro's barren lap, her perpetuated silence and addressed Wilayat thus:
"I know you passionately cherish Paro's welfare,
possessed as she is, makes unbearable hue and cry, yet you solace her. Dumb
as she has turned now numbs the very heart and then is this dreariness. All
praise for you, despite these untoward happenings you contemplate the beast
to have a second wife. Anyone will be tempted to bring in one. Listen to me,
waste no more time, and remarry. God-willing gloom will give way to bloom in
this desolate abode.
When Wilayat
heard such talk, he turned pale. He uttered no word and looked despondently
at Paro's lips, which he found sealed as ever. Far
back when they began living together, Paro's
laughter echoed, and Wilayat also doted on his pair
of oxen, which emerged with flying colours on all
occasions of village racing tournament. He kept these animals at the other
end close to mangers. He was very proud of this pair. His mirth however
evaporated when he peeped into Paro's eyes,
bedimmed and devoid of lustre. She was indeed in a
miserable state. It was not long that they had married, there was no apparent
reason for discontent yet something quite imperceptibly perplexed her. This
predicament marred the gay atmosphere of the house and rendered it unbearably
morose. Her smiles and giggles were gagged by this involution. The house was
overflowed by this stolid awkwardness. Wilayat
Khan, before whom lay prostrate all his opponents of Kabaddi,
by virtue of his calm demeanour somehow managed to
keep Paro in good humour.
Soon, however, this compulsive humour began poisoning her inwardly. This situation arose
after a year or so when Wilayat purchased the Motley.
Wilayat was among the few of village darlings. His
high regard accrued from his enviable physique, uppish
stature and victories in the Kabaddi events. Then
he was owner of the handsome pair of oxen, which outmatched the entire Punjab breed in running. He was well versed with the art of maintaining
himself. He got up early before darkness dispelled, marched briskly for
miles, on way back he hewed with the axe one large pack of firewood. His diet
comprised parathas fried in pure ghee, glassfuls of
lassi and milk. In the evening he massaged his
total body, exercised at dand baithaks
and tried prowess with sturdy friends for hours. He took pains to the point
of fatigue with the pair of oxen: bathed and scrubbed clean their bodies,
oiled horns and hoots, reaped fodder and brought it to his dwelling, chopped
it. He soaked oil cakes, mixed them with hay, put this forage in mangers,
unfastened the oxen and conducted them to feed on it. He derived immense
delight out of this.
Then exhaustion overtook him and he became
restless inwardly. In order to wriggle out of it, he hit upon a ruse. He went
to purchase the Motley. In the coming asarh he
planned to add to his cattlehead as the granaries
would then be full to brim. His scheme did not materialise
because the swelled barns depleted all of a sudden. He did not purchase
another animal. This was also due to the fact that Wilayat
Khan had himself changed his mind. It was strange as the Khan was a person of
resolute nature, whatever passed through his mind, firmly settled on it and
nothing could efface it except the complete accomplishment of the idea.
Otherwise he remained grossly disturbed. On the contrary now Wilayat Khan did not only abandon the project, but also
the very thrill of executing it extinguished in his heart.
The story goes that he made up his mind to
get the Motley castrated and was about to leave with it for the veterinary
when Fazloo reached with his cow which was on heat.
He behaved that there was no other pedigreed ox throughout the area far and
near and was cautious lest his cow conceived a mongrel. Wilayat
was as hesitant as he had been while marrying Paro.
His was the conviction wrestling forbids flirting with a woman even in
imagination. He had to yield when his palaestra-pails
hurled a challenge. The true claim of masculinity lay in wresting Paro otherwise it was all an empty boast, they said. Paro was lambardar's daughter,
a ravishing beauty.
Her youth had bloomed all of a sudden in
the near going- by days!
She came of age bewitchingly, which overwhelmed
the entire village. Adolescence had been stealthily overtaking damsels of the
locality quite for some time. Neither the girls themselves were conscious of
this metamorphosis nor the people around got any wind of it. Puberty in the
case of Paro approached bursting and thrusting. Her
whole body proclaimed youthfulness ostentatiously. Wilayat
noticed this rapturous reality also but he seemed least proned
and his body remained immune from the germs of covetousness. His
fellow-fighters of gymnasium, with tucked waistbelts,
persistently asserted that only one who had Paro
for himself could justificably claim genuine
manliness. Wilayat determined to pass through this
test of hardihood. He swore not to rest until he secured Paro.
He was a bit handicapped, as he did not belong to the prosperous class of
farmers. At the same time he owned sufficient patch of land, which ranked him
with the well to do. Then, to boot, he was the scion of a noble family,
possessed well-built physique and was famous as the champion of Kabaddi matches. These factors procured him Paro.
At the time Paro
was tied in wedlock unto him, his tranquillity
interrupted inwardly. Similar sensation overtook him now as he listened to Fazloo saying: "Look Wilayat
sonny! my cow hails from an impeccable species. I brought it from across the
rivulet, and paid a huge sum emptying almost all the wallets. When I milk it
utensils overflow to brim. To tell you the truth I avoid glancing its udders
lest evil befalls. Got wills it that the ox you own sounds very sturdy, its cohibition will procreate progeny pure. " Fazloo continued bragging and boasting at a strain.
Meanwhile Wilyat stood up on his feet quietly
motioning him bring the cow closer for mating with the Motley.
The day Fazloo
brought the milch that yielded abundant milk, along
with its fondling calf, Wilayat at their sight felt
strange sensation pervading through his veins. Fazloo
obligingly sent milk to his house the whole month through. Wilayat Khan forbade but he desisted not. One day when Paro churned this very milk, she suffered a spasmodic
fit. The attack was so severe that she tore her clothes and clutched at the
hair. Her jaws twitched, bands and feet cramped, she writhed in agony. Hajjan Mom declared her as one "possessed".
They recoursed to charms and amulets, fumigation
and incantation, forty-day meditative exercise, circumvention at home to ward
off demons and circumambulations at shrines to invoke bliss. Exorcism did not
come up and Paro's agonising
condition tormented Wilayat beyond endurance. He
failed to comprehend the harm done to demons by Paro
who had clinched and clung her so maliciously.
Paro's fits and the Motley's hits turned together the talk
of the town everywhere. The much-milk and comely-calf boasts were broadcast
by Fazloo vehemently. Wilayat
was extremely delighted with all that. Resultantly many more cows from the
village and neighbourhood reached with frequency to
benefit from the Motley's mating. Delivery of healthy calfs
and offering of milk to Wilayat became a routine
matter. Overflow of milk and ghee at home leavened the limbs of Wilayat still further. On the other hand Paro's condition worsened. The demons initially possessed
her at the time she churned lassi, now writhing
fits became more frequent. Under these spasms she behaved queerly, as if
amorously fondling a tiny babe. Such actions of Paro
prompted hajjan Mom to assert that if she were
delivered of a child, her severe fit-hits would cease to occur. However days
on sudden seizure of such convulsions enhanced and expectation about Paro's bearing became far and few between.
Oh this biological make of a female! It is
absolutely a labyrinthine mess, a confused entangled mass. Outwardly sheen
and shining, so fresh and fine, it suffers inwardly from numberless ailments.
With a husband of Wilayat's solid and vigorous
built, if Paro was devoid of motherhood, deficiency
lay somewhere within her. Thus declared hajjan Mon,
and everyone believed it to be true.
Once again she was conducted to saints and
sane souls, recipes of sanyasis were poured down
her throat, solemn vows of offerings were made at various shrines, but in
vain. Paro hesitated to tie an amulet or take a
philter for purpose of personal relief, but haj'an
Mom compelled her to try all such novices. Many a device was employed, but
nothing seemed to have borne fruit, nothing was to be born, and she bore
none. Wilayat was apathetic to all this- apathy or
fatality whatever the reason! He seemed contented only with the tidings of a
newly born calf or a pail full of milk sent by way of offering to him.
As a matter of daily routine, standing in
the yard, he patted affectionately his Motley and at the same time, lending
an ear to a villager's account of a lately delivered calf. Suddenly from verandah
rebounded the thud and throe. Paro had fallen on
floor churning lassi. She cried shrilly, her voice
piercing through the still. Wilayat hurried to the
scene of tragedy. He found her lying flat on the ground in a wretched state.
Wilayat delayed no more, he resolved. He turned on his
heels swiftly, unfastened the Motley from peg, and repaired to the
vet-dispensary. When he returned home, he noticed at his back the warmth of Paro's disorderly breath, which changed into clamour. They affirm that was he latest when Paro shrieked and thereafter she was never seized with
spasms. At the same time they were aggrieved because the demons had packed
off with all her pronouncing words.
(English
rendering by Prof. Shoukat Wasti)
Short Story
THE REVELLER
(Tamashbeen)
By
Mohammad Hameed Shahid
Female and fragrance I cherish the most -
or should I confess that feminine fragrance intoxicate me immensely. Now that
I shun a woman, avoid to converse with her, this never was my wont
previously. So I admit over again that woman and smell emanating from her
being, always infatuate me irresistibly.
The day she entered my office, rather just
to cast a casual glance at her face, desire stirred within me to minutely
observe her whole being, bit by bit from top to toe. Incidentally, I had only
the night before finished reading Geoffery Archer's
book of stories, "A Twist in the Tail". This tale about the loving
lady Amenda Curzen was
haunting me overwhelmingly. I dreamt the whole night through intermittently,
it was an incomplete dream, and rather I may define it as insatiate.
Initially it appeared blurred, then
gradually above the high-heel black sandal, supple legs emerged conveying
subtle moves over a chessboard. The dream rewound and then started to replay.
The recurrence of the similar scene irritated me incomprehensibly and
frustration overtook me as I failed to make out a vivid delineation of the
silhouette.
When she entered my office my mind still
boggled with the thematic situation of the story. Her voice roused me.
However, my eyes did not straight converge on her face, my gaze hovered
around her legs. I have not as yet revealed the array I follow while viewing
girls. Hold a moment, let me recollect --- perhaps I first survey lips
resembling juicy red slices, lips of every size, cheerful and fresh,
coquettishly contracted and agape; or it may be that I peep into eyes, deep
lake-like wide eyes black, blue or brown, engulfing the whole around.. Nay, I
must admit I behold not a face in pieces rather view it in full shape. My
sight is engrossed only with its complete view.
Nonetheless, never on any occasion had I
perceived one, starting from the feet. The Archer's tale lingered still in my
mind, and inadvertently my eyes went over her feet in the first instance. The
story ran that as Amenda Curzon
entered the club building, chess tournament was in progress. She wore black
high heel vellot shoes. The preceding night my eyes
had been feasting on her pliant shining shins. Here was it altogether a
different case, which almost shocked me. Her shoes, if really black, had lost
their entire original luster due to constant use and want of polish.
Subsequent shock followed as these clumsy
footwear exposed feet and ankles of sallow complexion. My eyes traversed her
body upward listlessly as nothing attracted them to hover awhile at any spot.
Oh! I forgot to tell that the moment I saw her dark feet and ankles showing
from the trousers, my fancy of pure white shins was miserably shattered, I
almost lost my composure, and I felt bifurcated within. It crossed horribly
my mind to pull down her painchas so as to cover
all the clumsiness of the sandals, feet and ankles.
I quite understand the absurdity of this
entire feeling, but I can't help because of my poetic imagination about the
creation of the fair sex, which intended to fill the whole cosmos with
beauty. The preceding night I had seen the same beauty (though not in its
perfection) in dream. How I wished that moment its partial hues surrounded me
like a rainbow. I think, I have already mentioned that nothing in her body so
attracted my gaze as to linger a while on any spot of it.
She walked a few steps and took a seat in
front of me.
"Sir I am Bushra,
widow of Shah Nawaz! "
At this I saw her with some concern. Not
only I, everyone in the office knew Shah Nawaz very
well. With this introduction, I was tempted to cast a thorough look on Bushra to satisfy my curiosity. Nawaz
had married this potter's scion offending his kith and kin. For her sake he
had snapped betrothal with a girl hailing from his own family. I peeped again
into Bushra's eyes, apparently of black hue, but a
through gaze found them emanating dominant grey. If she raised her eyelashes
to see, the throbbing heart of one doubtlessly drowned deep in them. The tapering
face was neither oval nor plump, it was sallow yet transparent. The mouth was
shaped like a bud, lips designedly drawn lines as if done symmetrically with
a scale. She conversed in low soft tone touching the heart outright.
One would be well convinced that Busbra was worth many a feud. Marrying her resulted in
numerous estrangements, but Nawaz lived on
intimately with Busbra. This he had told me year
and a half before, following two months of their marriage, the time he worked
under me in the main office. Whenever he had something on his mind, he came
and stood before me repeatedly without uttering a word. This compelled me to
ask his problem myself. That day he repeated the exercise thrice in the same
mute way. I cast a meaningful glance on him whereupon he pulled out a folded
application from his pocket, unfurled and placed it before me. He wished to
be transferred at the Cantt. branch. On my asking
the reason he said: "Sir, it is not possible to go to village daily from
here." Saying that he blushed so profusely that I could not help smiling
at him. He was posted at the Cantt. Branch.
The change proved fatal for him. The Branch
was assaulted in broad-day light, fires were exchanged and he lost his life
discharging the duty. The Bank escaped plunders. His death in the encounter
grieved me much. I recommended a handsome gratuity for him, which received
the approval of high authorities. I informed the widow of the deceased about
it. At the time she arrived to collect the cheque,
I had been for some time under the spell of Geoffery
Archer's fiction, so I viewed her from a different angle altogether. When she
sat and began talking in soft low tone, her moving lips enticed me so much
that I decided to withhold the cheque that day. My
heart yearned her to visit again, sit and converse with me. I cannot recall
now what conversation had passed between us, however this much I may recall
that her eyes were bedewed as I commanded her husband's manliness and valour, experiencing difficulty to concentrate my gaze on
her voluptuous lips. On a reference of Shah Nawaz's
relatives, she disclosed that condemned as a wretched soul, she had been
forsaken. She hinted at the evil ways of the time and that she realized the
hazard of visiting the town all by herself. How could she request anyone to
accompany, youthful as she was; tongues could not be checked from molesting
her. Hence out of disrection she had preferred to
proceed alone.
When she condemned times for vicious ways,
I thanked inwards my stars that I was not morally evil. My desires had always
been innocently harmless. I just saw a flower and my senses intoxicated with
its scent. Girls with charmingly smiling faces fascinated me. They attract
everyone, but I being a bit bolder, get free with them in order to have a
chat, peep into their eyes, and to adorn the cornice of my hearing with the
nosegays of their tingling giggles.
Probably I have yet not mentioned that Busbra was in hurry, she feared to miss the last van to
her village. I had not felt happy over the situation, rather wished her to
stay a while more. As she rose to leave, somehow my conscience pricked for
not giving her the cheque that day. I directed her
to come to receive it the following Wednesday and she implored that it should
positively be given on that day because it was inconvenient for her come down
to town so often. I assured her it would be so.
However, the following Wednesday, as I was
handling office files and Bushra had not shown yet,
Shakila called me on phone. I should introduce her
to you as the beauty whose cheeks developed dimples while laughing, and with
closed eyes she talked non-stop bewitchingly for hours. She had rang me after
a long interval because she had not been in town. Now that she had returned, Shakila wanted me to take off from the office instantly,
pick her and listen to her incessant account at a secluded place. I liked her
offer rapturously. Why take off. It was part of my duty to go on surprise
cheeks of sub- offices occasionally and report on their working. My leaving
the office without prior notice was covered by this practice. As is usual in
such situation, sense of time was lost. In Shakila's
sweet company, long hours flitted, as if it were, in twinkling of any eye. I
did not go back to the office.
Next morning when I reached office, I
learnt about Bushra's visit and her stay, waiting
for me, until the office closed. I wondered because the last wagon to her
village left by 3:30.
"She kept on repeating that Sir, but even then stayed on".
"Where did she go then?".
"Sir, we have no knowledge of
that."
At night I retire rather late to bed and
consequently do not rise early. In haste I prepare for office and never take
breakfast with ease nor chance to go over the newspaper. For the latter I
make up on reaching the office. The newspaper spread before me covering usual
politicians' statements, accidents, murders, kidnappings etc.. Here and there
were sprinkled frivolous activities of wayward youngster eve-teasers, who
passed nasty remarks on girls passing by and flirted in many a novice manner,
by offering lift in the fastest model cars, ogling and eyeing shamelessly, or
appearing from nowhere riding sans-silencer shrieking scooters and snatched
away the poor souls' purses. Their tantalizing activities were prominently
reported in box.
Folding the newspaper I put it aside.
Hardly had I picked a file then Bushra entered the
room. This time I felt no inward urge to scan her in bits from top to toe.
Still inadvertently I repeated the process. I looked at her from head to foot
and vice versa- my heart sank within as if fathomlessly. She crossed over
from the door to the chair and it seemed that incessant roaming had exhausted
her. She almost dropped in the chair. I was disturbed.
"Are you alright?"
"Alright!"
She stared fixedly the hollow in front of
her. A horde of apprehensions stirred within me but I refrained from probing
further. In fact I had lost the courage to do so. I gave the bell and told
the peon to bring the cheque, which I advanced to
her. "Here is your cheque." She broke
down and mumbled in sobs, "Cheque...
compensation... what for? for my husband losing his life. or for.... she
could utter nothing else, bit her bruised lips between the teeth.
A feeling crept through me as if the last
wagon to her villge had run over trampling me under
its wheels. I was face to face with a woman Bushra
who had cast her dice to be a loser, in contrast with Amenda,
the lady destined to be the winner of the last stake.
(Translated
from Urdu by Prof. Shaukat Wasti)
Short Story
THE NEST
OF SNOW
By
Mohammad Hameed Shahid
She was irritated very much. She unlatched
the door. I had hardly stepped in then she showered a volley of reproof on
me. The girls, who were greatly delighted on my coming home wanted to rush at
me. They were, however, checked of discretion to remain aloof, at this
unseemly welcome of me.
"It was far better to have stayed in
that far- flung station, where you could at least return home well on time,
in the evening." The girls giggled, but she writhed in rage. I deferred
to offer the oft repeated excuse to clear my position.
When I was posted at Murree,
she was overjoyed. She was reminded of the charming honeymoon days, we had
come to spend here. That memory transformed here in an ecstatic mood even
now--- dark clouds descending on earth, salubrious miled
breeze touching her body gently, she slipping voluntarily on the drenched
pathway, getting mildly hurt, fomenting the injured limbs with the soothing
warmth of the hair-dresser and even keeping our bedding cosy
too with the same apparatus. Hot water was rationed to only one bucket, so
both used the bathroom together; otherwise, one risked the peril to bathe
with ice-cold water. Hand in hand we strolled on the Mall. She could recall
vividly the people rambling to and fro, she enjoying the sight out of the Lintott’s or seated on the steps of the post office-- for
long hours.
Nevertheless, now was she bored to the
core, stooping spirit seeping down to cells of her being. I well knew the
reason, but what could I do? The full swing of the season had long drawn to
its close, but the visitors had not ceased to pour in. Touring officials
crowded the office and the house was congested with the near- and- dear ones.
Everyone tumed up expecting us to manage lodging
and boarding. Besides, they craved our company on outings and picnics. In
such situation, despite my best intentions, I failed to return home
punctually.
And here was this poor creature that would
dutifully rise early, arrange, the disarranged bedding, dust and sweep,
provide hot water for baths. "She cooked and served meals. Breakfasts
must be rich and evening teas offered with samosas
and other dainties. In addition to the routine chores, she had, sometimes, to
wash the babies of the guests staying with us- and of course, looked after
her own kids as well. The heaps of utensils-- crockery etc. she had to wipe
and wash. When evening approached, lengthening shadows slid down the dense
trees to merge into night, and she was called upon to set beds. Patiently she
waited for the guests to return from their merry–making trips then only she
was able to steal a rare moment to stretch her taut body to rest: So her
boredom and peevishness were not hard to comprehend.
Her anxiety grew as chilly winds began to
blow. When she learned icy cold would lower the temperature frigidity, she
was perturbed all the more.
"Have you noticed these quilts with
these crevices all cover? Cover yourself with them and you remain uncovered.
December is arriving fast on its heels. Does something about these, Sir do
something!"
Those were the days ready-made quilts were
not in vogue; at least in Murree this stuff was not
available. Service was extinct to pluck out cotton by unravelling,
carding and refilling it back, sewing and stitching the quilt over again. Our
stock of quilts hardly sufficed for the guests or us. Pindi
was too far to replenish our scanty store.
"Sir, make some provision of firewood,
dry fuel, or else how biting chill will be wended off the kids? Just take
notice of our neighbour, he has got an iron grating
made only for Rs.1200/- It is fitted with a pipe, spouted out of the
ventilator which emits smoke from the room. I implore you have one made of
the type. In the icy cold nights room will hardly be heated unless we kindle
firewood,’
She was absolutely correct, but where to
find the big sum of twelve hundred rupees from? On account of frequent
numerous guests our pecuniary situation had been imbalanced irretrievably.
Therefore, I paid no heed when she thus admonished. Each night began with
similar pondering, and consequently I failed even to derive rapture from her
supple being. She, too, would not rest her head on the cosy
pillow of my arms, nor comb with her soft fingers the hair on my chest. We
just talked but all aimlessly. Then sleep overtook her, and I lay for long
hours exhausting, as if it were, my body, smelling sweet fragrance emanating
from her self. Then I lost the sense of time and drowsed. On outbreak of
dawn. All the nocturnal conversation and deliberation would slip off my mind.
It would yet be dusk when I was aroused, with the mellow warble of sparrow.
The bird I noticed here was of rare species not to be found in plains - a bit
longish of built, alluring of shade, blackish head wearing a crown of plume,
neck adorned with a feathery braid, and ogling coquettish eyes. The moment I
opened my eyes in bed, I found the bird always with its two younglings
hopping almost in my side.
It ran across my mind- the puny souls must
be hungry as the nights have gone so lengthy. Getting up, I would repair to
the kitchen, make them some feed and place it in the room. The kitchen had
two doors, one each opening in the room and outwards to the courtyard. My
wife admired the designer for this on all times, because very conveniently
she could keep an eye on the children while working in the kitchen. The
sparrow had made its nest in the ceiling at the confection of the two kitchen
walls having the doors. In plains I never saw a nest of this type. The
sparrow carried kneaded clay in the small beak, arranged all particles neatly
adhered into a form of solid home, alongside the roof and walls.
The day would hardly dawn, thaubia still engulfed in the sweet sleep, folding her
daughter in her warm embrace, when the bird and its two chirping younglings
would descend on the head of my bed. I would then open my eyes with a smile,
looking upon these harbingers of morning as my true benefactors. It was
because of these, that since my lodging in this house, I had always offered
my morning prayer at the appointed time, and had not once missed my morning
walk. With these two punctual factors-morning prayer and walk, I would reside
in Murree until the time my physical elements
frittered away!
Then the time set in leaves started
changing their shades: crimson, scarlet, pallid, variegated hues overtaking
them- and these colours snapped off the branches,
to be trampled underfeet or to loaf about along
with the wandering chilly blasts.
Although autumn had overtaken Murree, yet this change was pleasing for Thaubia. She could now accompany me on walk, loiter about
shopping on The Mall leisurely. I could share time with her, as my
engagements had been limited. Our life normalized and much of wearisome and
boredom we shook off the selves. However, as ill luck would have it, our two
daughters fell ill, one after the other...This unpleasant occurrence
coincided with the first snowfall. The process of pouring icecles
was quite new to the children, I felt immensely amused with the view as well
and Thaubia too was beside herself. She raced on
snow with the girls, giggled with them, and as they slipped and were carried
away along, laughed heartily, slide and skid herself also, shrieked and made
lot of fun. Laughter filled her eyes with water, her whole being reflecting
merriment from the pores. Her body swirled and by rubbing her red nose, she
turned it still redder. To me Murree transformed
into beauty personified by the addition of my Thaubia’s
comeliness to it. But woe-be-tide the chilly winds! Both our daughters fell
ill, one after the other.
With a view to forestalling another fit of
rage to Thaubia, I purchased an iron grating,
stored dry firewood and had the quilts mended from Pindi.
Still, however, the room would not be heated the night through. The girls who
slept separately since their early years. Would perforce creep into our bed,
clinging side by side, and we dared not turn over from the fear of exposing
our bare bodies to the ice cold frozen bedding. Then, snow had also fallen
many feet deep. Leaves had long departed from branches and lay huned under ice. The whole scene presented a milky
whitened look as far as the eye could see. The sloped roofs of houses
courtyards, cobbles and shrubs, leafless boughs and bushes all wore an
appearance of chiseled marble work. This disagreeable situation worried my
heart about the sparrow and its younglings, which awoke my punctually with
their sweet singing each morning, albeit all their fair weather friends,
which flew dashing in the air, had migrated from this benumbed surrounding.
The girls were confined to the house, Thaubia busy thrusting wood bits into the
"hearth", kindling fire with blow, pipe, exhorting the kids to sit
by the fireside. There was a chimney to drain out smoke, still the room would
be filled with it, and the doors had to be flung open at times to make its
way out through them. The smoke emitted but in the meanwhile icy gusts of
wind burst in. Overagain the grating had to be
heated and the room warmed up. This exhausting exercise of Thaubia continued as routine.
Amidst this busy schedule, dawned the black
morning which still haunts me. In its consequence, I had to depart from Murree. Had I not done so, I would still be jolted out of
my slumber, startled and choked, having the off repeated nightmare-Murree wrapped in its white shroud, Thaubia
sleeping with the daughters, clasping them in her arms. This was the dream,
which I had incessantly for many nights following the black morn. On every
occasion I arose shocked and choked. In order to escape this paranoia I had
to depart from Murree.
On that black morn, as was my wont, I got
up very early. The sparrow and its two younglings, having taken the feed, had
retired to their nest. I was perturbed because Thaubia
was still asleep that late, though the girls were already out of bed, rubbing
and reddening their puny noses. Then, all at once Thaubia
turned her side and mumbled.
"My body is racking----"
In anxiety I felt her body, it was
feverous, I said.
"You are running temperature."
She stood up, put her dress in order,
rubbed the nose with her scarf whining, and spoke thus:
"It is low, may God, that our children
recover."
I finished my breakfast and started to go
to the office. She came running behind. I stopped and enquired if it was all
right.
She said. "The ventilator, over the
kitchen door that opens into the courtyard, has a pane missing. It is not
there since our arrival in this house. It mattered not much before, but now
cold wind finds its way through it almost freezing the room the whole night.
Manage to get a paneglass fitted there. I noticed
her face lost its luster as she uttered these words.
"Why not, do not worry, the glass will
certainly be fixed today" So I answered, faintly touching her cheek with
my finger.
The following morning was one when I could
not get up to offer my morning prayer. When I awoke, as if with a spasmodic
jolt, light had crept into every nook and corner of the room. In frantic
haste I jumped out of my bed. Thaubia was fast
asleep holding the children in the fold of her arms. The sparrow an its two
younglings were missing. I shuddered.
"Oh my God, let no misfortune
befall!" I murmured and ran towards the kitchen. It was absolutely quiet
in the nest. Suddenly my eyes ran on to the ventilator, with its glass-pane
lately fixed. Outside it had gathered crystal flakes of snow. My heart began
beating horrendusly. I opened the door and walked
out. Murree lay enwrapped in the double-plaid
shawl. My eyes slipped over to the flat of a white mount, close by the
kitchen threshold. I knelt down and squatted. With my finger I scraped the
heap. Snow fell apart to reveal that Murree wore
not the plaided shawl, it was wrapped in a white
shroud- and with it lay the sparrow sprawling its wings, buried underneath
were the two younglings, having breathed their last.
My head whirled. The same finger, which had
touched the hot face of Thaubia this morning, and
had just unearthed from below the snow three lifeless bodies, seemed piercing
through my chest-down, deep down. I rushed back into the room. Thaubia was still fast asleep holding the children in the
fold of her arms. I shook her in a fretted fit, tears gushed out of my eyes
and my throat choked with sobbing.
[Translated from the Urdu, by Prof.Shaukat Wasti]
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