MY TEXT

Here you are sir, this is my text. I present my text to the Rector. It is very slim. But it is profound. People do not respect the slim texts. Why? What is read quickly and understood easily will lose its sacredness. But it is written in a strange language. Rector turns over the page of my text and says: here have I found a four-letter word. People do not count the letters before reading. The letters count themselves for them. It must be expurgated. Are you Dr. Bowdler?
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Letters haunt. Are letters alive? Havent you heard the story of the librarian of Iskandria, who in a curiosity to know what looks like the library in the dead night shut himself in the library. There were more than one million books in the library and in the middle of the night all the volumes started to speak. Can you imagine the plenty of voice there? There was a battle among them____the battle of ideas. There were groups of volumes that talked of metaphysics, philosophy, and science with full voices. But all sounds were mixed to the level of flustering. He attempted to note down some thing what was spoken and in the morning saw something like this: Man in the first thing is a money-earning animal first briber was Satan that turned the heaven into hell but the earth revolves round the sun and sun revolves round the earth angels can do this with graceful might given to them by God under the nine skies two were broken down to reduce the distance fish do not eat they do not have teeth this is injustice of four elements that were curtailed into one to punish them later were forgiven and given three particles then in magnanimous few more systems into systems to confuse the mind that is already confused was made limited to show that the system is vast and incomprehensible and bible is modified is intellectual the word
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was first and light was second out of gravity to ride on the cow is immoral The librarian made a decision to clear up the obscurity that was created by the mixture of bookish sound. He did not come out of the library all his life and when the invaders burned down the library of Iskandria he was charred therein. More than one million texts burnt down! Why is man writing then? This man is inanely optimistic. ________

THE FIRST LOCK As it is generally observed that some people are by nature credulous. So was Shamrooz. He never forgot to put a pitcher of water covered with a basin beside his cot because he believed in the old saying: Do not sleep thirsty otherwise your soul will roam hither and thither restlessly. He also believed in the saying that If you leave the pitcher of water uncovered an evil spirit will enter it Shamrooz had a firm belief in dreams. He had on the cornice of his room a
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khawbnama-e-Yosef (Interpretation of dreams by Yosef), several almanacs and Fundamentals of geniture and a storybook of Punj pirs. (Five Saints). One day he had a nightmare. He saw that a man, his face covered with black veil and nothing on his body except underwear, his white skin glowing owing to the oil smeared on it, entered his shop from the front door which was left unlocked as was the custom in the village. He took a doll from the shelf, picked up several pins and pierced the doll through its eyes, heels, heart and loins. Then he let the doll lie on the shelf and scratched a match- stick. Light brightened the face of the doll. In the light he noticed that it was not a doll. It was his wife Sakina. He woke up with a shocking jolt .His wife was sound asleep. He raised himself up, slipped his feet in the slippers and noiselessly traversed the patio, went into the shop and thoroughly inspected it. Nothing was stolen. He reached back his cot, contemplated his wife from top to toe. She was calm and quite. But he was not satisfied. His peace was stolen. In the village, old people used to say, The blight on a wife also befalls the husband. He anxiously waited for the morning. When the day broke he instructed his wife to distribute black barley and informed her by saying:
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I am going to the bazaar of Turbela. What for? I shall buy a lock. What is this? You will see it and its functions too. He dismissed her inquisitions with a masculine authority and at once left his house for the river. He came back from the bazaar of Turbela with a pair of horse- shoe and an old fashion lock that resembled a handcuff. He nailed the horse- shoes each on the front and the back door of the shop to dispel the jinx. An amulet was also hung inside of the shop. He put the lock in the latch for the first time in the history of the village. His wife was surprised to find out that lock could not be unstuck from the door of the shop. She inquired: But why did we need it? . A thi____ef. He stammered, I mean I suspect someone is pilfering. Who? I dont know. One of our relatives? May be. He avoided giving the details of his nightmare. Bring me the lunch. He tried to divert the topic and succeeded in it.
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People were surprised to see the lock. They asked each other; What is it? One of them who was well aware of the modern appliances informed them: This is called lock. No one knows who the first was to tell on Shamrooz. Perhaps they were the strap-bearer who whipped the young ones sitting in the corners of the streets at the time of prayer. Whatever the source may be, he was summoned to appear before the Girga to explain the importation of the lock as if he had brought in an idol from India. The Girga sat in the main hujra. Shamrooz turned up with the pounding heart. He had not foresighted such a dire consequence. Interrogation started. Did you buy a lock? Yes. he answered timidly. Why? Did you find anything stolen from your shop? No ----yes he could not decide. Say one thing. Shamrooz was dumb. Name the person or persons you suspect It was in the dream that I saw a man entering my shop in the middle of the night.
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Do you have the key in your pocket? Yes I have. Show it. He fumbled into his pocket and took out the key. The elders of the Girga gave the decision: Since the key of the lock is with the owner of the lock, it thus proves that Shamrooz suspects his wife of stealing and she must be the guilty of this immoral act. Therefore, the Girga has arrived at the decision that Shamrooz shall separate her for the period of forty days and during this period she will stay with her parents. O, no---non---o. Shamrooz remonstrated vehemently but he was hushed by the elders. To speak against the decisions of the Girga meant another punishment. When Shamrooz left the hujra he swore: Cuss you-----but he could not decide whether he should curse his dream or the Girga or the lock.
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******** When Shamroozs wife was taken to her parents, she was received as an unwelcome guest. She tried in vain to clarify her position. She was looked down upon as a pilferer in her family for fifty-seven thousands and six hundred minutes. Dear readers; here at this point, I think, I must tell you that Sakina counted the minutes by her heart. And you must know that only the sufferer knows that in the suffering heart becomes a chronometer. ________________________

THE SAINT He was a thinker. Poor and obscure. When I first saw him he was leaning against the wall of his house or let me say the wall was listing on his back. It does not mean that he was sturdy and bulky man instead the wall of the house was very small. He lived in a garret. It was the season of harsh winter and he was basking in the sunshine. The sunshine never entered his room. When I went past him he was gazing in the air. He did not care a straw about me. His eyes were very large and black of colour. His dishevelled hair was white as snow. Thatches from his nostrils met his milky white beard. He was sitting on a stool that was only few inches in height. I inquired about him and was apprised that he dug wells in collaboration with other labourers and lived on his hard earn money. This piece of insufficient information
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developed a curiosity in me. That evening I took some fried meat from our kitchen and went to meet him. It was dark in the room and he sat inside as if he were a statue. When I asked if I might come, he did not speak but nodded only. I live at the other side of this street, I introduced myself and I have brought meat for you. He smiled and said with a tint of cynicism, But I do not eat meat. Why? A doctors prescription? No. I am a vegetarian. I was surprised. I did not expect such a response from such a person. I was stricken mute. For a few minutes a silence held sway in the room then he spoke pronouncing every word as clearly as a bell: Can you tell me why God bestowed on man this cruel taste? It was an unexpected question. I began to think, selected many clues, recalled several instances but could not compose a perfect reply. Finally I said: Every thing in this world is inferior to man. Everything must have a service to render it to man. Cattle and fish are for mans stomach. They are made by God to be slaughtered by men. Moreover, if we do not eat fish, waters will be teeming with so many fish that you wont need a bridge to cross a river. And if we do not devour
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cattle, then the trunk of every tree will be a cleat for them .God has created them to be eaten by the man. He listened patiently and then said: A well reasoned dissertation now, let me know; do you eat donkeys or horses, or excuse me, cats and dogs? Are the trees falling short for them? I at once comprehended that I was hoisted by my own petard but as it is obvious that metaphysics is a stronghold for every illogical person, I leapt on to it and said, God has forbidden their meat. Therefore he manages to control their number. He retorted in the same manner, What you suppose is the hurdle for God to manage to control the number of cattle. I tried to be pontifical and said rather angrily, Mans limited wit is unable to see into the secrets of god. He did not speak for a long time. Perhaps, he wanted to end this discussion because when he spoke he said sharply, Then we should not strain our limited wit. I lifted the lunch box and took permission from him and went for my home. My mother scolded me for coming so late. I was really late. In his dark room I could not see my wristwatch. I had just passed my higher secondary examination and was in search of a
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job. I was very fond of new ideas. I went regularly to say Friday prayer. At that time I loved sermons especially those replete with historical anecdotes. But in the same way I was getting skeptical about many matters. I belonged to a religious family and my father did not permit any irreligious book to cross his door. Even the book about Islam written in English language was banned from our house. While the names like Iqbal, Hallaj and Ibn al Arabi attracted me; some names like Socrates, Plato Spinoza and Schopenhauer also fascinated me. I did not know what they said and how they said but I knew that something they very logically said. One day when my father heard me referring to Spinoza and Schopenhauer, he became furious. He warned me, Next time if you referred to Spy Noza or Shoe pen hour I shall clip your tongue with my index finger and thumb and stretch it out from its root. That day I became aware of the extra function of index finger and thumb. Previously I thought it was exclusively used for reading the holy Quran and with the aid of thumb it turned over the page of the holy book. In short in that age I had four parts in my brain. One was occupied by religiosity, second by skepticism, third with love and fourth was empty which I was to fill later on by a many other things. So that was a seesaw age and I needed a proper
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person to hone my tongue. And man in the garret was a proper one. It is shameful that you talk with a person for hours and do not know his name. I asked his name from his neighbour. He told me; His name is Syed Akram Shah and he added without my asking,He is quite a useless man. He digs wells but does not go to help dig the grave of a deceased. He does not take part in the wedding parties. He is unsociable, good for nothing. We seldom saw him in the mosque. When he dies we shall not dig his grave. This account of Shah embarrassed me but I knew that the town wherein I lived was halfrural and half-urban and people of such town were like a werewolf. Their bodies lived under concrete roofs but their souls went wondering to the steppe in the form of a wolf. Although, they had bought TV Sets and some had even travelled to Europe, but in spite of that they were imbued with olden ideas and inspired by trite customs. I knew all this without reading any treatise on socio-economic system. Hence, I said good-bye to all my dithering bought a candlestick and went to the Shahs garret. I told him what people thought of him. He smiled as usually and said, If I die they will bury me. Do you think the stink of the corpse will permit them to sleep? That idea gave me a shudder and I abruptly veered from the topic and asked him,
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Do you smoke? No. He replied, Never. Not even did I take snuff___ I am teetotaller_I like tea only. Why dont you eat meat? I could not resist my curiosity yet. He stood up and went into a corner and opened a trunk. He rummaged through it for a minute or two and brought out a bundle of crumpled papers. He straightened them and lifted one from among them. Now he turned towards me and said: I shall read some lines to you. You will find the answer of your question. Certainly I was all ear. He started reading: I regard the animals Our fellow beings Sheep and goats Cows and hens Pheasants, quails and doves All are martyred on the altar of the tongue I abhor the taste. In this way our friendship started, though he was forty and I was seventeen. He often talked to me about his disgust for eating for the sake of taste. He used to say, Primitive people were more civilized in this regard. When they ate their meal, they turned their backs to each other.
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He hated mans slurping and burking. He would eat twice. Breakfast and supper. He did not eat egg also. I was astonished to see his selfimposed restrictions at his determination to keep himself bound to them. He asked me one day, Do you know why I do not go in the wedding parties? No. I answered. When I see people gorge, they appear more little to me. As little as a mouth only. I think that although he was Swift but his miseries were not that of Swift. As it happens that a sensitive man does not live the length of his life. He dies early than the fixed time. Syed Akram died when he was forty-six. There were only fifteen men on his funeral. He was disliked by the people. The cunning landlord buried him in the narrow patio of the garret and planted a Banyan tree therein. The mob has short memory or no memory at all. One year later the shrewd landlord fastened some green flags to the branches of the tree and spread the news that Syed Akram Shah was a saint a wali. After all, his lineage traced back to the prophet Muhammad (saw). It was the shortsightedness of the people that they failed to recognize him. The mob accepted their fault and thronged there to unfurl the flags, burn the incense and to offer the teeny weeny earthen cups in which
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lay the cotton wicks drenched and dunked in the mustard seed oil and the coins of various worth as a votive. Soon were the edges of the grave occupied by the fetish stones that became smooth and oily by the persisting kissing, caressing and massaging of the people. As it is my habit that I want to keep an account of every thing except for money, therefore, according to my last count there were 17 flags, 21 stones and 30 cups. Now the garret of my friend is a ziarat, a respectful shrine. Its walls have been painted dark green. Every now and then when I enter the shrine to see the glory of my friend, a pungent aroma of burning incense mixed with the smell of soot makes my palate itch. I rub it with the back of my tongue and say to myself, Thank you my lord for not giving the riff raff a sound memory. _____________________

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THE PRICE PAID FOR LEARNING NAMES He was on such an unknown height that whenever he peered down he saw there all azures. Since there were no days in those days therefore he could not surmise what day the angel with bright wings came to him. The angel was stark naked. But he did know the names of members therefore he could not know that the angel was naked. He asked the angel if there was no colour in the universe other than blue because he had got completely bored with this hell of azure. The angel replied that far below there was earth of brown colour where grew golden cob of wheat. But in order to land there he would have to learn several hundreds thousands names. Comparing the boring monotony with that condition, he found it
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fascinating and he at once accepted it. The angel taught him hundreds and thousands new names that he at once learnt by heart. On the successful completion of that condition, the angel landed him on the earth. As soon as did he put his feet on the earth, those were scorched by the hot rubbles. He had never experienced that sort of trouble before and he got soars on his feet. He tried to search out the name for it from the dictionary taught by the angel but failed. He created the word trouble for it. Since there are days and nights on the earth, so there is sleep and hunger as well. By the evening he heard a strange sound coming out from his intestine and his belly shrank to the spine. Again he failed to find out the name for that disease in the dictionary of angel and he created the name hunger. After having invented two names by himself, he realized his power of creation and by that power he invented the means to cure this disease by eating and drinking. After having eaten he slept sound sleep. Since there was no other living being around him therefore he could not learn how noisily he snorted and how his belly went up and down. When he got up he experienced another trouble. There was a tumult in his stomach and he tried to suppress it, but it doubled after two hours. ; By the next hour
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that tumult automatically found out an outlet. Although there was no one to notice it he felt mortified. By the very first day on the earth he realized that he was deceived. The angel kept the negative names concealed from him and taught him the positive ones only. ____________

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THE GHOUL The legend says that the part of the sky over the village Chaheel was permanently starless. Thus nights in the village were as dark as grave. For children, however, these nights have some advantages. They played hide and seek in the darkness. But always a ghoul turned up to frighten them. He was called Shiral in the vernacular language. He usually appeared in the guise of a she donkey to seduce the adults. Animal coitus was not uncommon in our village. And when they trapped him he suddenly transformed himself into a Billy goat. One day he kept playing with them for one hour and twenty minutes in the guise of a beautiful boy and when they desired to bonk him he frustrated them by transforming himself into the Imam of the village mosque. It
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is said that from that day they were shamefaced before the Imam. For men the ghoul disguised himself as pretty young girl. It is said that he made a young man infatuated for this unreal girl for two years four months and sixteen days until he let himself be drowned in the river Indus to unburden himself from the heavy weight of love. The story is that his spook can still be seen in the same date and in the same time and in the same place when and where he drowned. The Ghoul was six hundreds and seventy-five years old; the same age was the village Chaheel. It is said that the ghoul was there when the first stone of the first house was being laid down. Perhaps he was the original inhabitant of the area and did not like the intruders. He would become a stone when the builders needed stone. When it was brought to the foundation it would start rolling down the river Indus. People thought it was a haunted place. They would recite chapter Al Nas from the holy Quran and sprinkle holy water on shingles and threw them in the foundation. It was impossible to tell the gender of the ghoul but the inhabitant of the village Chaheel had been taking him as a masculine for centuries. Every person who was born in the village Chaheel and grew up there had had the glimpse of the ghoul in one form or in other. Some who were realistic had declared the ghoul the aboriginal and the intruders, the usurpers. That was why that an uncanny sadness
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perpetually distressed the Chaheelians. The ghoul never allowed a perfect jubilation. In the eve of every marriage a death would occur in the neighbors. It was seldom that the Chaheelians enjoyed a heartful merriment. Not only did the ghoul claimed for the village Chaheel, he also laid hand on the other 83 up stream situated villages. He travelled with the speed of 1,86,000 miles per hour and kept an eye on every inch of his land, but his attachment with the village Chaheel was enormous and all his malice was reserved for them. When they would come to the age of forty-two, the past years would press them like a bundle on the head filled with the sins of forty years eleven months and thirty days. The only penance to those sins was to sacrifice the eldest son of the family. Usually, the eldest sons, watching their fathers grow old, would flee their homes and fathers followed the suit to chase them out like hounds. Consequently the women suffered the loss of two men. Suffering sometimes makes human a clairvoyant. One of the women was able to predict the matches and foretold the gender of the baby long before the mother conceived. Some of the elder sons were fortunate enough to see their fathers dead before reaching the age of 42. More content were those whose fathers deserted their families and joined the shrine of Sufis. However some did not marry for fear of slaughtering their sons in the old age. Although, the ghoul
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hovered over the vast stretch of land for hours and hours, it was supposed that he had an abode on a peak. The peak had a foul name. It literally meant the kiss of the prick. The short of the long is, while Chaheelians were living through this terrible ordeal, the ministry of water and power started constructing a great dam just two miles away from the village ho the west. It was in 1968. People joined the construction firms without delay to earn money. They did not know they were digging their own grave. A huge grave, measuring one hundred and fifty kilometers square. In 1976 the dam was completed. Residents of the villages were paid for their property and they had to leave. They refused to comply. Now it divulged to them that they had bargained away their own cadaver. It was not a dam. It was a coffin. Seeing that people were not willing to evacuate, all the spill gates were shut down. The level of water began to rise. It was a neo Noahs deluge. Women were weeping and children were wailing. A general chaos had outwitted the men. But it was an Eid day for the ghoul. He posted himself on the kiss of the prick and laughed so loudly and in such an ugly way that all the dogs of the village huddled up in the corners and tomcats forgot to caterwaul on the mud roofs and jackals began to defecate in huge piles. Then he descended, flashed across the village and unbarred the coops of hens, unfastened the cords of cows, untied the
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nose rings of buffaloes, undid the fetters of camels, unbound the lines of goats, loosened the tethers of donkeys, opened the portals on horses and let walk the sheep from their pens. All these animals thudded inadvertently towards the rising water. Then a roar of bovine lamentation filled the air. There was mixed noise of bleating, braying, cackling, lowing, mooing and whinnying. That day the Chaheelians sacrificed 1000 hens, 188 buffaloes, 167 cows, 70 goats, 52 sheep, 37 donkeys, 7 horses, and 3 camels. Next morning the fleets were brought and the Chaheelians thought it better to save their souls. The truth is: the ghoul emerged victorious and the Chaheelians fled defeated. ____________

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MISDEEDS OF SATAN FALL OF SATAN And his line of action When Satan angered God by repudiating to prostrate before the first man Adam, He at once commanded him to leave the paradise. Satan, humiliated by the commandment of exile, warned God that he would, in reprisal, make the man a specious creature. You will see he added with certainty, Your human a human indeed. He will never reach sublimity unless you personally stand behind him.
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Then Satan came out from the paradise, fuming. Previously he was graded among the angels, now he was condemned as Iblis. He successfully attempted to lure Eve, since Satan knew that women would be more unscrupulous than the men. He knew because God had given him knowledge and what God once gives he does not take it back. Eve enticed Adam and together they ate the forbidden fruit. They were ousted from the paradise too. To fulfill his threat, Satan multiplied himself with the multiplication of the man. The moment a baby was born, a Satan was born too. Satan formulated a simple formula: To every Seraph a Beelzebub Following are the details of one dark night meeting held by Satan in order to be apprised by the devils about the task which they were assigned, and that was to make of a man a bundle of sins. Each devil relates his misdeed turn by turn.

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SUICIDE Misdeed of the first devil Sir; I have kindled a coal of heart with the spark of love. A man has fallen in love with a girl to young to be married with. If she comes of age, he will grow old. He knows the reality. But, the more he tries to extinguish the spark, the more I glow it bright. I blur his vision. He forgets the norms of society and absurdity of his love. At nights when he lies down on his bed to sleep, I fetch the sleep away from his eyes and fill them with two talking shadows. The first one says, You fool, your demented love will be a drastic failure The other backs him Love and rationality are inimical to each other. The war of love is never won by reason. The demand of love is: wait patiently or act blindly. The first shadow intervenes and says She is twelve and you are thirty-six when she reaches seventeen you will be forty-one. Ratio of 1:3 will never be the ratio of 3:3. A daughter will never reach the age of his father. The first one breaks in,

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Love is not mathematics. It is poetry. He often fails who thinks too much The other reminds him You are living in a society. Love is unsociable. It is an enemy of society. A breach of customs and norms. The first interposes, Society is the sum total of men. A man makes customs therefore he can also break them. An individual is no less important than society. Sir; now my victim is wriggling under the agony of love. He will suicide. It is an irreligious act. I have even proposed to him many options; strangling by the rope, jumping from the roof, drowning in the river, swallowing the poison and shooting with the pistol. God forbids do not take your life. He is going to profane. He will die unbeliever. SHAVING OF A BEARD Misdeed of the second devil Sir; this time my victim was a pious man. He was very rich. Few days earlier he was a devout. He wore a long beard and shaved his moustache. He married seven years before but could not father a child. He thought his wife was barren but the fact is he himself was
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infertile .I infused an idea in his mind; idea of second marriage. When he started thinking I would control the waves of his thoughts and converge them to the sea of evil. I made him think he must choose a young lady for he had enough money to win over everything. Town would gossip about this uneven match but the sheen of gold would blind the mothers and the jingle of coins would deafen the fathers. I proposed the name of a young lady to him who was as unwise as she was beautiful. He had seen her several times. She often came to her house and greeted him by saying Salaam uncle When she knew that he was asking her hand she turned red with fury, but I at once entered her mind and persuaded her; The urge for sex would last for two or three years while the taste for wealth is eternal. Although, the man knows one day he will die, he wants to possess every thing. He even yearns for the Hoors, honey and milk in the other world. In the meantime I `she would not marry the man unless he had shaved his beard. The rich man was hesitant. Till then, I had washed the fear of God from his heart but the fear of the public is stronger than the fear of God. I persuaded him, he shaved his cheeks and chin clean. I made him so bold that he walked in the street unabashed let the people say what they like to say. Evil tongues cannot stop an event from occurring.
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When the date for wedding was decided. Now a days I am busy in making the people spread rumours against him .He had performed hajj and was called hajj sahib. Now they nicknamed him as hajj Lust. WEB OF THE CREATIVE IMPULSE Misdeed of the third devil Sir; I have made a normal man a creative writer. Things now appear to him quite differently as perceived by the other men. He thinks, he meditates, he cogitates and he baffles. Rhythm makes him excited, music boils his blood. He feels, he broods and he convulses. Words attract him, spellings spells him. What other enjoy he abhors, what other pride he derides. He sets his own standard of evaluation. He balances high with the low and contrasts the heavenly with the earthly. He claims the power of divination in him. He writes about the people and wants to befriend them but gets the cold shoulder. They call him sloth, useless and heretic. They crack jokes on him. I have draggled him into a dilemma. He loves nature but disdains inequality .He sees theme in the dirt, in excreta and in abuses. He wants to have the knowledge of every thing. I have set his mind in an incessant motion. He is unable to sleep now.. My appointed witches ceaselessly
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goad him in the form logic, linguistics, mythology, philology, psychology, philosophy, anthropology and sociology. I afford him many questions; Who are you? Where did you come? Why did you come? Where will you go? What are you doing on the earth? Why People love each other? Why people hate each other? When did a man come into existence? When will this universe end? If it has to end why it was created? What is time? What is space? Where is the end of the universe? What is beyond the end of it? What is appearance? What is reality? What is God? Where is he? How is He? Does He see? If He sees why monarchs are wagging wars? Why mill owners are exploiting workers. Why the rich are accumulating wealth. Why children are starving. Why babies are dying of diseases. What is spirit? What is an eye? What is pride? What is literature? What is beauty? What is ugliness? Why are both? What is beginning? What is end? Why there is a circle, a cube, a triangle, a square and an angle? My esteemed master, Thank you for listening me so patiently. However, I shall not bother you by repeating the answers, which I gave him to his question. Suffice is to say that I provided him with several hundreds answers to each and every question of him and when I counted there were millions of answers and quite beyond the reach of human enumeration. Only your
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highness sir Iblis has the power to count them or your rival will do it. Thus, my victim is passing through the throes of creation. He will have to write to the doomsday because no answer is an absolute one. And he will never find the one since he is a prisoner of three dimensions. Walls with the names of East West North South are unsurpassable obstacles to his flight. He will never reach the conclusion but I continue to instigate him. Perhaps he knows his limits, but he is carried away by my encouragement. I would like to quote two passages from his writings. (1) The seven days of God are equal, To the single day of my days. . From dawn to dusk A trial of its own kind, I have to face, I am in a desert thrown and asked to count the tiny particles of sand.

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(2) I want to write. To write anything Anything a piece of work A masterpiece or mere a piece It may be the ideas are trite, And language flawed Perfection here achieved. And weakness there in lines But I am not ashamed For I copy the patterns of God. The pains he takes to write will be very amusing to you sir; when he sits down to write I push the words back into the recesses of his mind. He waits for them focusing his gaze on the blank page and holding his pen between the canines. Then I suddenly heap the heap of words before him. He is entangled in the net of vocabulary. He gets flustered. It is a scene worth watching. At last he gets through from this parturition. He shuts his notebook, relaxes with a yawn then I enter his mind and begin to hoe its soil. I make him alter his line, then two lines, then three and then several. I offer him a new word for the previous one. He replaces it with the new one, then another one and then several others. Sometimes, I convince him that the whole piece is a sheer failure, rubbish, a trash and he burns it. Then I exhale a potent
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blow and spread the ashes through his hair, on his face and in his room. He swears and bags in an additional sin. But I take heed lest he should abandon writing. Therefore, I send admirers to him who will lavish extravagant epithets on his works. Some say, Stylish, Fantastic, Dramatic Grand, Humanistic, Surrealistic, Symbolic, Tragic, Ironic. Some speak in Latin magnum opus, grotesque, gusto. And another one deludes him by saying Miltonic instead of satanic. Yet another one makes use of French to elate him, Le voice, UN chef- d oeuvre. Thanks to my constant efforts that he has been trying to equal himself with the divine. Now I am sure that the rest of the punishment will be meted out to him by the Creator himself. Mass Grave Misdeed of the fourth devil

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Sir, my method is simple and instantaneous. As you know it well that God creates his human beings in various colours. Some are black, some brown, some yellow and some are white. White people think that they are the chosen ones. White skin is a foible of the man. Even in the family of a brown people the white skinned is loved and preferred. Fathers like white skinned sons and mothers chose white skinned girls as their daughters in law. God made colours to beautify the world and I use them to stunt the interrelations of men and women. However I do not limit myself to the family-affairs. It is assigned to other devils. I work on a very large scale. I alter the course of history and boundaries of the countries. To amend the geography is my left-hand game. I make the white people conceited. First they declare that coloured people are white mans burden It makes little difference if they are killed because they are half-devil and half-child Thus; first they kill coloured people and when they have tasted the bloodshed and grown used to brutality, they kill each other. I invent new methods of brutalities for them. They dig a large grave, line up one hundred or more at the edge of it, open fire, and turn them dead, kaput. They fill up the grave with earth.
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Sometimes, they throw one hundreds or more alive in the grave and level it at once with the help of a bulldozer. I know God will forgive their sins because they are martyrs, but I take care that some of their relatives must live behind. They mourn and lament. And there is no great festivity for the devils than to see the man suffer. The death of this kind leaves no occasion for a funeral. Father does not know where his son is and wife is utterly ignorant where his husband is. If, by chance, someone spots out the grave he finds the heap of bones only. What an anguish stricken are their relatives. I rejoice the scene. Then next! I form a gang of commentators. They, in common jargon are called Analysts. First they eat heavy weight terminologies such as genocide, massacre, ethnic cleansing, imbroglio and balkanization. Then, they bring up the cud that keeps moving their jaws for years. You will see the foam drooling down from their lips. They call it lip-service. Sir; despite the simplicity of my method my work always remains unaccomplished. This man is very hard, a stone hard. While I make mass graves in one part of the world, anywhere else, this man keeps carrying on his daily routine. He does not cry unless I inflict directly upon him. He, like a tortoise, protects himself under the shell of selfishness.
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At this point Satan raises his hand and makes a gesture to mute him. He speaks to them.

Presidential address of Satan Dear accomplices; after listening carefully to the narration of your misdeeds, I am glad to announce that all of these misdeeds are deftly done. This exhibits your commitment to your duties. All of you deserve high praises for them. However, to bring a man under the creative impulse is such a fine work that it spins, among the devils and the writer, a very fragile web hardly seen, any slight slip, even a pen slip of a consonant, will push him here among us. Thanks for all you. Meeting is adjourned till the next darkness. ______________

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THE HEN WHICH CROWED Man is always thankless. It is proved by the proverbs he has fabricated against the useful domestic animals and fowls. For instance, he says, It is your own bastard hen which lays egg in the neighbors barn. This, and there are many other but I do not want to depress you by repeating the history of mans selfishness and opportunism. What I want to tell you is the story of a hen that crowed. But in the mean time let me digress here for a moment. I have read in the works of Sigmund Freud that in every man there are some womanish traits and in the same way some women possess mans character. I have seen a woman who had a beard and she shaved it every day and I also know a man who did not have a single hair on his chin all his life. I believe that the Greek
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mythographer must have live examples before him when he was chronicling the lives of Hermaphroditus and Priapus. But it was the first time when I heard about a crowing hen. I wondered if a hen might have a personality. But this is the world and wonderful things happen therein. Moreover if you think deeply you find that the world itself is a wonder. The Hen that crowed was brought in our village Chaheel by a youth named Safdar who was very fond of fowl keeping and cock fighting. He was told that the said hen belonged to a very high breed and he wanted to produce chickens of high quality. He brought it for Rupees 1000.00 which was a huge sum considering the status of a hen. Nobody could, in the house, know that the hen crowed because the hencoop was in the backside of the house. Safdar himself heard it crow. His first reaction was that of dread and when he overcame it, he realized he was swindled. After the sunset Safdar put the crowing hen in his armpit, wrapped a sheet around his arms and started towards its previous owner Azam in the neighbouring village Gojar. He found Azam going toward his house at the edge of the village. He called him to stop. Safdar was furious. He growled; You cheat, you have deceived me. How?
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Your hen crows. It is a news for me. You will have it back and return my money. You may leave the hen with me but I have spent money. You will get it later. Safdar grew more indignant. He stretched out his left arm and clutched Azam by collars and by his right hand hit him in the face repeatedly. It is pertinent to mention here that Azam was a rough man and enjoyed hurly burly. No body in his village dared touch him; He always kept a folding knife in his side pocket. While Safdar was hitting him repeatedly he managed to draw the knife and stabbed Safdar several times in the abdomen. A fountain of blood burst forth. Safdar fell down and the next day he succumbed to the injuries. Azam fled to the mountain and went into a hide. Both Safdar and Azam belonged to the clans who were reputed to leave no murder without revenge. They never reported their murder to the police but always took revenge by themselves. Thus, two brothers of Safdar ambushed for days and one day by seizing the opportunity slew Azam. Two months later Azams brother killed both brothers of Safdar. A vendetta started which lasted for ten years until there was no single male left to keep it on. Both families were utterly ruined. Let us see what happened to the hen. When the fight broke out between Safdar and Azam,
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The hen slipped from under the armpit of Safdar, scurried away to the nearby bushes. Some days later it entered Kaleems house being chased by a tomcat and took refuge there with other hens and cocks. As soon as did Kaleem hear the hen crow he grappled it by the neck and took it to the Imam of the village mosque. Imam Sahib at once recognized the Satan in the hen and loudly recited, I seek refuge in the Lord from the Satan who is accursed. Then he issued a verdict that this hen must be slaughtered with a blunt knife and buried straight seven spans deep under the earth to save oneself from the shadow of bad luck. Kaleem slaughtered the hen by a blunt knife and buried it straight seven spans deep under the earth without being aware of the fact that this world belongs to the beautiful and flawless only. Other things must perish, needless to say, by the hand of man who is the victim of his own glory. ______________

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DEATH OF MR. DONKEY I Its local name is Dour. It is a gentle rivulet in ordinary days and a running vortex in the rainy days. There are villages on both sides of it. People wade across it without funk but no body dares put foot into it when it is in spate. Rainy season falls in July and August and in some days of these two months it flows fiercely filled to the brim. Sometimes it becomes angry; floods over the houses and kills people. Some decades before, nobody blamed it for the deaths, instead it was said that the deceased were sinful.
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II Shafique had a grocery shop in the village. He had a donkey on which he brought the loadful of grocery once or twice a week. This donkey was also used as a carrier of water from Dour. As every one knows that donkey is an animal both hardworking and stubborn. But Shafique had the exceptional one. His was not the stubborn. Shafique honoured him by calling as Mr. Donkey. The most remarkable thing about Mr. Donkey was that he crossed Dour without being led by his master, went alone to the town where he was loaded by and returned straight to his master. No one disturbed him in the way. It was bruited about Mr. Donkey that he had a noble jinn in his body. Therefore, roughnecks and muggers did not have the pluck to purloin a single item from his saddlebags. Shafique married twice but could not beget children. He loved Mr. Donkey like a child. Shafique used to say to his friend Ajmal It is like son and Ajmal said. No animal can be alternative of a son --- suppose you are in a sickbed and need water, will he be able to drop water in your mouth? And if you die could he bury you? Shafique would rejoin O yes yes it is tragic. That is why a man marries. . Unfortunately it was proved true. One afternoon Shafique died of heart attack. Mr. Donkey could do nothing. However, what he could do where even human beings are helpless. But one thing he was able to do. He kept on
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going to the town where from he was sent back without any load. He came regularly to carry water where no one filled his barrels. He returned and stayed before his masters shop gazing vacantly at the closed door. People were astonished whether a donkey can ascend to the status of a mankind. One day in his usual mourning habit Mr. Donkey left his master house to cross the river Dour. It was mid August and Dour was in full spate. Mr. Donkey did not heed its rage and put its forelegs into the water. It was enough. Dour thought it sacrilegious. A violation against its sanctity. It dragged Mr. Donkey towards itself then gave it a plunge. Mr. Donkeys hooves found no bottom because there was none. Outrageous Dour whirled Mr. Donkey twisted him and after few seconds he was popping up and down unconscious along with the torrent. Next day village folk found Mr. Donkey body hooked by the trunk of a tree some five miles away from the village. They brought back his dead body, dug a grave, buried him like a man and erected an epitaph on its grave reading: Mr. Donkey Who died for his master. Every one who knew Mr. Donkey was grieved. No one dared call him sinful. How can a donkey be sinful?
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III From that tragic incident people changed their stance and never called the dead men sinful who were killed by the river Dour. ______________

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HEART OF THE CLOCK (A eulogy in fiction)

Whenever I recall the day of the death of my father, the image of this clock simultaneously appears before my eyes. It is hung against the sidewall in fathers room. I do not know when my father bought it. It is fixed in a wooden image of an eagle. My father did not love the birds except eagles. Everybody knows that an eagle is a symbol of patience courage and egoism. My father name was Yonus. It was borrowed. It was also the name of a prophet. It is said, Sacred names carry the destinies within them. A sacred name given to an ordinary personage makes his life sluggish and troublesome. And I observed that the life itself
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was a gigantic fish of Yonus for my father. His calamities were transported to my father. One day he told us that when the name was given to him by his father, his mother demanded that any other name should be chosen. His father, by gainsaying to his demand said, Change is impossible now. Angel infuses the soul into the body when he has already given it a name. But. In the year 2002, military regime was trying to change anything even the time also. It decided to forward the clocks onehour ahead. People were living for years along an old line of time. They did not like its leap. My father, like several others did not forward his clock. No .2 is a slang that connotes several meanings at the same time. It refers to sham, artificial, fictitious, swindler and defrauding. Thus people declared that it was no 2 time. Some said it was Generals time. I believe that there are two kinds of times. One cyclic and the other linear, as there is an event and a history. When human being is born a linear time is created. There are as many linear times as there are clocks in the houses and watches on the wrists. As the human being advances in age the linear time gets shorter and shorter until the lost dot is erased. My belief was confirmed the day my father died of heart attack. As soon as did the heart of my father stop beating, the heart of the clock stop ticking.
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That was the day I understood the true meaning of the phrase, His/ her time was over. __________

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THE QUESTION MAKER Behram was not certain if he was aware of the grief so acutely which the Death brings or thought of it obliquely as many other people do. But when his mother died he felt it so deeply as if it had been never absent from his heart. His first question, then, to himself was: why does man die? Does death comes only to take life and leave grief or does it want to vacate some place for a newborn. But the world is vast! Behram is my close friend. Everyday we sit together and speak a lot. Not idle talk but on chosen topic. (Although there is some idle talk too some day) He thinks I can answer every question. Thus he put his question to me. How could I answer the question, which the Greek sages failed to answer. But I did not show my helplessness and retaining a scholars vanity tried to satisfy him with a compendium of ambiguous statements, obscure quotations farfetched allusions and references.
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Yet the scheme did not work well. A dark shadow of sadness got control over him and that sadness was declining into dejection. A certain amount of sadness is essential for the completion of personality but when it exceeds it destroys the man who possesses it. Why should he be destroyed? My friend. Give Richard leave to live till Richard die. I thought. You can overthrow your grief I proposed to him next day. How ? Asked he. By escaping into Everydayness. I replied with almost certainty. What is it? This escaping into everydayness? He wondered. Very easy to observe than to perceive! Said I, we shall stroll about every day in the public places and you will see the Everydayness. When? he inquired. Right now. I said. We entered a hotel. In the hall more than fifty people were watching a cricket match on a television set. It was the first inning of one day international with twelve overs remaining to be bowled. Ours bowlers were taking wicket after wicket. There was a big applause in terms of hurrahs and howling. To listen to one another word was impossible. I pointed to Behram to sit in a corner and observe. He nodded. The man behind the counter changed the channel. Perhaps mistakenly. Ajkl channel was highlighting the death crime perpetrated
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by the Indian army the day before. The audience in the hall raised such a roaring protest that we could not help smiling. The man behind the counter at once brought back the sports channel. There was another howl from the audience. This time in thanks. Two bearers were collecting cups from the audience. The owner of the hotel had earned a good deal of profit by serving tea to them. Not a single cup was broken or damaged. Is it a sham ecstasy? Behram whispered to me. It is not ecstasy, I replied, it is money controlled frenzy, No one in the audience is able to pay the price by breaking the cup It means when there is little money there is controlled frenzy and when there is lot then there is uncontrolled frenzy. He said thoughtfully. Yes, as we see some countries invade a small state and kill the inhabitants for their sport. For instance? The USA When the second inning started, our team was down with three players in the third over. Once again there was roaring. This time because of the swearing. When the first wicked fell they shouted, bastard bastard. On the second they howled motherfucker motherfucker. And on the third they hooted twat twat. One by one they started leaving the hotel. We came out after them. It was almost getting dark. Weather was cold and windy. We muffled ourselves.
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Behram was wearing a long overcoat. When he adjusted it, he remembered Joseph Ks overcoat and Mr. Bruno overcoat. I warned him that those citations might lead us literature or philosophy. We are out to indulge in everydayness. I reminded him. Over there someone was telling someone in a very high pitch of tone that a cigarette company was about to show a film in the nearby playground. People who came out of the hotel rallied toward the ground. We followed them and stopped at the edge of the playground. The screen was big enough to watch from afar. It was a vulgar film that misrepresented our culture. There were sudden intervals in it to advertise the cigarette. A man was performing adventurous deeds after smoking the brand. Why does man smoke Behram asked. To show that they are superior to other animals. Then I jocularly composed an Aristotelian syllogism, All animals are non-smokers Some men are non-smokers Therefore some men are animals No animals are smokers Some men are smokers Therefore some men are not animals
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But I have given up smoking, Behram informed me. Then you are one more step out of the everydayness. One group of youngsters was frolicking some few feet away from us. One of them received a message on his mobile set. He read it laughed and recited it to his friends A wife and a bubble gum are same. Sweet and tasty in the beginning, tasteless, shapeless and sticky in the end. They laughed so heartily as if there were no troubles and worries in the world. Then they talked a lot about the models of the mobile sets. They were quite adept in telling apart the sets by theirs model Nos only. Perhaps it was very difficult for Behram to be very long in the everydayness. Therefore when he spoke, irritation was obvious in his voice. Are they aware of the history of communication? Do they know the name of Graham Bell? Not as a name mentioned in the text books but with his full Being. No, I said curtly, Mobile sets are ready-tohand to them. Why should then they pother themselves about the history of communication? Lets go home. Tomorrow we shall go to the Chaheel village. Route to the Chaheel village. He corrected me.
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That night a very interesting event occurred. A mysterious mastermind bruited the rumour that an earthquake was about to happen. To save their soul people had to come out of their houses and took refuge in the open places. Those were the times when our country was undergoing continuos spell of rain and snowfall for several days. More over a tsunami storm had demonstrated the water logic of God by killing a million and half people in the coastal areas of Far Eastern countries. This was very high time to successfully bruit the rumour across the country. Each and every one whether he studied natural sciences or taught it, accepted the rumour without any question. Both Behram and I came out to observe that. Many took their jewelry and costly belongings in their cars. One person took his 26 Television set saying that he had bought it just yesterday. I said to Behram Look there is no mathematics in the world. All that is, is arithmetic only. Does this mean that people are conscious of their being, which they are out to save? Not being. Their bodies only which is recognized by their ID cards Nos. when they enter their name in a document or go away from their districts I answered. Does it mean that science has failed to compose a magic word that can spell out the primitive spirit from the postmodern man.
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At least their successful everydayness urges me to say, yes. I said sarcastically. Then why should we escape into everydayness To save ourselves from anxiety from nausea and from sadness He was going to ask more questions but I playfully stopped him saying: O you the question maker, lets part and have some sleep since there is only one philosophy in the world: devour drink and defecate. Next day we went on the route to Chaheel. Behram told me about a young man in our Mohala who had become a preacher. He had got a mobile set and was sending SMS early in the morning to his friends and to the people at randomly. The message comprised the following text: O, ye the ignoramus Get up Sleep is good But the prayer is the best. I smiled. I knew that Behram was indirectly telling me that mobile set could also be used for some good purpose. Things themselves are neither bad nor good. I remarked, But the same message received by a religious person and by an atheist will leave two different effects. I added.
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Then tell me what the truth is? he enquired. This is the question for which Christ was crucified. I am not afraid. He joked What the majority of people around you does is the Truth. I said sharply. The majority around us tells lies. If majority tells lies then it is truth. It is a card whereon two faces are printed, one of a boy and other of an old man. When you turn it upside down the old man becomes a young boy. An entertainment for the children. Truth sees two ways. It is Janus face. When we were coming back from our saunter we met several acquaintances of us. They greeted us and offer a cup of tea. That was an offer uttered by the tongue but not confirmed by the heart. Behram was happy by the attitude of the people. But I pointed to him: they offered a cup of tea but they did not mean it. Does it mean that the words spoken by the people are empty of meaning? Behram tried to conclude. Yes, said I. that is why a well versed person speaks less lest he is unable to mean what he says. A philosopher is taciturn and common man garrulous. But is it not strange that we are pleased by their lie? he asked
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Certainly we are, I said enthusiastically, from your experience of everydayness you can draw a conclusion: That what pleases you is a truth And what huts you is a lie. Behram was so absorbed in listening that he could not see the depression in the road and stumbled into it. A wave of pain changed the colour of his face. He involuntarily uplifted his right foot in his left hand and when he rubbed it with his both hands he said to me: Oh Mr. Riaz it is hurting me _____________

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ALTJIRANGA There had been countless expeditions to search out the whereabouts of Altjiranga. Some scholars have attempted to enumerate them. According to Dr. Hyke there were total 32 expeditions of this kind. In his opinion those expeditions were made by the Egyptians, the Babylonians, the Greeks, the Romans and the Summarians. By the virtue of thoroughgoing research Dr. Hyke is able to claim that Altjiranga lives where the world of opposite ends. Here there is neither good nor evil, neither happiness nor sadness, neither beautiful nor ugly, neither master nor slave neither subject nor object. This is a neutral world. There are many acute critics to this theory. One among them L.D. Witt is prominent for his logical arguments. He rejects the theory of Dr.
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Hyke on the basis that world of opposites never ends and at the same time never exists. It is like saying that void is and is not. It is a paradox, more intriguing than the Zenos paradox of motion and more perplexing than the paradox of Ghalib of Delhi who says: Beware, there isnt any is. L.D.Witt says we can equally talk about the world of non-neutral when in the neutral world. Our limitation of language has foiled all such attempts. For instance, he argues, take two propositions: Leibnez is optimistic & Schopenhauer is pessimistic; Both are universal positive propositions. They are neither opposite nor self-contradictory. These are relative. To say that goat is smaller than donkey but bigger than mouse does not mean that goat is both smaller and bigger. According to Basco de Lipa, Astar was the first man who took the challenge to seek out the hideouts of Altjiranga. The story goes by that the world was in the grip of severe winter. Everything was cold in the day and colder in the night. Man needed something to warm him. It was called fire. But where was it? Only Altjiranga knew. Astar announced that he would go to Altjiranga and ask him where the fire was and how he could take it with him. Astar carpentered raft and put it into the Mediterranean Sea and let it flow down stream. Here scholars are disagreed with Basco de Lipa. Pamma C Kori says it was not raft
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whereon Astar sailed. It was boat. Dr. Thomas argues that it was skiff. W. Lewinsoun says it was canoe. There is also a disagreement about the waters. Many scholars mention that Astar did not sail the down stream of Mediterranean Sea. In fact it was Dead Sea. Some others are dissatisfied with the idea of sea voyage. They say he journeyed on a horseback that was named Dadalus by Astar. Another scholar Rams Gabriel painstakingly proves that Dadalus was a horse gifted to him by Fylgia on his journey back to home. The horse on which he started journey was called Euhemer and it died owning to the fatigue that it bore during this vain journey. Next is the controversy of met and met not. Many opine that he met with Altjiranga. Others who are realistic insist that it is impossible to meet him. It is generally agreed that Altjiranga lives in Wondjina where access to mans step is not allowed. Still some other scholars are quite blatant and quip that Wondjina is no more than Faulkners Yoknapatawpha or Ruritania of Anthony Hope. Existence of fire on the earth proves that Astar returned with success. But this too may be doubted. New causes for the ignition of fire have been discovered and this renders the entire research null and void. However believers in the legend reject this thesis. Ninety seven percent of population of the world believes in the existence of Altjiranga, two percent is skeptical and one percent is
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disbeliever. I read and reread this entire research work on Altjiranga and decided not to marry. People are curious to know the reason. When they pester me time and again by the same question, I say to them; O, you dump of the buffalos dung, you would have been very sane if you had used your head half as much as you had used your penis. How can I live with a woman who believes in Altjiranga and begins everything with his name and ends everything on him. The woman who is proud of the version that Astar brought fire in the purse of a woman. B.B. Fandey writes that it was Agni herself who brought fire on the earth. Thus the Latin word Ignis and its derivation in English ignite. C.B. Deitrich writes it was Prometheus. Thus ensues the debate of man versus woman. So far man is dominated. Jessie Ferguson writes, since all the historiography has been handled by the man therefore he has by force associated every domain with himself. Had women been writing histories, we would be listening these phrases, for instances: Style is the woman. Woman proposes and God disposes. Woman is the mother of a child. Woman is mortal. For this is an endless debate, therefore I will conclude it (without prejudice) by saying that; since Altjiranga was male therefore he made
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his genre domineering. However to further the debate one may object; why is he supposed to be male? Have you visited him? ______________

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A SALE There were no signs of rain in the evening. When Behram got up early in the morning he found everything in the sehan wet and soaked. The clothes on the line that were left to get dried were again drenched with the rainwater. Dustbin was half filled with water and giving out a sticky stink. Malted straw in the tub had been transformed into a yellowish liquid. What a mess." Behram said to himself. He wakened his wife and asked her: Milch the buffalo and make a cup of tea for me; don't you know I have to go the stock market to sell my ox." Yes I know." His wife answered sulkily, rubbing her eyes. When his wife came out of the cattle shed, she reminded his husband:
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The roof of the shed needs mending. A lot of water seeped from it on the cattle" Again it seeps". He got worried. "After coming back from the market it will be my first preriority." He consoled his wife. After taking tea he took the ox in a halter and departed for the stock market. The rain at night had made the floor of the stock market muddy and slushy and the rest of the work was done by the gait of quadrupeds. It is finished dough of mortar, one can plaster with it." Behram said loudly but to no one. And while he was saying out the words he heard someone say: "Oh it is you?" Behram turned his eyes and saw. It was his friend Irshaad leading kine by her nose-ring. There was also a calf beside her. What? Are you going to sell your milch cow? Are you crazy? Behram said almost reprimanding. Behram was by nature a talkative man (as most of the men are) and he found it a great opportune to let loose his tongue on somebody. What can I do?" Irshaad answered. She has given birth to a calf but her udders are swelled. The poor calf is not let to suck milk. She kicks him. I wonder her note is stored into her udders. She will die with their burst out." "Don't tell the buyer," said Behram lowering his voice, I am here to sell my robust ox almost for the same reason."
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"Do you mean to say your ox has got the swollen udder?" Irshaad said jocundly. "O no Yar, his pizzle is bruised. Something like cancer that will infect the cows" Behram answered amid the burst of laughter. As you know I was using this ox to impregnate the cows of people and somewhere I became reckless and brought this malady on my ox. Veter says it is incurable, you have used it too much; much more than your tongue perhaps. Do you think I talk too much? I am sure I do not. If I talk too much I wonder what you will say about a person who talks too much." Thus both of them were engaged in talking without listening to each other. Towards the evening they sold their cattle profitably to a person who had the claim that he did not need to look into the jaw of an animal to count its tushes although it was not born under the roof his own shed. On their way home Irshaad asked Behram: "What will he do with your ox?" "What he will do with your cow." Behram retorted. _____________

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THE SCARECROW He was quite right till 10 AM, 24th of June2005. After that he found that he had lost his memory. He was trying to log in his email and forgot the password. He tried many time but with no avail. He had even forgotten his pet's name. With the loss of memory his entire data was lost. What am I? he contemplated, A corrupted windows 98." At the age of fifty the entire loss of memory is unexpected. When his son learned that he laughed and said, Father, do you know there is a valley in Hazara where in olden days sons took their old fathers on the high black mountain and pushed them down the steep into the abyss." "I dont know this rubbish, I heard about it." How do you say that? You have lost your memory."
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I dont believe it. However for what are you telling me this junk hearsay?" "Father this is no mountainous country. It is plain. I shall take you in the fields. What will you do in home now? You can do nothing. Only thing can you do is reading, since you have lost your memory, how will you benefit from it? It is a waste of time----sheer waste of time." "A waste of time", father turned furious; reading is a waste of time and what you people do is not a waste of time. Constructing villas is not waste of time. Smoking is not a waste time. Making love is not a waste of time. Playing cards is not a waste of time. Making money is not a waste of time. Siring children is not a waste of time." "Oh well", grimaced his son," Many many words in one breathe despite the loss of memory. Keep in mind father, villa remains although the owner dies, and the children_____ his replicas____live in it and perpetuate his figure in the mortal world. Reading dies at the moment the reader dies away. Dead men tell no tale father. How will he tell that he has read this, this and this", he pointed to the bookshelf.
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It is not a waste of time. It is to stop the time. Do you know what is stopwatch made for? To measure the fastest action in the time." "O.K, O.k. father, leave all this physics to Einstein and tell me the number of your briefcase." He drags in the briefcase before him. "186" "Does not work. Tell another." "168" "Failed. Another one." "681" "No, not unlock. Yet another." "Nope. Recall another." "186" "You are circled back father. This is the end of you and end of all mortal beings." Next day the son took his father to his fields and made him stand in the centre of the farm, spread his both arms out, don him a black cloak and then said to him. "You will scare the
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birds, will you not? They are damaging the crops." The father did not speak. He knew that scarecrow did not speak, it only scared. In the evening the son came to inspect the performance of his father and viewed a crow preached on his shoulder and pricking it with its bill. Hein, the son said to himself thoughtfully, It means an old man cant even scare the crow." ___________

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THE SCATOPHOBIC BOY They were walking in the darkness. He saw a tiny red light floating towards them at the height of four feet. He fixed his gaze upon it. A fearful shudder shook his legs. "What is it abbu." He asked his father without letting his voice tremble. Nothing, keep on walking: His father replied carelessly. He complied, pressing SINDBAD THE SAILER against his chest. He did not lose his sight on the red light. It turned away right before reaching them. Now at the age of 35 he knows that it was someone who smoked cigarette but knew not why his father did explain that simple fact to him.
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His father had a cloth shop in the market. It was his routine to open the shop at 11 am. They lived in a town where some kind of controversy inhibited the supply of electricity. A long dike separated that dark territory from the neon signed area. A strange contrast it was. There was only on e furlong of distance from that dike to his house. But it was a tense journey for him. Light of bicycle fooled him too. He took them for ghosts. Sometimes he waved his book in order to dispel the darkness. Sometimes he quickened his pace to reach home as early as possible. But seeing his father lagged behind he halted to join him. And when his father would scratch a match to light his cigarette he startled. He did not like to be fooled by the momentary lights since those thickened the darkness. He thought of his father Is he bold enough to walk home in the darkness? Suddenly a wave of hate would surge up in his mind against his father, why does he stay me at the shop that late hour. If I am home before sunset I do not have to traverse that board of darkness. He kicked the ground. They walked by the side of the road. It was in the process of making. When he kicked several gravels flew and hit the stones. A mysterious clattering sound broke the silence. In an instant he was frightened by his own action. What is the matter. His father asked. He did not answer. He used to avenge himself for his fathers carelessness
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by not giving the answers of his questions. He even did not like to beg. He never asked his father to bring him something to eat when he was hungry and once he considered it better to piss in the pants rather than to request his father to take him to the toilet. And sometimes, when his anger was at its acme he masturbated. When they would reach home ami would say his elder sister to bring dinner. He would have to accompany him to the kitchen. One more travail in darkness. Stepping down the stairs he would meet several shadows that tried to clasp him, attempted to talk to him, and when he did not, made faces to annoy him. Her sister never admitted such encounters. He wondered she was girl but did not fear. Now he understands the reason. The people who do not think are not afraid of darkness. They used kerosene oil in the lamps to illuminate their rooms. He loved lamps as someone loved a girl. The lamp frightened the shadows as they did him. If a lamp was blown out accidentally he felt a shadow rushed in under his chair and was about to pull him by the legs to Hades. He would at once curl up his legs onto the chair like a tortoise and time slowed down almost to a standstill like that four-limbed reptile. In a deep dismay he called inwardly Day o, day when will you come. But days were still and dull and nights brought hateful darkness. A nothingness prevailed which he recognized long before he read Sartre.
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He had earned the epithet of coward from his father. But he wasnt that. Grown ups are blind, he thought, They cannot see the evil floating in the darkness. Crows vultures, kites and all scavengers. When he read poetry in later days he declared, Poets are not blind. They are seers. They can see the darkness about them, the evils in it _ one eyed evil, Cyclops who are waiting to assault. He greeted the first unknown poet who converted the darkness into the symbol of decay, death, evil, and atrocity. After that he decided that the book would be his chum, his buddy, his girl friend. He did not like to be in school but he loved it as a knight loved the haunted castle abandoned by his sires. His school was very near to his fathers shop. He would reach there after one o clock. When the administration decided to run it in two shifts he happened to come into the second roll. In those days he would come back to the shop in twilight. He hated the twilight________________ the deceiving crepuscule______________that so obfuscated a man that he could not tell what would come after it __________light or darkness? Tube lights were rare in those days. Therefore they were costly. However two ones glowed in his fathers shop. They dispelled the darkness to the rear of few feet. To this extent he appreciated the tube lights. But they attracted the moths. They used to scud
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towards them and after scorching themselves they convulsed on the floor half dead and halfalive passing through the agony of approaching death. Just one step of foot was needed to put an end the moribund of the moth. But who was to do that euthanasia. No, not I, he used to say to himself. in his childhood he could not explain that dithering to himself but now his mature mind reveals to him that a merciful cannot act as a merci-killer. This is also reserved for a merciless. After having watched several moths scorches to death he said O, you darkness, when you failed to enter the bright area you sent moths to be killed by the light in order to make us distrustful about it. And he sang without moving his lips: Glow, glow, glow o light, Make everything a bright object. I am afraid of the darkness, Make it pale with a mighty touch.

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