The Urdu Development Council J&K in association with Taskeen Group of papers held a one day conference on “The problems faced by Urdu in the State” at Jammu Press Club on December 19, 2010 which was presided over by Sheikh Abdul Rehman, ex-MP and President UDC J&K. Sh. Abdul Ghani Mallik Minister for Higher Education J&K Govt. was the Chief Guest while Sardar Rafique Hussain Khan MLA was the Guest of Honour. On the conclusion of the conference Sh. Talib Kashmiri (original name……Inder Krishen Koul) a well-known fiction writer in Urdu and English was, inter-alia, awarded a Certificate of Honour for his outstanding contribution to Urdu literature.

Shri Talib Kashmiri being honoured with a citation by Sh. Abdul Ghani Mallik the Hon’ble Minister for Higher Education, J&K, Government for his outstanding contribution to Urdu literature at a function organized by the Urdu Development Council, J&K at Jammu on December 19, 2010. (R to L: Prof. Zahoor-ul-din, ex-HOD Urdu Jammu University; Sh. Ab. Ghani Mallik, Minister for Higher Education J&K ; Sheikh Abdul Rehman, ex-MP and President UDC J&K; Sardar Rafique Hussain Khan, MLA; Sh. Suhail Kazmi, Editor daily ‘Taskeen’ Jammu; Sharief-ud-din Sartaj, Gen. Secy UDC J&K, Jammu and Sh. Talib Kashmiri).

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri)

(A Factual story of humor and satire in the form of a Letter)

My Dear but Unlucky Thief, 

It’s with greatest regret of my life that I’m driven by some inexplicable urge to writing this communication to a silly bloke like you. I’m not sure if this note of mine reaches you or not, but it’ll be a gross injustice to all those ‘brave and valiant’ sons of our land who possess indomitable courage to deal with worthless thieves like you, if I fail to put in black and white the blackish tale of your ill-fated misadventure. I’m also very sorry for using such kind of ‘parliamentary’ language (in our present day terminology) about you, possibly because there aren’t the other kind of ‘unparliamentary’ words in my dictionary for your brand of stupid thieves.

In the wee hours of that pleasant First March day at about 4 O’ clock while it was still dark before the daybreak when my train (I mean the train I was traveling by) Jhelum Express which had halted for a brief spell of five minutes at Khandwa station in Madhya Pradesh, slowly started its onward journey and from outside the train you miserably failed to pull out my shirt and trouser hanging from a hook inside the compartment. I could at once guess that you must be a ‘Khandwaw’( this particular word in Kashmiri language is reserved for a novice ) in your profession. Instead of being moved to pity on your misfortune, I feel extremely annoyed with you for your gross incompetence. Till this ‘sordid’ incident, I had never imagined even in my dreams that anyone belonging to an ‘august’ profession like yours could be so inept and unlearned in his skill as you. Your dismal failure tonight will be written as the darkest chapter in the annals of thievery for which not only you, but all those who may be considering you as their co-worker should hang their heads in shame. Had your whereabouts been known to me, still I wouldn’t disgrace you by relating the distressing tale of your unsuccessful mission to your friends or kin because at times the ill reputation originating from intense lack of professional capability can become a reason for an over sensitive person to end his life and without knowing who you are, I can never afford to commit this sin. Nevertheless, I would like to inform you, had I personally opted to undertake this kind of trivial mission I would’ve perhaps never returned empty handed like you did.

Should I call it a mere coincidence or the tale of your bad luck that only four minutes before that historic moment when I espied you thrusting your two Satanic hands through the steel bars in the window and holding my totally unprotected clothing like a poor helpless woman in the hands of a robust rapist, had I got up from my deep slumber and was enjoying the beautiful sight of a starlit sky, lying right on my berth inside the compartment. But perhaps God wasn’t willing and your strong, dark tanned arms came as abruptly in between as the arms of an alert Delhi traffic beat constable before a speeding motor car at a busy crossing. God alone knows wherefrom energy and agility rushed into my lean, weak and muscle-less arms comparable only to delicate thin lotus stalks, that I tried my best to catch hold of your dark, repulsive, hard textured, abhorring hands as firmly as I could while crying “Thief………Thief…….Wake up……. Thief…….” This has led me to a firm belief that any thief, burglar etc. howsoever physically strong he may be can always be a pygmy before his victim. The fear of being caught perhaps drains energy from his body and in the process injects unusual strength and courage into the one on whom he is trying his skills, subject to the condition that the later doesn’t fumble or panic and what a blessing it is if the two are separated by a frame of steel grills. Despite my thinking on these lines you succeeded in disengaging yourself from my grip, but the fact still remains that you terribly failed in   your mission.

In any case, you saved yourself but plunged me into new kind of quandaries. The first one being that an unending beeline of semi awakened passengers rubbing their eyes and murmuring something unpleasant for being disturbed in the middle of their sweet dreams, started towards me to get first hand information direct from the horse’s mouth as to what had happened. I also feel highly remorseful that your mission was not only ill conceived but ill timed too. Had you chosen the time for undertaking this dare devilish act only one and a half hour later, there were a hundred percent chance of the event being covered by not less than a dozen TV and Media Channels for hours and days together and not only I but you too in your absence would’ve received unlimited publicity on Radio and TV. But alas! How regretful it’s that only because of this small mistake on your part we both lost a golden opportunity to remain on the central stage of small screen for several days. Between you and me, I would also like to make a frank admission of my lapse. Had I not ventured to resist your plans so foolhardily, the whole incident could’ve turned into a kind of proxy struggle between you and my tailor and I in my capacity as a non-partisan observer would’ve been able to test the professional capabilities of both of you. But alas! This too couldn’t happen. At last when there was some decline in the rush of my sympathetic co-passengers, my over inquisitive mind on its own started researching on this whole episode. ‘Had I not hung my shirt and trouser so carelessly in my compartment, could such a bizarre incident have taken place?’……… ‘Had I succeeded in catching hold the hands of that bloody thief   more firmly and had he failed to disentangle himself from my clutches what would’ve been his fate on the running train’, etc. etc. At the end of this research some important conclusions were drawn and I consider it as my moral duty to apprise you of the same and to provide you some useful tips including ‘Do’s & Don’ts’ so essential for assured success in your profession.

First and foremost, whenever you have to start a dangerous enterprise like this, you should make a thorough survey of all surroundings. You must’ve noted that in the failed mission from which you returned just now, luck too would’ve eluded you simply because the way these twin items of my clothing were hanging from the hooks so skillfully manufactured by the Railway Coach factory people to thwart the unholy designs of thieves like you, it would’ve been totally impossible for you to pull them out from the platform. Had I been fast asleep, even then on applying all your might and professional faculties you would’ve got only the lower part of my trouser that too in torn condition. And if I tell you, had you been able to lay your hands on the upper part of the trouser also where all the pockets are located and whose magnetic attraction had prompted you to go ahead with this exercise or I should say even if you had got the entire trouser in your possession, then the extent to which your heart would be injured on finding nothing except for a piece of broken pocket comb must’ve been ten times more than from the total failure of the whole mission tonight. But I’m proud that it has been my day today and I’ve defeated you in all disciplines of the ‘game’ because even in case of your partial victory I would’ve no doubt, lost more than two thousand bucks in the shape of my trouser and shirt and I’m not sure if you know that in the current times when prices are sky rocketing loss of a paltry sum of ten rupees earned by the sweat of one’s brow also causes mental agony which doesn’t result even from  ten thousand rupee squanderer by ones loved sons & daughters.

The second more significant fallout of tonight’s experience would be, when like the commander of a conquering army just returned from the battlefield after vanquishing a strong opponent I narrate the whole story of this epic encounter to my better half, because my stomach isn’t as big as to hold anything for more than a few minutes especially when it’s related to the unexpected display of my ‘valor’, she’ll turn out to be worst of the ‘worse halves’ in the wake of her frowned drubbings and snubbings ……., “Only a careless guy like you can be so casual as to hang clothes in the train in such a lackadaisical manner………Had you been asleep even then the thief could’ve removed your clothes from top to toe and decamped with all your belongings only because of your careless habits……..etc. etc.” But despite all her reproaches and reprimands I feel a kind of delightful elation that a part of her scolding will also be addressed to you when she would fulminate………., “That brute of a thief must be an untrained, inexperienced beginner in his profession or else it is next to impossible to prove a failure in such a mission against a careless dull witted fellow like you…….”

For the third time before I take leave of you I would like to give you and the other members of your fraternity a very useful and sound  piece of advice to benefit from. Whenever you have to target a passenger traveling by train, please make sure beforehand that he or she is not a writer or poet, for two reasons. The first one is that it’s very difficult, rather I should say impossible, to make any estimate of this category of people. When they’re in deep slumber at midday or when they’re awake at midnight like owls?...........No one can ever guess. They’re the creatures of God on whom, it seems, the laws of Nature do not apply at all. If somewhere a very electrifying and absorbing literary or poetry recital function or an enthralling musical concert is going on and the audience too is excited, you’ll definitely notice a few poets or writers taking a nap or even snoring. Similarly, if during dead of the night if you happen to observe anyone walking aimlessly on a road when only the barking dogs rule the street or someone sitting in an isolated corner of a public park or somebody strolling alone on the terrace of his house, you should at once conclude that it could be only a poet or a writer and you’ll never be wrong. Therefore in nutshell, in case you wish to scale the highest pinnacles of glory in your profession don’t ever take any risks and before you try your unclean hands to ‘clean’ the pockets of a passenger please do check from the passenger list in advance that the intended target is not a poet or writer. I too on my part, have decided to book my train tickets in my pen name ‘Talib Kashmiri’ only, in future and through this epistle I fervently request all familiar as well as unfamiliar poets and writers to follow the lead and book their future train tickets exclusively in their pen names.

The second one is that some ‘worthy’ members of the ‘elite’ class of people I’ve just mentioned are so adept in the art of thievery that you people will not only be surprised but also hang your heads in shame. Whose poem, sonnet, number etc. they would read or have published after altering a few words here and there and whose story would be brought out in magazines or used as the ground material for preparing a television serial or documentary under their own original or assumed pen name, nobody has ever got a chance to know. However, in the event of being caught (of which the possibility is almost zero percent), how cleverly and artfully they’ll try to cover up their acts of plagiarism and justify their despicable actions that you professionals in your job too would feel humiliated. If at all, you earnestly desire to achieve professional excellence of highest order in your career you’ve still time to learn, just establish contact with any such poet or writer, but for Gods sake don’t expect me  also to furnish you a list of such ‘revered’ members of our literary and literate community..

At this point of time, I would like to reassure you that I won’t charge any fees from you for this invaluable counsel of mine, since the inspiration I received from you tonight to pen down these few lines is more than enough to serve as my payment because it’s not always necessary that all payments should be made in cash. On the other hand, I consider myself very fortunate that a ‘thief’ like you whom I don’t know at all, appeared in my life briefly for a few moments, who instead of taking away anything from me, undoubtedly gave a lot in return. How nice and generous a thief you happen to be in sharp contrast to those thieves who know only how to rob and when their turn to return something comes, how easily and plainly they say that they’re born to rob and not to be robbed. If that may also not be true, how silently they would turn their heads away like a stranger and let God snatch away the last breath of anyone who is given an ‘innocent’ advice by a gentle and unassuming ‘thief’ after robbing him of all what he had……. O! Poor one, why don’t you go and spend rest of your days in the worship of God.

Wishing you bad luck in your profession, but praying for a better and prosperous life for you and your colleagues.

Sincerely yours,

(Talib Kashmiri)

(Author’s note : The concept and contents of this story are copyrighted and may not be copied, reproduced, adapted or used in any form without the  prior written permission of the Author)  

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri)

Author's Note:  The story is original and unpublished except in Urdu in my own book 'Shanakht-e-Gul'.

Thirty years back when Kailash Patti purchased a piece of land measuring seven marlas (1 marla equivalent to 272 s ft.) from the local peasant Mool Raj at Manjhpatti located far away even from the periphery of the city as it existed then, he had not even the faintest idea that during the coming three decades the land prices would go up about a hundred times. At times he would feel astonished that the escalation in real estate prices and   the downfall of human values was perhaps going on at the same speed and in the same proportion, because thirty years ago if somebody died about five to six hundred people would invariably be seen joining the funeral procession, but now a days hardly five or six persons found time to accompany the bereaved members in the last journey of their deceased kin up to the cremation ground. Notwithstanding the fact that during the present times prices of immovable property had skyrocketed beyond ones imagination, but even thirty years ago Kailash Patti wouldn’t have been in a position to purchase such a small piece of land, had his father Uma Patti during his lifetime not given an interest free loan of ten thousand rupees returnable   in easy installments to Mool Raj to defray expenses on the marriage of his daughter. Even after four years of his daughter’s marriage during which she became the mother of two and Uma Patti also expired, Mool Raj had repaid not a single penny to Kailash Patti perhaps because he still lacked resources to clear the debt.      On his part Kailash Patti too, despite the limited income earned by him in his capacity as a primary school teacher and a large encumbrance to sustain, had never reminded Mool Raj who on his own always felt a sort f guilty whenever they met. One day during such incidental meeting when Kailash Patti disclosed to Mool Raj that his family had been facing the problem of acute shortage of accommodation in their ancestral house in the city he at once offered to give a piece of land from his property located at Manjhpatti may be with the intention to liquidate the loan of ten thousand. But Kailash Patti didn’t initially pay any attention to his offer under the impression that it would be perhaps useless to purchase land so far away from the city at such an isolated place. But later, when he thought that Mool Raj may never be able to repay the debt he decided to accept the offer after consulting his wife Sushiela and the deal for the purchase of seven marlas of land for an amount of fourteen thousand was struck and finalized for which Kailash Patti made the balance payment of four thousand to Mool Raj. On this occasion Mool Raj offered to sell a full one kanal plot( 20 marlas ) to Kailash Patti but the latter declined for two reasons. The first one that he didn’t have enough money although with a slight effort he could’ve arranged finance for another five or six marlas and the second and more important one that people would take him for a fool to purchase land at such distant place not less than twelve or thirteen kilometers away from the city where one could hardly come across any human habitation except for a few mud plastered rural ramshackle huts scattered here and there of local countrymen. Therefore he contended himself with only seven marlas of land and the matter ended there.                                                                            

With the passage of time the city swelled and spread like a balloon with such an astounding speed that within a short span of twenty five years people, in a seemingly unending spree of constructing new houses, the boundaries of the city went even beyond fifteen kilometers, what to speak of twelve kilometers where Kailash Patti had then thought that purchasing land was tantamount to throwing money into the well. Not an obsession but a sort of frenzy had overtaken the people who appeared to be in a mad race purchasing land and building bungalows, mansions and luxury houses wherever there was any vacant piece left. Property dealers proliferated as wildly as Congress grass. Wherever a person went he would invariably find the shops of property dealers as if they were provision stores ……… their number being rather more than the latter. Whosoever met anyone the discussion would revolve only around sale and purchase of property, construction of houses and nothing else, as if rest of the human activity had come to a stand-still. The natural fallout was that a number of new colonies, urban estates and settlements sprang up as quickly as the hair on ones head. Initially the localities were named after various gods,  goddesses, prophets, saints etc. as a result of which Hari Nagar, Lakshmi Nagar, Krishna Nagar, Shiv Nagar, Shakti Nagar, Durga Nagar, Uma Nagar, Saraswati Vihar, Narayan Vihar, Keshow Puram, Jwala Puram, Mohammed Pura, Hassan Abad, Nanak Nagar, Gobind Nagar etc. came into existence. The builders interested in politics or in placating the political bigwigs preferred to name the localities after prominent political leaders, but taking due care that it was in accordance with their individual political proclivities and that’s how Gandhi Nagar, Jawahar Nagar, Moti Nagar, Kamla Nagar, Indira Nagar, Rajiv Nagar, Sanjay Nagar, Subhash Nagar, Shastri Nagar, Patel Nagar, Deen Dayal Nagar, Azad Nagar, Hedgewar Puram etc. came into being. The process of   naming the localities after state level leaders also took off bringing Qasim Nagar, Bakshi Nagar, Sheri Kashmir Enclave and the like into existence, but using the names of local level leaders or Municipal councilors was strictly restricted to a few internal roads and lanes only. When the speed of new localities coming into existence started surpassing the process of their naming several localities received the same nomenclatures which turned out to be a real headache for the postal employees. However, certain intellectuals found a solution to the problem by introducing the system of naming any new colony or locality after the person who first built a house there or even after either of his deceased parents. As such the phenomenon of naming the localities became so rampant that every conglomerate of forty or fifty houses received an independent name giving overnight rise to a mushroom growth of Nagars, Vihars, Abads et.   

About twenty years back Kailash Patti, much against his wishes and conscience but under severest pressure from his family members emanating of course out of their genuine complaint about dearth of accommodation in their ancestral house, constructed a two bed room house of average kind in the wildernesses of  Manjhpatti in whose environs one  could only come across the obnoxious smell of bull and buffalo shit all around with an overwhelming number of the latter submerged in the dirty ponds and cesspools to protect themselves from the scorching sun during summer. Despite taking such unwilling step under sheer family compulsion Kailash Patti could still not save himself from the most unsavory satirical comments from those very family members who now very often complained ……, “What the Hell our ( or your as the case may be ) Papa has brought us to live in ……..No bus facility……..No market…….No school nearby ………Nothing except these black bloody buffaloes……,” etc. etc. Two years later two more families, perhaps facing similar problem of accommodation, came and built houses in their neighborhood prompting Kailash Patti and his family to think in terms of giving a suitable name to the ‘new locality’ and one fine morning they did it formally by hanging a small wooden plaque bearing the words ‘ Kailash Dham ’ on the mighty Ficus tree near the main path leading to their dwelling place.

One day a wealthy Builder……..rather a tycoon among the fraternity of Builders by chance happened to see Manjhpatti and that was perhaps the moment to change the destiny of this deserted wasteland and the poverty ridden peasants in whose ancestors’ name it stood registered in the revenue records. Using his high political connections he not only purchased the whole land from them at throwaway prices but in connivance with the officers of the Revenue Department managed to occupy large chunks of Government owned land too and within no time employing all resources at his command, converted it into residential area demarcating the plots of varied sizes by professional team of surveyors, architects and engineers, and selling the same at about thirty times premium. Mool Raj and Brij Narayan were the only two persons who thoroughly understood the trickery of the Builder and not only sold away their land at better prices but also got two spacious and elegant houses built for their personal use in the same locality. Within a short period of about nine to ten years an entirely modern kind of colony came up at the place which not only boasted of its meticulously designed and laid rows of magnificent mansions and splendid bungalows but also its wide black-topped roads, brilliant street lights, superb parks & green patches and above all two or three grand shopping complexes. At least two or three costly motor cars of latest make, model and design, some as big as a bulldozer, were seen parked either in the porch of each house or on the road in its front generally with ever-alert uniformed chauffeurs standing nearby. Everything in ‘Kailash Dham’ looked like Heaven, but for the house of Kailash Patti. His was the only house which looked like an ominous blot on the beauty of the entire colony. An old single-storey house with its paint & plaster worn out here and there exposing broken rusty brickwork at several spots like the skin of a diseased rickety street dog……..the dilapidated walls, crashed roofs and missing tiles all collectively giving the entire structure the weird look of a ruined quarter of archaeological.

Kailash Patti and his spouse were now grandparents of half a dozen children a sufficient reason to convert their house into a hub of noise and disorder which offended the members of ‘civilized society’ living in their neighborhood like Mahajan Merchants, Gupta Garments, Bakshi Brothers, Saifullah Sons, Commissioner Koul, Director D’Souza, Kumar Company, Tejinder Transports and others. Whenever a well to do guest visited any of these high gentry’ houses he would invariably pass a comment about Kailash Patti’s house……someone in polished words like…… “Mrs. Gupta come what may it goes beyond any doubt that you’ve got a good hustle and bustle in your neighborhood”……….and someone in a crude way like……… “Mr. Lamba, how do you put up here near this fish market…… hats off to you”……….and someone went to the extent of saying……. “O Mr. Bakshi, couldn’t you find a better place than this Hell to live in…….Why don’t you throw some extra bucks to these fellows and get rid of this nuisance once for all?” And one day Baldev Raj Bakshi really got so much frustrated that he finally told Kailash Patti……., “Mr. Kailash Patti Ji……You happen to be an elder man in our neighborhood which is why all people in this colony immensely respect you and that too to the extent that till date this colony bears your name. Sometime back when certain people suggested changing the Colony’s name I was the one who not only opposed the amendment but resisted it tooth and nail. Sir, you’ve remained a teacher and nobody can contest that your role in imparting best of education to the people in our society has also been exemplary……...Therefore in my opinion making any attempt to make you understand something would amount to light a lamp before the sun………Am I correct?”

“What can I say in this regard………I attribute these remarks to your sagacity and liberality……...otherwise I don’t think I’m worth any compliment………Please go ahead what you want to say,” replied politely an overwhelmingly impressed Kailash Patti.

“Well Mr. Kailash Patti Ji……. I’ve been facing an extremely delicate problem for quite sometime past. My daughter who’s a doctor by profession lives in the main city where she has a spacious and splendid house but her husband who is a senior civil engineer in the Public Works Department is very frequently required to go out of station in connection with official work. Till about six months back we have had no problem when her mother- in-law was alive. But after her demise there has been a problem in looking after the children and as you’ll agree these days we can’t completely rely upon servants or maids………If you wish you can help us in this regard,” said Mr. Bakshi silently reading the impressions on Kailash Patti’s face.

“In what way can I help you, Mr. Bakshi?” asked a bewildered Kailash Patti.

“Sir…….Whatever I’m going to tell you, please don’t take it otherwise. In fact we want to construct a small house…….I mean just a two room set for our daughter adjacent to our own house so that we can look after her children personally. But we don’t have so much of land available with us. Hence we have decided to request you to help us by selling your piece of land including whatever is built on it………I hope you understand, Sir……..We’re ready to pay you any amount to your asking……..I mean more than your expectations from which you can not only buy a better kind of house but also use rest of the money for other essential things………Sir, it’s not any compulsion but only a humble request……..You please consult your wife and other family members and let me know about your decision……..  It’ll be so kind of  you, Sir,” put forth Baldev Raj Bakshi a serious kind of proposal in such an unassuming manner that Kailash Patti was stunned and it took him a bit of time to realize why Mr. Bakshi, who had never cared to say Hello to him in the past, was suddenly all praise for him today.     

Reaching his home when Kailash Patti disclosed to his wife ,  his two sons and daughter about Mr. Bakshi’s proposal they were all up in arms and summarily rejected it saying as to why they be asked to leave the locality where they had constructed the first house and thus in a sense had laid its foundation. It was two or three days later when Mr. Bakshi personally came to Kailash Patti’s house and met him in their courtyard that the latter expressed his inability to dispose off the house. Mr. Bakshi perhaps didn’t expect a negative reply from Kailash Patti, but nevertheless he didn’t relent and tried to motivate him again saying…….., “Look here Mr. Kailash Patti Ji……..You’re a very wise man……..a sensible person and you know there’s a saying among the people possessing lots of worldly wisdom that one should always build a house in the neighborhood of those who are more or less of his stature only, just as a man should chose matrimonial relationship for his son or daughter from amongst his equals………There lies the clue to lead a happy life. Now you see Mr. Kailash, you’ve got to marry off your daughter who’s as good as my own daughter.……….Isn’t it so? Tell me before man and God, will you be able to find a suitable match for her while living in this kind of shambled accommodation. Apart from that  you’ll be requiring a substantial amount of money for her marriage too……...The money that I shall be giving to you for your property will not only enable you to buy or construct a new elegant house but you’ll also be in a position to perform her marriage on a lavish scale.”

Kailash Patti replied politely, “Mr. Bakshi, we have already examined all pros and cons of this issue thread bare………My family members do not agree……….They say where should we wander with such a large establishment in search of a shelter……..After spending the childhood and youth at this place how is it possible for us to run from pillar to post with bag and baggage on our head like nomads………I’m helpless and very sorry too, Mr. Bakshi.”

Mr. Bakshi who didn’t anticipate an instant reply like this from Kailash Patti addressed him rather displeasingly, “Alright if you people aren’t prepared to accept my request I too would like to say something and whatever I’m going to speak please don’t think that it’s my personal opinion but of all the people residing in this pocket of the colony and I’ve only been entrusted the task of ‘requesting’ you to leave this place and buy a house somewhere else because your continued living here is neither in our interest nor in yours ……….This ruined structure of yours is like a black blemished spot on the beauty of this entire colony.”

Kailash Patti’s face turned pale and dull with despondency but still mustering some courage said, “Mr. Bakshi, how can you talk to me like that……….I was the first soul to have built a house at this place…….a real founder of this colony.”

“How does it matter, Mr. Kailash?............You haven’t bought this entire colony………Now onwards the residents of this elite colony will neither listen to the trash arguments of someone nor yield to the whims and wishes of any single person whether he might be the first person to have come here or the last. A Committee to look after the various welfare aspects of the colony has already been constituted and it has taken this unanimous decision. The members are of the view that either you have a suitable kind of house befitting the surrounding environment constructed to give a proof of having developed proper etiquette of living in a cultured society like ours or  cooperate with the Committee or else we also know the ‘other means’ to make you people quit. We thought you were a gentleman like us and to deal gently with such people has always been our duty and principle alike although we also know all means how to bridle an obstinate horse…..,” said Baldev Raj Bakshi in a tone which not only indicated a serious warning but a threat too and left in a huff fuming and fretting like an enraged bull in a ring on seeing the red rag.

The harsh words of Mr. Bakshi struck Kailash Patti like a lightning and today for the first time in his life he grasped the definition of ‘gentleness’ in the dictionary of the affluent and what kind of deceptive or bullying tactics do they adopt when they come upon to dispense their ‘gentleness’ in order to browbeat anyone not matching their strength. Today he was realizing intensely as to what extent a person suffering from extreme poverty and economic deprivation could feel weak & helpless and to what extent power and affluence could make another person made of same flesh and blood, cruel & callous. He was learning a lesson he had never learnt or taught before that the oppressed can beat the oppressor physically, intellectually, educationally etc. but can never take on him when it comes to obsession for pelf, power and perversity. Today he understood how a man of affluence with tremendous financial resources at his command can dictate terms to a man of meager means and coerce him to accept his legitimate or illegitimate demand. He cursed himself and his fate out and out……, “If thirty years back have I had only five or six thousand rupees more readily available with me I would’ve purchased a full kanal of land from that bloody third rate peasant Mool Raj who having remained neck deep in my father’s debt for years together has now become the proprietor of Mool Raj Marbles by selling the bones (land in pun) of his forefathers. Perhaps I might not have had to feel disgraced because by selling half of that land at current price I would’ve very easily been able to construct a spacious splendid house in place of the present one……..But alas! I’m the same penniless now as I had been then,” lamented Kailash Patti who being a lone symbol of poverty in the entire colnoy of the affluent was now nicknamed as “Kangla (Pauper) Kailash”   in whole of “Kailash Dham”. Be it the green grocer or the milk vendor or the one who irons the clothes……..so much so that even amongst the trash buyers and rag pickers he had come to be known by the same name.

No sooner did he enter his house than his wife and eldest son Kamlesh enquired about the matter and he related the whole story as to what had transpired between him and Mr. Bakshi. In order to boost the morale of his de-spirited father Kamlesh said, “ Babu Ji why are you so much worried ………After all we’re not living in a land governed by jungle law…….. I agree they may be wealthy and resourceful……….But law has its own meaning and it does have its own power and sanctity………I’ll see how they can force us to leave this place………Bloody brutes…….”

“My dear son……..You don’t know the machinations of these people………How with the power of money and influence in the higher echelons of Government they mange to get things, whether right or wrong, done. To be now very frank to you I myself do not want to live any more in this kind of polluted environment………I feel ashamed of living in this old house whose condition is a thousand times worse than the outhouses and servants quarters of these people……..Everybody here treats us and our house with disrespect……….We should do something to salvage our honor ………We should do something……..,” said Kailash Patti remorsefully while entering his room.

Once inside his room he wept bitterly over ‘his disgraceful life’ and many a time he also thought of ending his life to deliver himself from the humiliation suffered by him but later discarded the idea thinking that such a step instead of alleviating his family’s sufferings could only transfer them onto the shoulders of his wife and sons and thus aggravate the problems for them. The only thing he didn’t repent on was that he hadn’t sold his ancestral house in the city. He at once got up and walked out briskly from his house without telling anyone any thing on which his wife Sushiela felt exceedingly worried than surprised.

Two days later when all the adults of the family were on the dining table which now creaked easily by the weight of anybody’s elbows, Kailash Patti seriously looked into the grim faces of everyone and slowly reached for his handbag which was as old and as torn as their dwelling place, and advanced four stacks of a thousand rupee currency notes ( Four lakhs ) towards his sons  saying…….., “ Kamlesh! You people do one thing……….You have this money and take immediate steps to repair and renovate our house in the city………rather I should say you also go ahead with adding one more floor to the existing structure……….Don’t worry for the money……….You’ll have enough of it……..But keep it in mind that the work should be of very high quality and standard, and it should be completed within a period of three months……….Do you understand?”

All those present were stunned but didn’t utter a single word looking unbelievingly at the four green crispy wads on the table till he again broke the silence……., “ Don’t you worry my children, I’ll also personally supervise the work  so that before the expiry of three months we’re out from the ‘Kailash Dham’ of the affluent back to our own ‘Dham’ (Abode) where there is peace…….tranquility…….harmony……...the living memories of those who brought us into this world and last but not the least in whose narrow lanes and bye-lanes, porches and pavilions we can have the good luck of seeing the smiling faces of the people vibrant with everlasting love, affection, warmth, kindness, mutual respect and generosity instead of the haunted robots of senseless affluence.”

Just a day before three months were over when Kailash Patti along with his entire family returned to his house in the city he felt as if he had regained his lost paradise. The residents of the locality without any    exception had decorated the street like a bride. In the evening all the houses were illuminated, exotic fireworks were played and sweets were distributed and when Kailash Patti overwhelmed with joy on seeing the warm reception told his wife and the children…….., “ Tell me Sushiela……. Tell me Kamlesh………Tell me my children……..Do you now understand what life means and whether my decision was right or wrong?”……..And they all replied in one voice……. “Long Live our Babu Ji……”and from the other side of the street many voices thundered and echoed together……… “Long Live Kailash Patti”……….. “Welcome Home Kailash Patti.”

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri)

“Whack! ............Whack!………O! My God………O! My God ………..If only those bloody fellows hadn’t pulled down the conduit of wooden planks joining our two houses via the fourth floor……… How easily could I’ve entered my house from above without facing the onerous task of hammering the lock of the main entrance on the ground floor nor would there be so much of noise to unnecessarily attract the attention of others………Anyway let me try my luck and hand again on it………. Whack!......... Whack!.........,” and Shadi Lal once again started pounding the old rusted country made lock repeatedly with the hammer until it finally relented and fell on the ground. Wiping off sweat from his forehead Shadi Lal opened the bolt and remembering his God, made a quick entry into the dark and dingy corridor of his house he had been forced to abandon seven years back.. What a dim beam of light from an old dry cell torch given to him by Manzoor Ahmed  revealed at the very first sight sent Shadi Lal into an instant shock and a shriek involuntarily emanated from his half open mouth……., “Oh! My God………What’s all this I’m seeing here………It looks like a ruined cemetery with a thick layer of dust on everything………Am I really in my own house?............I doubt.” His costly buff leather shoes and his wife’s expensive high-heeled glittering sandals that they used to wear with great enthusiasm on special occasions or in hi-fi parties had been miserably torn into pieces by the dogs and mice, which were now scattered here and there eaten equally by fungus and dust. So much dust and dirt had accumulated on the cobwebs hanging in every nook and corner and from the ceiling that it didn’t allow the light to pass through and instead, weird kind of shadows could be seen on the other side. The strange horrifying surroundings collectively presented the sight of something like the dreadful scenes from   the ghost films series based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula or from Hollywood’s renowned Director Alfred Hitchcock’s suspense movies.

Shadi Lal working on the post of Senior Assistant in J&K Government’s Civil Secretariat had after a period of seven years ventured to visit his house at Motiyar in Rainawari locality of Srinagar city abandoned by him and his family to save their life and honor in the wake of terrorist threat and today when he found in what shambled condition his much loved and wonderful house was, he was struck at his heart. He recalled that immediately on entering the main door into the wide corridor there used to be two delicately carved and exquisitely polished walnut doors one each opening into the Guest Room and the Common Living Room. But now there was not even the slightest trace of these doors to be seen and the yawning space in their place left him extremely aghast. The kitchen room adjacent to the Living Room which at one time used to be the centre of all cooking and culinary activity with highly delectable flavors of various kinds of cuisines always refreshing the air, had now become a kennel where Shadi Lal could witness a black & white bitch surrounded by her pack of dust covered pups flip flapping

with one another. The ruthless plunder and dismantling of the costly teak wood cupboards which Shadi Lal had got made from the money earned by the sweat of his brow including late night overtime sittings, sent him into a virtual shock. He didn’t mind that his brass, bronze and stainless steel utensils & cutlery together with the expensive cut glass and bone China crockery which he had personally locked inside the pantry were all missing, but what hurt him the most was that the looters had also pulled out and taken away the wooden cabinets where these were placed. One of the most disgusting things Shadi Lal noticed was that the plunderers hadn’t even spared the copper cauldron used for heating water in the winters and had mercilessly dug it out from the concrete insulation and decamped with the same. In all this heart rending experience what  Shadi Lal saw had been left behind on the entire ground floor was a few broken pieces of earthenware and torn jute and grass  matting scattered here and there possibly because these could be of no use to the plunderers.

With a broken heart, he thought of abandoning the whole mission but inquisitiveness took better of him and he decided to see the fate of things upstairs also. However, to his utter dismay he found that the whole staircase leading to the upper stories made of strong cedar wood was missing. The looters had used crowbars to pull out the planks leaving gaping holes in the sidewalls. With the help of a hanging rope Shadi Lal made repeated attempts to climb up and he finally succeeded to come up to the first floor only to be confronted by a worse condition resulting in a stream of incessant tears from his eyes and he again murmured……, “Oh! My God …….. Why did You keep me alive to this day only to see my own beloved house in a state of callous destruction……..If only death could’ve devoured we all people who were forcibly exiled from our homes and hearths……. from the place of our birth and habitat……. from the land of our forefathers. My ancestors must’ve built this dwelling from their hard earned savings over a period of several generations and I too had brought about certain changes in it to the extent my pocket allowed, as for example the old shingle rooftop was replaced with galvanized iron sheets and all walls and wooden structures were redone and painted afresh………But what for?..........Was it all done for these people? ............For these plunderers? ........... Oh! My God let nobody be as unlucky as me to witness his own house in such pathetic condition ……..Never at all……,” and thus bewailing his fate Shadi Lal  wandered from one ruined encompassment to another because in the existing condition it was wrong to call these as rooms. Electric bulbs & appliances and even the wiring had been pulled out and stolen in the same manner as the desperados of a conquering army used to do in the territory of a vanquished enemy. Carpets and other kind of furnishings like durries, mats etc. had also been looted, leaving behind not even a piece of woven straw. While loot and plunder could be the motive of all these acts of vandalism but what surprised Shadi Lal the most was the senseless destruction of teakwood flooring with pickaxes and other similar  instruments. He wondered how much toil those reckless foolish zealots must’ve put in to break the planks and from the stashes of wooden pieces strewn here and there he failed to understand what purpose it could’ve served them apart from deriving a sadistic pleasure of ‘teaching a lesson to their enemies’, in absentia.

The moment Shadi Lal entered his bed room the memory of all those sweet moments of his first wedding night instantly flashed in his mind. He vividly recalled the massive walnut double bed with exquisitely carved design of Chinar ( Platenus orientalis ) leaves made by his close friend Bashir Ahmed Najar a master craftsman. How could he forget his his first wedding might when his dazzling fairy- like bride in her colorful and beautiful attire, made up from top to toe and laden with attractive gold ornaments shining in the light of a costly chandelier he had specially ordered from Delhi for the occasion, waiting for him with her silent impatience. But, now at that very place rats had made about half a dozen holes through which dust and smoke from outside was easily making its way into the dingy room only to add to its dark weirdness. The sheet iron boxes containing all valuables either purchased by Shadi Lal himself or brought by his wife in dowry from her parents’ house  had been broken open by smashing the bolts and contents looted sparing not even a hairpin. There was only one old but strongbox made of some tough kind of wood in the storeroom attached with his bedroom, the only movable property inherited by Shadi Lal from his parents, which had not been touched by the plunderers possibly because it had escaped their attention. His face brightened up on the prospect of finding something in it that could be of some use because he didn’t clearly remember what had been kept in it in haste while fleeing. Therefore, in order to check the same he picked up a brick lying nearby and started striking the lock with all his might. Barely two or three minutes had elapsed when Shadi Lal heard a frightening voice from the open compound of his house……., “Who the Hell is inside there? ...........Who has dared entering this house without our permission? ............Will you come out, son of a bitch…….. Bastard………Or should we pump bullets in your bloody skull and drag your dead body out?” He felt as good as dead on hearing the dreadful roar, dropping the brick on the floor and peeped out of a hole where he could clearly see two AK-47 wielding masked terrorists. His head reeled and he could perceive nothing but darkness before his eyes. His heart throbbed like the hummingbird’s flutter of wings and his whole body was drenched to skin in sweat. He tried to say something with his stammering tongue, but in vain and ultimately he fell down with a bang……..totally unconscious.

When there was no response from inside for a while, one of the terrorists aiming his rifle straight moved forward and forcefully struck the front door with his jungle boots and entered the house very cautiously. After searching the entire ground floor he headed for the first floor, the rope climb training received by him in the training camp perhaps easing his task. He finally found a lone unarmed person lying with his face downwards in an unconscious state where after he called his other accomplice inside and with great effort they managed to bring him down to the ground floor and then virtually dragged him into the compound. From his dress and get up it didn’t take them long to guess that he was a non Muslim and the one said to the other…., “Abu Mansoor……..He appears to be an infidel Pandit…….. Allah knows how and why he has lost his way to this place……..It’s also possible that this might be his own house, but we don’t know him…..” The other one replied……., “You may be right…….How can we know his identity…….. We’ve come here from some other place to discharge the duties of Jehad (Holy war). But the question is how this bloody fellow has come over here in these critical times……… It seems some local fellow known to him must’ve prompted him to do so, otherwise how could he muster so much courage.” And they were true in their assumption because Tariq Hamid one of the colleagues of Shadi Lal who too lived in the same locality at Srinagar had about two months back advised him in good faith…….., “O! My friend ………You see there has been a considerable improvement in the situation over the last couple of years in the Valley……… There’s no harm taking a small bit of risk in visiting your house to collect the belongings left by you at the time of migration to Jammu………I on my part assure you of my maximum cooperation in your effort…….” But Tariq had perhaps made only a superficial estimate of the prevailing situation and had failed to observe the undercurrents in a lake from the stillness of water on its surface. The fear of terrorists was presumably the reason why he didn’t show up at all when Shadi Lal had arrived in his locality.

In any case, they fetched a tumbler of water from the nearby house and brought Shadi Lal back to consciousness after sprinkling a handful of water on his face, which was immediately followed by his questioning. Without disclosing the name of Tariq he told them that he had come to his house at Rainawari on his own volition for the purpose of recovering the things left behind at the time of migration as far as it was possible. Not to speak of using abusive language and manhandling him, the senior terrorist kept the revolver nozzle on the temple of Shadi Lal on a couple of occasions threatening him……., “Shadi Lal , you now prepare yourself for leaving this world for good because you have tried to enter a lion’s den for spying, whose only punishment is Death.” The threat had its impact and Shadi Lal fell to the feet of his captors imploring them……, “Sir, I’m not informer of  police or any other agency but only an ordinary man driven by certain personal compulsions to take recourse to such risky step…….. Please spare me, Sir……..” Shadi Lal had absolutely no knowledge if anyone in his neighborhood had been quietly watching the treatment being meted out to him, but after some time when his next door neighbor Manzoor was summoned before them and asked as to why he had failed to inform the Commander about the arrival of the ‘infidel’, he couldn’t say a single word. His silence invited raining of punches and blows of AK-47 butts on his lean figure until he bled profusely. Who had the guts in the locality to raise a finger or a voice of protest on this brutal inhuman treatment. At one time Abu Mansoor was so much in rage that he threatened to eliminate both and he could perhaps go ahead also to implement his threat but the junior terrorist Abu Hurera refrained him saying….., “Abu Mansoor, Sir……….We shouldn’t perhaps do any such thing in haste please………. I think it would be better if we leave the decision of their Fate to the Area Commander Abu Jindal…….” Abu Mansoor agreed and sent his junior to call the Area Commander.

Ten minutes later when both Abu Hurera and Abu Jindal entered the compound Shadi Lal and Manzoor Ahmed despite dropping their eyes examined the Area Commander from head to toe. A man of fairly tall height, strong masculine arms, broad protruding forehead, blue eyes and perhaps sporting a brownish beard which couldn’t be seen clearly since he too was wearing a mask. The moment he came in with a Kalashnikov rifle hanging from his left shoulder Abu Mansoor saluted him and taking him a bit aside related the entire development to him during which their ‘two frightened prisoners’ tried to quietly  overhear what they thought could be the final decision of their life or death. Both of them in their heart of hearts prayed to God in their respective manner to save their life. At this moment Abu Jindal ordered Abu Mansoor to return to the Headquarter where after he himself along with Abu Hurera started a new session of interrogation in his own style.

“Well Mr. Pandit, what’s your name? ...........Wherefrom you’ve come and for what purpose?..........Don’t try to hoodwink us or else you know how dangerous the cosequences can be,” asked Abu Jindal in an intimidating tone.

“Sir, My name is Shadi Lal……..I’m the original resident of this very place known as Motiyar locality of Rainawari and am working as Senior Assistant in the Civil Secretariat of Jammu & Kashmir Government. Presently I’ve come to Srinagar in connection with annual move of Government offices from Jammu, the winter capital of the state. My whole family has been putting up at Jammu right since our migration in 1990……. Sir, I’ve two daughters living with my wife and mother at Jammu ……….Please forgive me, Sir for committing the blunder of having come over here to my house,” beseeched Shadi Lal.

“But what brought you here?............. Has the Police or any Government security agency sent you over here?..........Tell me the truth or I’ll make your condition such that your own kin will not be able to recognize your body,” Abu Jindal growled.

A scared Shadi Lal replied, “No……..Sir, I don’t know any cop or any secret agency man nor do I’ve contact with any such fellow……… Believe me, Sir. The truth of the matter is that when we left this place we didn’t carry anything with us except for a few clothes and some important documents. Even after seven years of forced exile we barely manage to live a hand to mouth life. With our limited income and ever increasing expenditure we haven’t been able to purchase even the items of barest minimum requirement so necessary for survival. No adequate bedding, clothing, utensils or furnishing……… No other essential prerequisites of life……… I should say the whole life has become a kind of hell for us. Now that some sort of feeling had started developing in us about improvement in the situation in Kashmir wherein we could think of trying to retrieve some of our old belongings, I of my own decided to come over here from Hotel Zabarwan where I along with some other Kashmiri Pandit employees have been lodged temporarily by the State Government ………I’ve committed a gross mistake, Sir………Please pardon me ……..I don’t want to take anything from this place……..Just spare my life please, Sir………I shall remain thankful to you for my whole life, Sir,” and tears started rolling down Shadi Lal’s eyes and he fell to the feet of Abu Jindal, who withdrew himself a couple of steps at the right moment. Roaring in a stentorian manner he said, “ No need for these affectations and never think your pretentious behavior is going to make me lenient towards you………The decision about your fate will be taken within a few minutes……..Till then let me deal with this brute of a man……”

Abu Jindal addressed Abu Hurera in his usual commandeering voice pointing towards Manzoor Ahmed ……., “And what is the offence of this bloody bastard?”

“Sir, he didn’t inform anyone of our Organization about the arrival of this infidel and on the other hand provided him this hammer and torch, and as such committed the crime of assisting an outsider in his impious mission,” replied Abu Hurera.

Abu Jindal thought for a while and ordered, “Let this son of a bitch go for the time being………We’ll deal with him later,” and the next moment poor Manzoor ran away like a mouse escaping from a cat’s paws.

“Now you frisk this Pandit thoroughly from top to toe,” ordered Abu Jindal to Abu Hurera and the search yielded nothing except Shadi Lal’s official Identity Card, a handkerchief and Two Hundred & sixty rupees in cash which the junior terrorist forwarded towards the Area Commander, but he returned the same and ordered authoritatively……., “Keep these things in your custody and exercise maximum vigil around………In case you smell something suspicious fire in air……... Meamwhile I’ll go inside and interrogate this ‘unwelcome guest’ of ours more thoroughly……… He requires a different kind of treatment to reveal truth.” His words were enough to freeze the blood of Shadi Lal and he thought of having completely lost the strength in his legs.

When they entered the house Abu Jindal asked…….., “Now let me know what kind of treatment you expect from me……..?”

“Sir……What can I say?……..Whatever I had to say I told you…….. After God, my life and death is now in your hands……,” replied Shadi Lal.

At this moment Abu Jindal removed the mask from his face and hugged Shadi Lal like a son separated from his father for a long time, saying, “Pandit Ji do you recognize me?...........I’m Abdul Majid Ganai…….Yes……..son of Ghulam Ahmed Ganai……..We were residing in Kalwal Mohalla locality of Rainawari………Now we’ve purchased a new house at Raj Bagh………I recognized you the very first moment I saw you…….But we too are sometimes helpless and can’t ignore the rules and regulations of our Organization………Therefore, if there has been any misconduct on my part during our interaction please forgive me,” said plainly an emotionally surcharged Abdul Majid.

“But I don’t recollect things very clearly………Are you the son of same Ghulam Ahmed whose meat shop was located near the fire brigade house opposite to Jawahar Lal Nehru Memorial Hospital?” inquired Shadi Lal after scratching his mind for a while.

“O! Yes Sir…………I’m exactly the same one and these days my organizational leaders have put me on duty in this area itself……..But I fully trust you, Sir and hope that you won’t disclose it to anyone else,” said Majid rather confidentially.

Shadi Lal once again embraced him very warmly and said, “You feel completely reassured, my dear………You’re just like my younger   brother Chaman Lal who I think, was also your class fellow.”

“ Yes Sir, exactly………How can I forget that friend of mine who was closer to me than even my real brother and in whose intimate association I spent some finest days of my life……… But alas! Everything seems to have been destroyed now,” said Abdul Majid with a deep sigh.

“Dear Majid just let me know one thing………Why at all did you feel the necessity to tell me all these things?………After all you’re a senior commander of your organization wielding a lot of power?” asked Shadi Lal with a fair amount of curiosity.

“Yes, there’re several reasons for that too……..You may or mayn’t remember, Sir………Before the onset of the present struggle when this Valley of ours was an abode of peace, you had favored us with an unforgettable act of kindness,” said Abdul Majid in a gratifying tone.

“What act of kindness? ........... I can’t recapitulate anything,” said Shadi Lal.

“Sir, let me put it this way……..Once my younger sister Aamina who was on her way to school, was hit by a speeding car while crossing the road. She fell on the ground and the car driver escaped. She had received multiple injuries and was profusely bleeding. You were the lone passerby who immediately rushed her to the hospital in her unconscious condition and even donated blood for her. You did all this knowing very well that she was a Muslim girl……… Why? ........... Because of sheer humanity…….. Because of the spirit of sympathy and fellow being, which don’t recognize any artificial man made barriers. We had got the information about Aamina’s accident quite some time late and on reaching the hospital when we saw your blood soaked clothes and discovered how much helpful you had been to the child we not only felt highly obliged to you but were convinced that Angels do exist on this earth in the guise of human beings. Your act of kindness was the one which we shall not forget for all times to come and frankly speaking if today I fail to think and act in the same spirit, then to Hell with my life because in that case I’m not worth calling a human being. Every Abu Jindal is in reality an Abdul Majid Ganai, but it’s only the circumstances that force him to become what he should not be, mostly unknowingly. The ongoing struggle has turned out like a bone stuck in our throat………neither we can pull it out nor push it in……..it happens to remain where it is………. Sir, we’ve got very little time left………So please try to collect whatever you can, as quickly as possible………Till then I shall be making some arrangement for you to go…….O K?” and with these words he again covered his face with the mask and the next moment an Abu Jindal was reborn from an Abdul Majid Ganai. The happenings on that day when poor Aamina was injured came to Shadi Lal’s mind one after another in quick succession and his eyes moistened, noticed by Abdul Majid too. But he left immediately and in the compound outside the house he ordered Abu Hurera to fetch an auto rickshaw or a cab immediately.

About half an hour later when Shadi Lal boarding an auto rickshaw along with a few moth eaten blankets, some empty plastic containers and a few old books & family photographs was heading towards Hotel Zabarwan on the Bouleward , only two thoughts repeatedly teased his brain. The one……… “Had I really done an act of humanity in my life whose reward I’ve reaped today in the shape of my life?” and the other……, “Till now, I had heard in my life that the fruits of patience are very sweet, but today I’ve come to know that the fruits of humanity and kindness can be much sweeter…….”

(Disclaimer: All the incidents, characters, organisations etc. mentioned in this story are imaginary and their resemblance with any real person living or dead, can be a mere coincidence.)  

Talib Kashmiri’s  short story ‘Sawaab‘

An analysis

M. Mubin

An Afsana or short story is a document mirroring the realities of contemporary life. It is the creative masterpiece of a writer’s emotions which he nourishes with his blood. The exact definition of a short story has never remained the same over the ages and new parameters have continually been added to it with the passage of time. The same also holds good for those who write them. Whenever a creative writer pens down a story he is neither restrained by the established norms of its definition nor does he keep in view any limited framework within which he might be supposed to restrict himself during the flight of his imagination. Thoughts flow in his mind like a river in spate and he goes on transferring them on paper and that is precisely the reason why in the ultimate run his story more or less turns out to be the reflection of his own life or anyone or any development in his close observation.

The story ‘Sawaab’ under examination is one amongst the collection of twenty two stories in Talib Kashmiri’s book titled “Shanakht-e-Gul” which has in it all the components required for a perfect story. Talib belongs to Kashmir and has closely witnessed the drama of a political battle being fought in the cover of a religious war during the last two decades.  In fact he has not only observed it closely but studied it in depth and then reflected a glimpse of it in his story ‘Sawaab’. The story has been written in the background of Kashmir,  a subject with a vast and wide canvas in which an attempt has been made to encompass the crux of the psyche behind the history and developments relating to terrorist activities that took place in the Valley during the last twenty years. The writer has tried to narrate the woeful tale of the exile of Kashmiri Pandits from the place of their birth and living, and mentions about the hardships of life being faced by them. It also highlights the importance of communal harmony and brotherhood that remained a vital part of Kashmiri culture. The story by and large reflects those human sentiments which can never be subdued by religious hatred and bigotry or oppression, but on the other hand which break through such man made obstacles.

There are several types of characters in the story like the central one viz. Shadi Lal or the other one Abu Jindal, through whom the writer has tried to give a message that the spirit of humanity always survives even though time and conditions may worsen to any extent. The central character of the story Shadi Lal happens to be a Kashmiri Pandit who used to reside in the Valley, but like other members of his community had to abandon his home and hearth in the wake of terrorist threats and activities in order to save his life and honor, and live a miserable life in a refugee camp at Jammu. It is through the character of Shadi Lal that the writer has drawn a live picture of the agonies of the displaced Kashmiri Pandits who were forced to live the life of refugees in their own country. Side by side the story also gives a candid projection of those Muslims in the Valley who are deadly against the terrorists and terrorism, but helpless to either express themselves or to take any practical measures to get rid of the menace. They feel as awfully threatened by terrorism as their Kashmiri Pandit brethren, because they are meted out the same treatment by the terrorists as are their Pandit compatriots.

        Through this story the writer has not only given a clear proof of his non-partisan attitude but also tried to dismantle the walls of inter community hatred and suspicion. It is at the suggestion of some Muslim friends that Shadi Lal visits his ancestral house at Srinagar with a view to retrieve the household things if any, left by him at the time of forced migration because he is in dire need of basic necessities of life in the camp outside the Valley. His Muslim friends had informed him that in view of the improved situation in Kashmir he could visit his house. However, when he reaches there he finds his house in shambles and various things there had either been destroyed or looted, so much so that the extended balconies of wooden planks joining his and his Muslim neighbor’s houses via the fourth floor too had not been spared. Shadi Lal had still not finished inspecting his house when those very people responsible for this destruction arrive and behave with him in the same manner as they did with his Muslim neighbor Manzoor Ahmed who is accused of his failure to inform them of Shadi Lal’s arrival. Both are beaten severely by the terrorists and their fate is then left to be decided by Area Commander, Abu Jindal. A masked Abu Jindal arrives and he too behaves more or less roughly with them and shifts Shadi Lal to a room inside the house for thorough interrogation and punishment. The scene abruptly changes inside when Abu Jindal reveals his actual identity as Abdul Majid Ganai, a local Kashmiri Muslim who had been forced by the circumstances to become a terrorist, and requests Shadi Lal to forgive him for his rude behavior. He says that before the onset of militancy in Kashmir Shadi Lal had once saved the life of his sister injured in a traffic accident, by carrying her to the hospital and donating blood for her and how could he now forget the human gesture shown by his captive about a decade back. Talib Kashmiri has finished the story depicting a thankful Shadi Lal going back to his temporary accommodation at Srinagar after collecting a few belongings which were possibly of no use to the plunderers, with the help of Abdul Majid.

In this story the writer has not even once tried to take recourse to provocation to express his detestation for terror nor has he tried to present the woes and victimization of the central character Shadi Lal in any exaggerated manner, for enlisting the sympathies of  the readers. On the other hand he has tried to highlight only one aspect of the gamut of religion and terrorism……..And that is Humanity and Humanity alone, which has no religion …….Which is free from all barriers of caste, creed, color, region, religion etc. A thousand storms of  hatred together cannot wipe out the spirit of humanity from human lives……..a spirit which lives in the heart of Shadi Lal as much as it does in the hearts of his Muslim neighbors or for that matter in the heart of a dangerous and ruthless terrorist like Abu Jindal. It is the spirit of this humanity which sustains life on earth and the writer is correct in his perception that those who think this spirit can be erased from human lives by resorting to violence and the like will always be dismayed……..It is a spirit that will last till eternity. By writing this kind of a story Talib Kashmiri has conveyed a message loud and clear, fostering stronger bonds of friendship, communal brotherhood and peaceful coexistence. It can prove an important step towards dispelling the dark clouds of despair and lit the lights of hope in an environment of despondency…….Humanity is alive and it will remain alive always……. come what may.     

M. Mubin

303- Classic Plaza

Teen Bhatti, Bhiwandi,

District Thane, Maharashtra (India)

e-mail : mmubin123@gmail.com

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri)

The sun beating relentlessly that June afternoon really made things boil in the sixty year old structure built by the British for their cavalry men in late thirties and now housing the police station in Ramnagar town, the one in whole district meant to cater to the security needs of over a million people. The building of yester years would, no doubt present a weird look, but for the obnoxious mixture of whistles and snoring sounds intermittently resonating from the semi-open mouth and pulsating nostrils of Havaldar Dhanpat Ram dozing in his chair under the influence of a sumptuous lunch beneath a fan whose old crumpled blades rattling around a worn out axle produced noise comparable only to a water mill of still older times. The dominating effect of the bouts of deep sleep on him could very easily be judged from the increasing degree of bends suffered by his flexible neck right or left and with each such bend reaching its climax his head would involuntarily straighten up only to bend again to a greater depth with the next stronger bout of sleep. The process could go on like that perhaps for hours without break had an uncontrollable bout of sleep not taken better of poor Dhanpat who tossed his forehead with the edge of the table below in front of him but miraculously escaped an injury.
Getting up so suddenly from his sleep it took him a few moments to recover from the shock of the dash in the same manner as a person profoundly enjoying a dream in deep slumber is abruptly forced to wake up by a strong kick on his shin or buttocks. Barely two minutes back the smiling impressions on his countenance waxing and waning every moment led one to believe in unmistakable terms that he too must’ve been seeing some lovely dream but having been made to get up so suddenly left behind absolutely nothing in his mind to recapitulate. He stood up, refreshed himself splashing a few handfuls of unexpectedly cold water from a rusted tap and after adjusting his cap straightway headed for the lone symbol of him being guardian of law……a five foot bamboo lying in a corner. This done he gave a few necessary instructions to his subordinates Constable Madan Lal and Mohd.Yunis, and left for his usual afternoon patrol but unusually without either of them accompanying him today. The only other difference in today’s patrol was that instead of going to the Sarafa street Dhanpat proceeded towards Chella Ram street and without looking right or left walked straight to “Sweet Corner” whose owner Labhu Halwai was stunned to see the Havaldar from a distance because only a day back he had shown up and departed with three Kgs. costly sweets free of cost. 
“The unforeseen visit of Havaldar Dhanpat today at this hour couldn’t altogether be purposeless,” thought Labhu whose original name was Labh Chand and till the moment he could make some kind of guess about the untimely visit by this ‘persona non-grata’ in mufti, the Havaldar had already stepped into his shop subtly admonishing him with a certain degree of sarcasm accompanied by that usual cop-stick strike on the showcase which could be considered strong enough to break the glass panel, but for the good luck of Labhu that perhaps saved it from turning into pieces”
“O Labhu Seth! Have thou started selling flies instead of sweets in thy shop?” asked Havaldar Dhanpat with a pun that smelled more of boorish authority.
Labhu looking somewhat glad over the resistance shown by that fragile piece of glass to the Havaldar’s unexpected mighty tap still went on to say…… “O Mr. Havaldar, what’re you doing? Do take pity at least on this showcase or else it would take a full day’s earning to have it repaired, Sir.”
“O Labhu Seth! Why are thou worried?……..this showcase is made up of something harder than what thou are built and therefore totally unbreakable,” said Havaldar rather tauntingly evoking no reply from Labhu.” However, only a humble query displaying his curiosity about the actual purpose of his visit came from Labhu., “Leave the showcase aside and let me know, Sir what’s made thou show up unannounced today when thou had come up only yesterday and taken a two Kg. packet of sweets for thy boss,” deliberately choosing not to mention anything about the one Kg. packet of sweets taken by the Havaldar for his personal consumption.
Dhanpat Ram looking cautiously around came closer to Labhu saying, “Things are pretty bad…..I should say very bad…… The Inspector in charge Police station was very much annoyed…….I should say rather very furious…….asking from which wretched shop the sweets had been fetched that his lad fell ill by just touching the bloody infected thing,…….but thank God it was me who, without naming thou, saved the situation or else……!”
“Or else what?” asked a perplexed Labh Chand. 
“The Hell would’ve been let loose……Yes I say the Hell. Thou don’t know my boss’s mind…….Otherwise also one can never predict about the temperament of the officers and the women……..Thou never know when they blow hot and when they blow cold…….God alone save us from their unanticipated wraths,” said Dhanpat Ram putting in his words the entire experience of his twelve year service in Police department with a view to create a fear psychosis in Labh Chand. Perceiving that he had been succeeding in hitting the bull’s eye, Dhanpat sought to further mortify Labh Chand saying,“ The Inspector ordered to seal the shop immediately and send the sample of sweets to the Municipality’s Food Inspector for examination, since God alone should be knowing how many people might have died or been admitted in the hospital after eating such bloody infected sweets.” 
Labhu was really tense and with his folded hands beseeched the Havaldar, “Don’t be so cruel please, Sir……..Why thou people want to deprive me of my bread and butter?…..How can a poor man like me feed my family? Please do something Sir; to save me from this ordeal…….. Everything is now up to thee, Sir…….”
“Then why do thou people breed flies in thy shops……..Do thou know that a bloody fly was seen in the packet of sweets given by thee yesterday. The Mistress lost her cool and flung the packet right into the bin. Now tell me who’s to blame for this,” said Dhanpat inserting his left index finger beneath his beret cap casually scratching the head. 
“But just now thou said that the kid of Inspector fell sick and how come that thy mistress was enraged,” said Labhu rather innocently.
“Oh! Labhu, that is so foolish of thee…….I wasn’t talking of my mistress but that of the Inspector…….I mean Madam Inspector……Do thee understand…….?” said Dhanpat.
“O! Yes…Yes…I understand…Madam Inspector,” said Labhu. 
“These days thou don’t seem in a mood to understand anything said in a language other than English……and now do let me know what reply should I carry to the Inspector?” asked the Havaldar.
“Truly speaking I’m in a fix what to tell thee, Mr. Havaldar. Now let me enquire from that lad,” said Labh Chand pointing to and calling a boy of very lean built rubbing his hands with a piece of dirty cloth who immediately responded…,“Did you call me , Lalaji ?(appellation commonly used with respect for an elderly employer).
“Yes…..O! Lad……Were it you who had given the packet of sweets for the Police Inspector yesterday?” enquired Labh Chand.
“Yes Sir…….It was me……..Has there been any mistake, Sir?” asked the boy looking at the Havaldar circumspectly upon which he rebuffed the boy, “O! You foolish lad…….you say ‘any mistake’……. Had there been any mistake I’d have let you off…….It’s an offence…….a grave offence…….what the hell it’s called……..Section ……. Section …….O! Yes……now I remember……..Section 420.”
At this point of time Labhu intervened, “Sir……so far as my knowledge goes this Section relates to the offences involving fraud and in the instant case even the cost of sweets hadn’t been charged from thee.”
Havaldar Dhanpat Ram felt somewhat embarrassed and with a view to camouflage his ignorance of knowledge about provisions of Criminal Procedure Code took recourse to anger,“Alright ……Alright ……To Hell with all these Sections whatever they may be…….but that doesn’t absolve this filthy lad of having committed a grave offence……..just ask him why he had packed the sweets contaminated with flies.”
The boy immediately retorted, “Sir, I hadn’t deliberately given the sweets containing flies…….just please see those stacks of sweets in the showcase with that light nylon covering……..It’s impossible for any fly to find its way through it……..However, it’s just possible that a lone fly might have inadvertently got into the cream at the time of preparing the sweets…... It’s very hot these days and sultry too and in these conditions you can never expect a sweetmeat shop without a single fly…….It’s after all a shop of sweets and not that of tamarind.”
On hearing the unexpected remarks from the boy the Havaldar really lost his temperament and raising his bamboo to alarming heights growled threateningly, “Is this lad of a bastard in his senses? God knows what nonsense he’s been speaking…….Either the Inspector told a lie or I’m telling a lie…….or else the son of the Inspector didn’t fall ill at all. Labhu Seth this bloody lad appears a skinny skeleton but he does possess a two yard tongue in his filthy mouth…….Why should he speak of tamarind…….. How the hell did he muster courage to speak so brainlessly before me?”
Labhu, realizing gravity of the situation started beseeching the Havaldar with folded hands, “Do please forgive this uncouth lad, Sir…….He’s immature and doesn’t fully understand nuances of speech……I’m myself fed up with this brutish chap and would fire him at the first available opportunity,” and then addressing the boy with scornful command said, “ Now what the Hell are you looking for after spewing filth from your dirty mouth……..Go and fetch some cold drink from Hari’s shop without wasting time.”
Sensing that his threat was effectively working on Labhu, the Havaldar became more serious and said with a fair degree of sarcasm, “No need to bother about drinks etc. Labhu Seth …….I’ve had already enough of insult at thy shop and I’m not going to have any more of it. Now that this vulgar chap has referred to tamarind, from tomorrow onwards thou would sell only tamarind at thy shop and nothing else ……..at least till the report from Municipality isn’t received. Now let me know if thou provide sample of sweets thyself or I shall bring police personnel from the Police station to do the job.”
The browbeaten Labhu thought that the Havaldar’s annoyance was real and in order to placate him gently drew him by his arm towards the backyard. Meanwhile the servant lad also appeared with a bottle of cold drink which was really so cold that countless droplets of water trickled down its outer surface in the same way as the droplets of saline sweat from Labhu’s forehead. After much of coaxing and cajoling, the Havaldar finally agreed for the cold beverage and he seemed to have cooled down to some extent, at least outwardly. But that didn’t relieve Labh Chand of the tension when the Havaldar addressed him, “It’s OK Labhu Seth……..I’m not collecting the samples right now……..but there are two conditions.” 
“May I know please,” asked Labhu rather impatiently.
“The first one is that I don’t want to see the ugly face of this bloody urchin here anymore and the second one that from now onwards thou’ll sell only tamarind or tamarind related products on your shop and nothing else, because it’s not now within your capability to sell sweets…….Do thee understand or……,”the Havaldar stopped midway and thrusting his bamboo firmly into the ground stood up to go. At this point of time disappointed Labhu pleaded, “Sir, why are thou so eager to go……... we’ve got to discuss a lot many things…..,” and while saying so he reached for the wallet in the right side pocket of his pale white muslin kurta shirt and drawing some cash went on to say, “Sir, it’s a paltry gift for thy children………I mean to buy some fruit and nuts for them………It’s with thy blessings that this shop is being run or else who would care for the insignificant creatures like us……..But for your kindness we’ll be doomed. ” However, contrary to his expectations this time Dhanpat Ram controlling his appetite for green, crisp and crunchy currency notes cut him short saying, “ Nothing doing Labhu Seth……..let it be some other time,” and marched out stroking the ground with his bamboo. But while his departing bewildered Labhu still shouted, “Mr. Havaldar Sir, this gift of mine to thee would be a debt unto me………it would remain thy trust with me………I’ll myself come to thy office some day to return this trust of thine.”
Leaving Chella Ram Street Havaldar Dhanpat straightway headed towards the bungalow of Inspector Mohinder Singh Rajput where he saw his boss sitting leisurely on the couch in his air conditioned Drawing Room going through the newspaper. Approaching the Inspector the Havaldar thrust his bamboo under the armpit and formally saluted him,“ Good Morning, Sir,” in response to which his boss raising eyes from the newspaper said, “ O! Dhanpat……it’s already 5 in the afternoon and you still say it with ‘Good Morning’…….Anyway it’s OK.”
Dhanpat replied with a sheepish smile, “Sir, we people are ignorant about these salutations etc. in English language………It’s only that we’ve heard to say so while addressing our senior officers………So please forgive me, Sir.”
“Don’t mind, it’s alright………Tell me is there any significant information…….I mean about any kind of murder, rape, dacoity, burglary, law & order problem or the like……...? Was there any phone call of SP from the Headquarters………,”asked the Inspector in his usual commanding tone.
“No Sir……Absolutely not…….Everything is in control, Sir…. With thee at the helm of law & order affairs in this area how dare anyone can think of breaking law or taking it in his hands………Just let me know, Sir how the darling kid Ramesh is feeling now?……….I banged that bloody sweetmeat shop owner right and left today and told him to sell tamarind instead of sweets……….Yes, I’ve told that fellow in very clear terms,” bragged Dhanpat rather boorishly.
“Ramesh is now fine……..It was an ordinary kind of fever which in any case has now come to normal………Tell me which sweetmeat shop owner you’ve referred to,” asked the Inspector in routine.
“Sir, the same Labhu Seth whose shop is located in Chella Ram Street……..from whom the two Kg. packet of sweets had been fetched yesterday,” replied Dhanpat.
“But Labhu Seth’s shop is a renowned one throughout Ramnagar town not only for the high standard of sweets but also from the cleanliness point of view……….Anyhow, let the issue be over and tell me how much you had paid to the chemist yesterday for medicines purchased for Ramesh,” asked Mohinder Singh.
The Havaldar was stunned hearing for the first time in his life from the Inspector about making payment for anything purchased from anyone for his domestic consumption and quipped unbelievingly, “Sir, why do you bother about the payment…….These chemists, like other traders, aren’t as fair and honest in their dealings as anyone may think……....They aren’t even afraid of God for selling spurious drugs that too on exorbitant rates....A tablet costing something around three rupees is easily sold at five.” 
But the Inspector cutting him short said, “O Dhanpat! My late father whose soul is resting in Heaven, used to say that one should never swindle a doctor’s or chemist’s money or else the disease would stick like a dog fly. You do one thing…….You go and make payment to him if not already made……..but don’t forget to bring bill or cash memo……..Do you understand?”
“OK Sir……,”said Dhanpat Ram disguising his absolute helplessness in a freakish smile because the Inspector didn’t care a bit to make payment to him and how could the poor Havaldar , an epitome of extreme discipline and subordination muster courage to demand any money, howsoever justified it might have been, from his boss. Instead, he promptly saluted the Inspector and left with his feet as heavy as his heart. But, only after about twenty minutes Dhanpat returned quite hopeful that the Inspector under the influence of his personal conscience and the advice of his late father might pay him the cost of medicines right upon seeing the cash memo. He as usual saluted the Inspector. “Good Morn…No, No ……. Good Evening, Sir,” who on seeing Dhanpat again asked rather irritatingly, “What is it now, Havaldar?”
“Nothing serious, Sir……..I’ve made payment to the Chemist, Sir and here’s the cash memo,” said he taking out the cash memo from his pocket and forwarding it towards the Inspector who lost no time in saying, “ Keep it with you, Dhanpat……..What’ve I got to do with this petty piece of paper,” thus not only dashing to ground Dhanpat’s all hopes of getting the payment but also dismantling the last brick of the castle he had built during the last half an hour about his boss’s honest dispositions. He was now fully convinced that his two hundred and eighty rupees had gone for ever. He was overtaken by a strong spell of remorse, not that he had lost money belonging to him from the safety of his well guarded pocket but because he had displayed unnecessary quickness in making the payment to the Chemist. However, he kept quiet thinking solely on his blunder and it was then that the wife of the Inspector entered the room and Havaldar said respectfully with his hands folded, “Good Evening, Madam.”
“Good Evening, Dhanpat……..How’re you?” she asked, while setting right her shoulder cut hair locks with long elegantly enameled fingertips to which he promptly replied, “I’m fine, Madam with the grace of God and thy blessings……..Bye the way, what are thou doing with that two Kg. packet of sweets……..I mean the same one which was the cause of dear Ramesh’s fever yesterday……..Do thou want it changed?”
“O! No……..there’s no need to do so. I had only casually guessed yesterday that Ramesh might’ve got fever due to those sweets but subsequent questioning revealed that he had eaten some third rate ice cream in the school followed by cold water. Anyway the fever has subsided and he is now alright playing with his friends in the lawn outside,” said Mrs. Mohinder Singh pointing her finger through the window towards her son where he was busy playing with two other kids.
“That’s fine Madam Inspector that thou did some investigation and in fact I feel that it’s the duty of the Mistresses of all the cops to make investigations of any kind,” said Dhanpat brushing his moustaches with ebony fingers only to retrace his words or to correct his statement with an apologetic “Sorry, Sir”, when the Inspector raised his eyes with a somewhat awesome smile towards him. But the smile it generated on Mrs. Rajput’s countenance appeared so real that Havaldar Dhanpat not only felt happy in the heart of his hearts but also filled him with enough courage to say something more.
“Just let me know Sir, whenever I approach some trader or shopkeeper for fetching anything from him for thou and refer to thy name on the occasion he willingly obliges but in case I ask for something for myself the bloody fellow hesitates at first……his bloody hands shiver in delivering the item to me……..What’s the reason for this dual dealing, Sir?” asked Dhanpat innocently.
The unexpected question from Dhanpat surprised the Inspector who nevertheless replied, “O! Dhanpat…….You simpleton would always remain a simpleton……….It’s known as the power of status. It’s the miracle of this baton that we possess…....the one which is lying there on that table,” he pointed to his baton on a table in a corner of the Drawing Room. 
“But I too have this bamboo stick with me, Sir……..In fact it’s longer than thine Sir……..Not less than five feet and thine must be only two feet……....But still those bloody guys they discriminate……. ,”complained Dhanpat.
Inspector Mohider Singh tried to explain, “You don’t understand, Dhanpat. The power within this baton isn’t measured from its length but from the fact who possesses it and how he uses it……..You may consider that the higher one goes in status the shorter is the size of this baton but simultaneously with each elevation it becomes more potent. Now you see when it assumes the size of an ordinary pen it accumulates within itself unlimited strength that can beat the combined power of hundreds of atomic and hydrogen bombs, defying human imagination. But I repeat the only condition is as to who possesses it and if he knows the ways and means of using it and it’s not within everybody’s capacity and capabilities to use it as per his wishes.”
On this occasion Madam Mohinder Singh who was till now interestingly listening to the conversation between her husband and Dhanpat Ram also spoke, “And I may tell you that the powers vested by the Government on officers and exercised by them while occupying chairs at senior positions isn’t their prerogative alone but also of their wives and other family members, may be not so directly. But remember that this kind of power sharing improves the efficiency of the officer invested with such Governmental powers and they are able to discharge their constitutional duties more effectively in the overall service of the people and the nation.” 
“Oh! My God……..The Baton…..The Chair……The Power…….. The Pen…….What’s all this humbug.........It doesn’t find a place in my bloody skull. People say that the Chair carries with it the Power…..And how do the bloody Baton and Pen come in between…..It’s all beyond the realms of my understanding,” said the confused Dhanpat Ram on hearing the lecturing of the Inspector and his wife.
Words of Dhanpat irritated the Inspector who exasperatingly, fretted, “It’s useless to make you brute of a man understand these things ……..You must know that the Chair and the Pen have a very deep relationship. These two together make a person Powerful and Power has such a strong intoxication that once a person gets addicted to it he never wants to part with it even at the cost of his conscience, conviction or compassion till his last breath. When a person occupies a position of power, whether on lower or upper echelons of administration, forgetting everyone and everything except the interests of his own person or his family and arrogantly or craftily ignores the genuine demands of others trampling over their basic rights people say he is ‘Powerful’. In the heart of hearts those who’ve to deal with him may curse that fellow, but for the sake of courtesy or normal human behaviour they would try to avoid any open confrontation unless his arrogance transgresses all limits of decency or propriety. Thus, taking advantage of the situation such a person continues with his bullying tactics and employing all methods of cunningness manages to push through his plans of personal aggrandizement……….Do you understand something of what I said?”
“I’ve understood, Sir……Almost everything what thou related ………..Now it has trickled into my bloody skull where the malaise lies……From now onwards I too will move about with a pen in my hand instead of this bloody bamboo………We cops have unnecessarily attained notoriety for using the swishing stick when silent strokes of pen can serve our interests better,” declared the Havaldar. His words sent the Inspector and his wife into a roaring laughter whose sound rebounded from the walls of the spacious Drawing Room for several seconds and echoed still longer in the Havaldar’s ears.
After a few moments Dhanpat stood up to go and while saluting the Inspector said, “I would beg to take your leave, Sir……..Any more job for me to do………..Please let me know, Sir.”
“Nothing in particular, Havaldar……..Just do one thing……. You hand over the bill of medicine in your pocket to Labhu and keep the payment with you,” ordered the Inspector.
The Havaldar tried to ask in his utter bewilderment, “But….Sir ………What about thy late father’s advice that……..” The Inspector cutting him short said in his commanding voice, “You see, Havaldar …….That Labhu sweetmeat shop owner must also have his share of punishment…….Didn’t I tell you that you won’t understand these tricks of the trade……This is called use of ‘Power’ and he who knows how, where, when and with whom to use it, is known as ‘Powerful’………Now do you understand the thing or anything more remains to be told……”
“No more lessons Sir……..I’ve followed it fully well,.....Fully well,” saying so the Havaldar once again saluted his boss and departed.

(Disclaimer: All the incidents, characters, organisations etc. mentioned in this story are imaginary and their resemblance with any real person living or dead, can be a mere coincidence.)  

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri)

NOTE: This story is the translated version of one of the stories "Aag" from the Urdu story book "Shanakht-e-Gul" by Talib Kashmiri.

"Oh! My God…….The final exams are right on my head and see these people……… they aren’t giving a chance to me to study in peace…….. Here Dad isn’t also keeping well and there those flunkey followers of God are playing the loudspeaker in the temple at such a high pitch almost twelve hours a day that the eardrums appear on the brink of bursting anytime……. Who’s now going to plead with them and make them understand how this continued noise pollution has been detrimentally interfering in our daily life ………" Shanker murmured and his exasperation wasn’t ill founded. He as well as his father Charan Das had many a time in the past requested Mahant Gopal Chander Tripathi the head priest of the Shiv Temple situated in their locality to use the temple loudspeaker for an hour or so daily in the mornings and evenings so that no disturbance was caused to the people during rest of the time. But unfortunately their implorations fell on deaf ears and the whole matter not only went on being put off every time but on certain occasions it was a cause of deep irritation to the son and father when the Mahant would pass such sarcastic remarks as…. "What you people know about the value of worship…… virtues of hymns and devotional songs….. You’re ignorant." The result was that on one hand Shanker Das couldn’t concentrate on his studies and on the other his father, already suffering from several ailments, was also now afflicted with insomnia causing further deterioration in his health.

Shanker Das the only son amongst four children of Charan Das born after constant prayers, repeated implorations and offerings to gods and deities was an intelligent, obedient and promising youth. Two years back he passed his tenth class examination with flying colors making some of his self accredited class fellows eat a humble pie and proved that talent is a  trait inherent in ones genes and not a property inherited from ones parents. He was fully hopeful that with the kind blessings of God, prayers of his parents, special privileges given by the Government for uplift of neglected sections of the society and his hard work he would succeed in getting admission into the Medical College. But now a feeling had started gripping him that the much expected success might elude him due to the severe disturbance in his studies caused by the uninterrupted noise coming out of the temple loudspeaker. Hence, for the purpose of getting rid of this problem he decided to approach Mr. Bhagat, the most respected person of the area belonging to his community and without disclosing anything to his father or any other family member left to meet him at his bungalow.

Dhyan Chand Bhagat in his capacity as a prominent leader of Dalit Peoples Sangh had several stints as Member Legislative Assembly and in his constituency Brahm Dutt Sharma of Durga Vahini Dal was the only political leader of stature who has had the sole distinction of being called his political rival. Macheivellian politicking was the most favorite pastime of both D C Bhagat and B D Sharma and since during the three decades prior to the last Assembly elections no other local candidate had ventured to jump into the fray, the people of this constituency had regularly been almost in alternate succession returning them as their representatives in the State Assembly. But in the last Assembly elections a young local independent candidate Chander Kiran not only rewrote a new history in this constituency by giving a crushing defeat to both these veteran political stalwarts but also paved way for a secret understanding in future between these two traditional rivals in the political arena. Chander Kiran made a very keen and calculated study of political arithmetic and demonstrated extraordinary kind of political acumen by joining hands with Janta Janardan Party which ultimately came into power, thereby proving beyond any doubt that his success as an Independent candidate gave him an unrestricted independence (say license) after the elections to join any political party of his choice catering to his best personal interests.

After a prolonged wait for more than two hours the Personal Secretary finally permitted Shanker Das to see Mr. Bhagat. Immediately on entering the room he not only said Namaste with folded hands but also touched his feet as a mark of respect. The leader responded with a silent nod after which Shanker related his problem concluding his request thus ……, "Sir, it’s my humble submission in case you use your influence and good offices with the Managing Committee of the temple and deliver us from this predicament we shall remain always indebted to you for this act of kindness……….Sir, it’s a small request and definitely not a difficult task for you……."

"What did you say…..a small request?? O! my lad, it involves the question of Freedom of Religion and you must know that it’s enshrined in our Constitution as a Fundamental Right…….You know these people will say that they’re worshipping God, conducting religious discourses and chanting hymns in the praise of gods………Who’ll deny this. Nobody will claim that they’re doing anything irreligious and therefore who has got guts to refrain them. Now suppose I try making my effort to prevail upon these people…….you know, leaders of both ruling JJP as well as the main opposition party DVD will raise such hue and cry and accuse my Party DPS of trying to infringe the Right to Freedom of Religion, that the chair of power for which our party has been struggling so hard will remain only a dream not come true for us…….I’m sorry my lad…….Very sorry…….I can’t help you in this regard……..," said Mr. Bhagat while expressing his inability.

" O K , Sir…….I understand……..Why should you take so much risk for ordinary people like us particularly when there’re still three years left for the next Assembly elections……..Anyway, I offer my sincere apologies for having encroached upon and wasted five minutes of your precious time," said a disappointed Shanker while getting up to leave, thinking that up till now he had known DVD and DPS only as the abbreviated forms of Digital Video Disc and Delhi Public School and God knew how Brahm Dutt’s Durga Vahini Dal and Dhyan Chand Bhagat’s Dalit Peoples Sangh had been dragged into this matter, because elections or no elections come what may, Shanker had absolutely no interest in politics. The way Shanker spoke and conducted himself forthrightly before MLA Mr. Bhagat definitely impressed him and he called him back from the door……, "O My lad!.........Do come over here……Are you feeling annoyed?........ You appear to me as an enterprising youth full of potential….What’s your age?"

"Sir……I’m nineteen……..I’ve to appear in the Twelfth class examination," replied Shanker unassumingly.

"Are you a member of any political party?" asked the leader.

"No, Sir…….I’m still studying," replied Shanker.

"What if you’re still receiving your education? All our leaders worth any name had stepped into politics in the prime of their youth when they were still in their schools and colleges and you know how they touched the highest pinnacles of glory in the political field…….the whole nation, the whole world eulogizes and  remembers them……..you too can reach that goal………You join our Party ……..Yes……Yes, I mean not the main Party but its Youth Wing………Do you understand?" said Mr. Bhagat at the end of his speech.

Reduced to straits, Shanker despite having the least interest in politics perforce agreed having also been driven by the thought that once having got rid of this bloody loudspeaker nuisance who would care if he joined the Party or not and construed it to be not a bad bargain.

"Alright, now let me know, what’s your problem," enquired Mr. Bhagat as if what Shanker said so far had fallen on deaf ears.

"Sir, I was speaking about the loudspeaker problem," reminded Shanker.

"O! Yes………Now I remember……… Why don’t you do one thing ………I’ve a plan in my mind………It involves no complication …… no botheration………no need to catch at anybody’s feet or to take anyone’s obligation on ones head," said Mr. Bhagat with a crafty smile on his face which unfortunately poor Shanker couldn’t take note of.

"What kind of plan, Sir?" asked Shanker with curiosity.

"Look here my lad………You’re a young boy…….You’ve got tremendous energy in you………You’ve lot of zeal, zest and courage……. Isn’t it so?............Why don’t you climb that temple Kalsh(dome) yourself at an opportune time and turn the loudspeaker a bit around in the other direction and the matter is finished………And for example if someone objects, of which there is the remotest possibility, then what for we’re here…….We’ll take care of things…….After all it’s we people here who’ve spent our entire life in the service of mankind for no personal gains…...Do you understand?" said Mr. Bhagat.

"Yes Sir…….But I feel I don’t have that much courage and it’s also very difficult to reach the top of the Kalsh," said Shanker while expressing his inability for the proposed misadventure.

"O My lad!........There’s absolutely no problem in it because a strong branch of the nearby Peepal tree straightway overhangs the temple Kalsh with whose support you can very easily reach near the top where the loudspeaker has been installed. As far as courage is concerned haven’t you heard the fable ‘Where there’s will, there’s the way’……..So I’ve shown you the way, now it depends upon your will," said Mr. Bhagat as an astute politician and his words have had their impact on Shanker who reluctantly agreed and said  , " O K Sir…….I’ll make a try tonight itself ……. but please don’t forget you promise, Sir……..In case there’s any problem, please do come to my rescue……..I only count on you, Sir….."

The moment Shanker left, Mr.Bhagat stuffed two pinchfuls of chewable mixture of lime and tobacco between his pale yellow teeth and reddish brown gums and reached for his phone intentionally avoiding to give any trouble to his PA to connect him with his one time arch rival B D Sharma of DVD. The phone on the other side was incidentally picked up by Mr. Sharma  himself and  Mr. Bhagat addressed  him …….. , "Hello! .......... Who’s speaking?..........Mr. B D ?..........O! Yes…..Yes …… Everything here is fine …….Yes……Yes……You’re the one whose blessings we always crave for………Nothing much serious……..In fact I wanted to share a piece of information with you………No…….No…….It’ll be as much useful to me as to you and both of us can stand benefited equally…….. It only depends upon you and the way you use your DVD…….Yes…….Yes……. I’m coming right onto the topic. It has come to my knowledge that some anti social element will be trying to steal the costly golden parasol from the Kalsh of the Shiv temple tonight at anytime…….. I don’t know who this thief would be but the information has come through a very reliable channel and I’m inclined to believe it……..As far as the future strategy is concerned you’re the best judge, but when time demands you can depend upon me and my party’s fullest cooperation because at the moment our common enemy is only one man….. Chander Kiran…….. And our common goal is also the same……Chair of Power."

After hanging up what Mr. Sharma did was that he summoned some of his trusted musclemen and asked them to maintain a secret but constant vigil around the Shiv temple that night. A couple of   zealous musclemen also carried bamboo sticks with them to meet any unforeseen eventuality. At the dead of night when there was a rustle of leaves on the Peepal tree, Ghanshyam, the chief muscleman roared……., "O!……..You rogue of a man……..Who’re you there on the tree? ..........Have you come to steal the golden parasol of God……..Get down, you fool or else I know how to bring you down…….You wretched fellow …….,"

There was no reaction from the other side, but a small twig of the tree detached by a strong gust of wind fell suddenly on the ground hitting per chance one of the musclemen who got frightened and out of panic started hurling filthiest abuses on the one up in the tree……, " You rascal……..Son of a bitch……. Bastard……..How you dare hurling stones on us……..Come down and I’ll teach you a lesson……..You scoundrel…….," and this was immediately followed by heavy stone pelting towards the spot on the tree where Shanker had been hiding behind some branch. Within no time some other people of the locality also joined this stoning spree and in the melee why and on whose behest certain anti social elements selectively targeted   the houses of people belonging to a particular community nobody knew. But  stone pelting was replied with stone pelting from the other side too. The weak and the middle aged men and women contended with hurling as many abuses as existing in their vocabulary. Helpless and lonely Shanker Das kept on crying hoarse from the tree…….., " I’m not a thief, believe me……..I’m Shanker……. Shanker Das son of Charan Das of this very locality…….I only wanted to turn the loudspeaker…….," but who would listen to that hapless poor fellow and all his shrieks got drowned in the din like drops of water in the roaring waves of an ocean. Everyone seemed to have gone berserk raining stones as if some ferocious beast had entered a human habitation. B D Sharma lost no time to call the Inspector in charge Police station and addressed him in very strong words……., "Hello Mr. Inspector! I’m Brahm Dutt ...........Are you asleep as ever?…….Why don’t you wake up and see what is happening in your jurisdiction. See how much the times have changed…….these fellows dictated terms to us and we kept quiet, but now they aren’t sparing even our gods and places of worship which could be even the most venerated Shiv temple…….. And your Minister……..Yes…..Yes……I mean the same fellow Chander Kiran who must be sleeping and snoring after one of his daily delightful but tiresome nights in his private harem ……Mr. Inspector, go and wake up that sleeping Minister of yours and see the orgy of violence and reign of terror let lose by these fellows under your very nose……..So deplorable……..extremely deplorable……."

Inspector Jugal Kishore who was really one of the blue eyed boys of Minister, Chander Kiran, after making some unwanted queries sent a posse of policemen to the place of occurrence and himself also proceeded in his jeep after trying in vain to inform his Godfather Minster. In a bid to pacify the irate mob he took out his service revolver from its holster and pointed it towards the tree where profusely bleeding Shanker was hiding. Firing a volley of lewd invectives the Inspector threatened him to come down immediately or else face the bullets. Despite being awestruck Shanker nevertheless on seeing the uniformed guardians of law felt enough courage in him and started climbing down. But unfortunately out of fear and panic he slipped and fell with a might bang on the ground receiving serious head injuries resulting in his death on the spot.

Now the situation of the whole case took an entirely different and unexpected turn. The exuberant zealots of DVD, some of them carrying bamboos, started disappearing quietly one after the other. B D Bhagat who had been keeping himself abreast of the latest developments, at his residence through some of his trusted party workers, when informed about the death of Shanker Das, proceeded forthwith to the site of the incident along with a large contingent of his party activists. Running down upon the Police Inspector in strongest words he yelled …, "So, Mr. Inspector this is the pathetic condition of the neglected sections of the society and the cruel apathy of the present useless and rotten Janta Janardhan Party Government towards them in this state……… The downtrodden innocents are being killed mercilessly only because they also want to bow their heads before God and worship Him in His house……..Go on firing bullets on the innocent people ……..We’ll see how long your bullets will pierce through our bodies……. And you’ll see our breasts would outnumber the bullets Mahavir has in all the weapons in his arsenal," and then addressing the infuriated mob he went on……., "Dear brethren, try to understand why the present state government headed by Mahavir Singh Hichkolia is dead set to demoralize and dishonor the poor and backward  sections in this state and destroy them physically ………. We’ve till now tolerated enough of ruthless exploitation, but from now onwards no more exploitation……. No more disgrace…….. No more," and his inflammatory speech received an instant response from the angry crowd who started a fierce spate of brick batting on the police which within moments turned into a full fledged communal clash. Despite additional armed police force being rushed to control the stone pelting mobs the rioting spread in the whole locality and then the whole city. Hundreds of innocent people were the victims of stabbing, looting, arson, molestation and the like and Government as well as private property worth crores was set ablaze by the hooligans. 

The state Chief Minister immediately called an emergency meeting of his Cabinet to review the deteriorating law and order situation and curfew was imposed in the entire capital city and other hypersensitive areas adjoining it. But the more the measures were taken to contain the violence the more the malady spread to other cities and towns. One could see fire and blazes here and there everywhere.........but none to extinguish them ……… People seemed to have been possessed by the abominable Devil of death and destruction. Scores of  people mostly  innocents were brutally murdered and for three complete days the perpetrators of violence had a field day, with the state Government machinery having abjectly failed to curb and control the unruly goonda elements working at the behest of certain political party leaders. All the steps taken by the Administration to prevent escalation of the trouble failed miserably and rumors started circulating in political circles that Janta Janardhan Party government was likely to be dislodged any moment and such type of rumors were further strengthened in the wake of the Central Government having called for a detailed report from the state Governor.

In view of these quick developments all the political parties and their leaders became active overnight as if they had sighted the pitcher of divine elixir and the possibilities of opening up of their coffers filled up to the brim, brightened beyond expectations. DVD which had a strength of 32 in the 100 member State Legislative Assembly and whose President Rama Kant had been a very strong contender for the post of Chief Minister for the last several decades convened a secret late night meeting of his party leaders including B D Sharma at his residence, in order to explore the possibility of forming a new Government with the cooperation of other political parties and the Independents. When the question of seeking the cooperation of  DPS which had 12 members in the House and had in the past always remained a strong rival of DVD on ‘ideological grounds’ came into consideration it was unanimously decided to shun and sink all previous ‘ideological differences’ and to make serious efforts for enlisting their support in the formation of new Government. In this connection Brahm Dutt Sharma agreed to take the responsibility of motivating the DPS leadership on the explicit condition that in the event of formation of the new coalition Government he would accept nothing less than the portfolio of a full fledged Minister of Public Works which was readily consented to be one and all. The moment secret meeting concluded, Brahm Dutt established contact with Mr. Bhagat who too was attending a similar meeting of his party MLAs and other leaders at some unknown location. This was followed by a personal in camera meeting first between the two and then with some other trusted stalwarts of both the parties including Rama Kant of DVD as well as the ‘Independents’ excluding of course, the arch rival Chander Kant. All things settled by late night which among other issues included  exchange of several suitcases stuffed with cash, distribution of portfolios of the would-be Council of Ministers, giving due recognition to the aspirations of the 8 ‘Independents’ for their unstinted cooperation in unseating the active partner in the ruling coalition etc. etc. the entire group of 52 members of the august House proceeded in all their delight to the Governor House in the wee hours.    

Thanks to some over enthusiastic and inquisitive media personnel and other correspondents who had got a wind of the coming developments, that all the morning newspapers and TV channels carried special reports and bulletins with such spicy banners and headlines as………, "Janta Janardhan Party Govt. dismissed",……… " Hichkolia Government breathes its last with its final hiccup,"……… "Inter-community clashes reduce Mahaveer Government to ashes,"……. "Greed for chair…….. Two Enemies get together……..Mahaveer caught unaware,"……..etc. etc.

Two days later when the new state Government took oath of office and allegiance to the Constitution, the Shiv temple was decorated with colorful balloons and festoons, sweets were distributed generously and in the evening the entire locality including the whole  temple complex was exotically illuminated. Forgetting what had happened just a few days back, people drank and danced to the music of drums, gongs and cymbals expressing their joy……..Members of upper and lower castes hugged each other just like friends or relatives separated for years together do when they meet…….. And why shouldn’t they do so, now that this reunion had taken place at the Government level whose best example was being served by tossing of glasses a joint champagne party of Brahm Dutt Sharma and Dhyan Chand Bhagat hosted by one of their common friends at his farm ouse located in the silent and salubrious outskirts of the city. During the party Mr. Bhagat in an inebriated state showering compliments on Mr. Sharma said…….., "Mr. Minister of Works, you’re really………. a wonderful person, Sir……..If anyone has to learn……..to put something……..or some situation on fire……..he should consult you," and Mr. Sharma returned the compliment……., "O! You Mr. Honorable Deputy CM……..You too aren’t an amateur……..in the field of politics …… Who else than you have the expertise……. of putting the spark in the hay……You’re no less a wonderful person………Sir."

And there on the far side in the Shiv temple locality one of the two dead drunk ruffians Chandu tremblingly pointed his hand towards a lone house in the row asked his companion Bansi……., " O!…..O!.......O! My friend……… P…P….Please tell me…….Wh…..Wh…Why any light isn’t on in  th…… th….. that house…….Ar……Ar……Aren’t they…….ha….. ha……..happy today??? .......... "

"O!…..O!.......O! My dear Chandu……..Ye’ll al…… al……. always remain a stupid………Don’t Ye know it’s the ho…….ho……house of same Ch……..Ch…….Charan Das……who…….who….whose son had di ……. di…….. died after a fall from the temp……..temp…….temple and all these rio………rio…….riots had started……. This fool Ch…….. Ch……. Charan Das’ll always re……..re…….remain a pauper……let him be so," replied  Bansi  in a similar intoxicated state.

"O!..........Now I understand……..You mean th……th…..that thief who had co……..co…….come to steal the Go……..Go…….God’s parasol………

Anyhow it’s OK now……..Be…….Be……Better than OK ………. Be…….Be …….Because we’ve got a chance to ta…….ta…… taste English booze……… Otherwise who ca…….ca…….cares for junk like us ………. O God! Give him …….. pea…….pea……peace," prayed Chandu while gulping down the last sips from the bottle itself.

Next day the management of Shiv temple organized a special prayer-cum-worship function in the temple complex wherein the chief guests were the new Deputy CM and the Public Works Minster, and other invitees included several MLAs and other top ranking state officials. In their exciting speeches the Guests of Honor while expressing thanks to the people for having rejected the previous anti-people and inefficient government in the state declared that by doing so they had demonstrated their exemplary political vision, maturity and  farsightedness. On this occasion these leaders also presented a cheque of two lakh rupees to the next of kin of late Shanker Das in lieu for his supreme sacrifice for the society. After this was over a special fire brigade crane which had mysteriously disappeared during the days of violence and arson, suddenly reappeared and brought the Chief Guests right up to the Kalsh of the temple to enable them to offer floral petals and place huge colorful wreaths and garlands on the temple……. And in the open courtyard of the temple below, the people unmindful of what had happened and what was going around, went on clapping their hands and chanting a combination of hymns and slogans in a frenzied state. But again one of the two drunk ruffians of yesterday whose drunkenness had subsided to a considerable extent over the night asked the other…….., " O! Chandu, look ………What’s going on over there!!! Mr. Bhgat has garlanded the loudspeaker while Mr. Sharma has placed the wreath on the parasol ………And nobody has offered flowers or garlanded the God’s idol ………Indeed very surprising……..Isn’t it???..........Haven’t they started doing things wrongly right now when they’ve ascended the chairs of power?" ……… And Chandu chiding him with a mild slap on his cheek replied ……., "Be quiet, Bansi………Be quiet, you stupid fellow……… Keep on clapping …….. I think Ye are still not out of your intoxication ……… Ye don’t know they’re Great people ……….they’re leaders and not bloody fools like ye and me……….They do wrong things but they don’t do things wrongly……..," and then both of them rejoined others clapping their hands more vigorously.  

(Disclaimer: All the incidents, characters, organisations etc. mentioned in this story are imaginary and their resemblance with any real person living or dead, can be a mere coincidence.)  

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri)

NOTE: "The Guilty" is the English version of Urdu story "Qasoorwar" included in the book 'Shanakht-e-Gul.'

The pledge taken by Zaffar Iqbal a couple of years back alongwith his other batch mate forest Range Officers in the passing out parade at the Forest Training Institute, Dehradoon that he would in all his sincerity spare no effort to save country’s forest wealth including the flora and fauna within it, seemed to have been altogether forgotten by him when in his capacity as Assistant Wildlife Protection Officer he signed all the documents and related papers in the file that had been put up to him last week by his subordinate forest officer Bashir Ahmed for his approval. A day after the said file had been submitted to him he summoned Bashir Ahmed to his office and categorically refusing to sign the documents on the ground of these being fake, said to him, "Mr. Bashir Ahmed, you’ve committed a grave blunder in putting up this fraudulently prepared bills and other papers to me………Hadn’t you been the respected father of Zareena I would’ve got you suspended from service……..Hasn’t Zareena ever told you about my ideals……..my principles?"

In reply Bashir, camouflaging his cleverness and cunningness in polite words said, "Sir, I am very sorry……..But in doing so I haven’t done anything wrong……..I’ve done only what we’ve been doing here since long…….. There’s nothing for you to be annoyed with me, Sir."

"I’m not concerned about what had been going on here in the past, but from now onwards I’ll not allow any kind of hanky panky in this office……..After all wasn’t it our suggestion that a barbed wire fencing should be erected along both sides of the Erin-Sumlar pathway located in the dense jungle to provide safety to the people using the track against attacks by wild animals that was accepted by the Government which sanctioned two hundred thousand rupees for the purpose…….And how the hell have we got any right to embezzle this money…….. Isn’t there any value for human life?" said Zaffar Iqbal almost admonishingly to Bashir Ahmed who being adept in his craftiness said, " You’re right, Sir. I beg to take the liberty of going a step further and request you to look into the matter more closely upon which you’ll come to the conclusion that this kind of project is altogether waste of money because the barbed wire supplied to us by the Mechanical Division is so much rust eaten that even an ordinary pup can break though it very easily what to speak of any mighty wild animal like a bear, tiger etc. The other important thing that needs your attention, Sir is that during the last five years there hasn’t been a single incident of attack by any wild animal in this belt possibly because of gross encroachment by man into the habitat of wild animals forcing them to withdraw into higher reaches, but people like Ghulam Rabbani are responsible for creating a halo of threat from wild animals to human life so that he gets the contract to erect barbed wire fencing and make money through trickery and other unfair means. But I’d like to inform you, Sir that in case that bloody Rabbani thinks himself to be smart then we’ll prove to him that we’re smarter and this time if at all the contract has to be given it’ll go to Ghulam Mustafa who’s more trustworthy and clean in his accounting deals also."

In the ensuing week there was a lot of discussion between the two on this issue but Zaffar remained adamant on his stand that he won’t pass the bills. After a day or two he was called by Divisional Forest Officer, Bandipura his immediate superior to his office for a meeting apparently in connection with some other work and during discussion he also referred to Forester Bashir Ahmed eulogizing his role in the Wild Life Protection unit praising him eloquently for his ‘sincerity, dedication to duty, experience and trustworthiness’. The DFO also subtly advised Zaffar to ‘benefit from the vast experience and talent of Bashir Ahmed and not to outrightly ignore his suggestions in the wider interests of the Department’. Poor Zaffar lost no time in understanding the purpose of this meeting and the message conveyed to him. This is how he registered his entry into the abominable system commonly known as ‘corruption ’ or ‘ misuse of power or Government position’. The fact is that the barbed wire had been erected hardly for about a hundred meters but the bill was preferred for a length of half a kilometer. Zaffar, who was given his share of Forty Thousand rupees as first instalment of ‘incentive for gaining entry into the network’ immediately left for Hari Singh High Street in the capital city of Srinagar to purchase for Zareena, his sweetheart,  a costly gold chain of elegant make and design.

Zaffar had been in infinite love with Zareena, daughter of Bashir Ahmed Forester since their college days when both of them were studying in Govt. Degree College, Baramulla. What had drawn Zaffar to develop an unexplained liking for Zareena was no doubt her enchanting beauty and attractive personality, but the catalytic agent to translate this liking into love relationship was a single incident when during a college outing to Asia’s second largest fresh water lake the Wullar at Watlab he had saved her from an imminent fall when she slipped her foot while deboarding the bus. The spontaneity with which Zaffar, temperamentally a shy but academically a sharp student of the college, held her hand and the way she expressed her thanks to his gallant gesture acted as the real spark to kindle the flame of love between the two. The occasions thereafter, when they pledged to live and die together, were not fewer till at least they did their Bachelors in Science with flying colors, whereafter Zaffar also qualified the competitive exam for Forest Range Officers and joined the course at Forest Training Institute Dehradun, while Zareena was appointed as Science teacher in a Government school at her native place Sumlar in Bandipora tehsil. The distance between the two notwithstanding they have had an occasional chat on the phone for which Zareena,  in those days, had to come down to PCO at Bandipora. On his part Zaffar never forgot a memorable meeting with Zareena one summer noon when during his training course he had come to his native place Dardpora to spend his vacations. He had not informed his arrival to Zareena and he left his home to meet her at Sumlar itself with the intention to give her a pleasant surprise. But contrary to his plans the meeting took place by chance at a spot on the banks of mountain stream Erin whose each splashing wave threw a thousand streaks of pure, cold, transparent and glittering waters in air reflecting all the seven colors of rainbow. All the romantic beauties of Nature appeared to be working in complete harmony suited for the occasion. While on one hand dozens of nightingales, golden orioles, thrushes, warblers, ring doves & finches gave to ears a soothing sensation of a chorus being sung surpassing all the melodies of music, the small green glades extending and merging with one another in a way gave to mind an impression of green velvets of varied hues & shades folding into each other till as far as the horizon. At first Zaffar couldn’t make out what he saw was a dream or reality, but his heart beat alarmingly faster than never before the nearer Zareena came and once close he involuntarily wrapped her up in his strong arms and she yielded herself completely to him with a stream of tears issuing instantly from her gazelle eyes, the warmth being felt by him through his soaked shirt back. Gently wiping her tears Zaffar said," O! My dear Zareena…….These tears in thy beautiful eyes aren’t meant to moisten thy fresh apple like cheeks…….For Gods sake let these not drop from thy crescent cut eyelashes……..They just look like shining pearls entwined in morning blades of grass," and these words had brought a blooming smile on her lips turning them from pink to red. They sat beside the rumbling Erin on a patch of green grass bedecked with at least a dozen kind of colorful wild flowers some of them fragrant enough to cause a sort of inebriation on the lovebirds who talked almost without a break mostly about the good old days, pangs of parting, life without each others physical presence etc. It was during this meeting when Zareena knowing perhaps very well what would be the answer asked him, " Zaffar…….Tell me what is your biggest desire in life?"

After a brief while he replied, "You have posed a difficult question Zareena, because to be true to myself and every body else I have not one but two biggest desires in life. The first one, of course being that I want to spend each moment of my life with you…….I mean in your closest company both physical and mental……and the other one……," he abruptly became silent pulling his head up from her lap gazing into the blue sky above and she could at once perceive something deeply agitating his mind. She asked in a worrisome tone, "Oh! Zaffar, why don’t you speak what’s in your mind? Won’t you tell me about your second desire?" displaying more of her curiosity to go to the depths of his thinking.

Zaffar starting unexpectedly in high tone said, " Zareena, I can’t see and bear the vast inequality prevailing in our society between the rich and the poor……..It’s awesome…….I want to put an end to the gross injustice meted out to ‘have nothings’ by the ‘have everythings.’ I want to destroy all Suleiman contractors together with all those selfish politicians, Government officers & so called public servants who patronize such cancerous elements in our society in their ignoble activities and save all Mohd. Shabans from the lifelong atrocious exploitations suffered by them at the hands of these Shylocks of our disgusting system who amass unlimited wealth at the expense of the blood & sweat of poor working class. How shameful it is that the day when these uncared for people get a square meal to eat they feel indebted to Suleiman like blood suckers instead of God Almighty or the hard labour they do, and I’ve resolved to strive for bringing some relief to these deprived people of our society if not altogether emancipate them from the deadly clutches of their exploiters."

"You’re right in your own way, Zaffar………But it’s all in ones Destiny…….Everyone gets in life what the Providence has predestined for him……..We can’t change Destiny even though we may try for it," said Zareena with rather cautious sympathy.

"No……Zareena…….All this talk of luck, destiny etc. etc. is sheer nonsense……..All these bogus philosophies are deceitful trickeries invented and employed by people like Suleiman contractor to exploit the poor and use them for their vested interests. I do agree that the history of rich and poor is as old as the history itself and theories of complete social and economic equality propounded by Marx and Angeles haven’t stood the test of time, but should that mean that one individual is master of thousands of trillions of rupees, has thousands of men or servants working for him, enjoys all imaginable and unimaginable luxuries and comforts of life, while another person who’s anatomically, biologically and physiologically no different from him has to search for his food from the decomposed and putrefied leftovers in the street litter bins. To hell with the system in which one person has a castle or a mansion or a sky scrapper with a thousand rooms with all modern amenities to live in and his fellow human being doesn’t get space even beside a filthy gutter to take rest or sleep during the night and when a bloody tyrant like Suleiman contractor while sitting in his posh magnificent bungalow having the tastiest dishes waiting for him on his dining table orders who to retain and whom to remove from his employment the hapless Mohd. Shaban is thrown on the road with not even a penny to feed his family……...I can never tolerate this injustice and I vow to fight this nonsense system to my last breath which drives a common man to indignant penury for his only fault of either not being born rich or simply for lacking the craftiness to make money by dishonest means," said Zaffar completely overtaken by exciting emotionalism.

Fifteen or sixteen years back when Zaffar was barely eight, his father Mohd. Shaban was working like some others, in the employ of Suleiman contractor transporting wooden scants from the upper reaches of adjoining jungles to lower areas. Dozens of scars on Mohd. Shaban’s otherwise broad collars, strong shoulders and sturdy back made by tough leather band tied to a rope with which heavy scants of cedar, pine and conifer sawn to size illegally in connivance with the Forest Department officials in the upper belts of dense forests by Suleiman contractor’s men and dragged physically by the laborers downwards clearly indicated how excruciatingly tough the job must have been. These very scants were then sold in black market at very exorbitant prices by Suleiman contractor under the very nose of the concerned Government officers who used to get their share of the booty. One day when Mohd. Shaban on account of being suddenly taken ill failed to meet the daily target of transporting five scants, Suleiman contractor in a fit of rage turned him out from his employment and that day Zaffar like other members of the family had to go to bed without his supper. Hunger forced him turn left and right under his torn quilt and despite tender age he vowed to himself that he would work very hard at the studies so that one day he is able to take revenge from the oppressors and exploiters like Suleiman contractor and teach them a lesson for their misdoings, and now the same Zaffar Iqbal after completing his training course and returning to fulfill his avowed mission had helplessly become a part of the obnoxious system.

Today evening, when one time idealist & revolutionary Zaffar now holding the post of Assistant Wildlife Protection Officer carrying a costly gold chain in his pocket for his fiancé was heading on one & a half kilometer jungle path towards Sumlar to give her a surprising pleasant gift, it never occurred to him even once as to what was the fate of all his loud claims of ruthlessly destroying the menace of corruption, nepotism and exploitation from the public life which he used to boast of just two years back. He had either forgotten or refused to recognize as to the way the ‘system’ lures a person and then digests him and was perhaps satisfied that he had learnt to swim with the current. True, when the greed and the needs of a person outstretch his means and resources he can go to any extent which may even include trampling over the blood & sweat spilled by his honest and industrious father, just in order to tie a golden chain bought from the money earned through dishonesty round the neck of his loved one……How easily a man can betray his own conscience…….he had failed to realize. 

At the moment Zaffar’s mind was deeply engrossed in Zareena’s thought……Her graceful figure and beautiful complexion dominated all what he could think of…….. "How excited would she feel and how attractive would she look when I gently hook this equally attractive gold chain around her shapely and curvaceous neck beautified enviously by a lone dark brown mole and how amorously would she look at me and express her sentiments of immense love……." Completely lost in such dreams, poor Zaffar couldn’t perceive the presence of the agent of Death in the form of a mighty giant size black Himalayan bear till it was right in front of him with both its front paws up in air in attacking posture, eyes shining in dim light like two ambers and mouth wide open growling wildly giving him very little time or scope to escape. He lost his senses and couldn’t think what to do except turn back and run for his life as fast as his legs could carry him crying for help but the beast beat him easily in the run and in the process he not only dropped the gold chain but stumbled against some object. He tried to get on to his feet and run again but the ferocious animal didn’t give up his deadly pursuit and once within its reach he dealt a strong punch on Zaffar’s head who reeled under its impact which was followed by a few more blows and bangs with an ultimate forceful bite on his neck with its canines. The bear might’ve torn him apart but for the arrival of a group of Gujjars, living not far away who had heard his cries for help, holding burning torches and armed with axes, spears, etc. But even then they were late because Zaffar lying in a pool of blood had said goodbye to his earthly existence.

Zareena on hearing the shocking news was not only completely broken at heart but stunned so much so that she didn’t speak to anyone and kept on staring aimlessly at people or at things out of total unconcern. Her father Bashir Ahmed too felt disappointed and disturbed not that he had only lost a well placed officer poised to be his daughter’s husband but also that the deceased had finally succumbed to pressure to follow in his footsteps to earn money through devious means.

Next day a condolence meeting was convened in the office of DFO Bandipora wherein grief was expressed on the untimely demise of Zaffar Iqbal and it was disclosed that the tragic accident had taken place due to non completion of fixing barbed wire fencing on the two third portion of one and a half kilometer path running through dense forest between Erin and Sumlar hamlets rendering it completely insecure from the attacks of wild animals. Hence it had been decided to send a fresh contingency proposal to the Chief Wildlife Warden for sanctioning additional grants to the tune of ten lakh rupees immediately for the project. On this occasion Bashir Ahmed, Forester while paying tributes to Zaffar Iqbal equivocally held the Government responsible for his death and expressed gratitude to the DFO for having displayed exemplary interest in the security of the people residing in the said villages and deciding upon to send a special proposal to the concerned authorities for providing adequate finances for this work of urgent nature.

The meeting concluded and highly dejected Bashir Ahmed while waiting for public transport at Bandipora bus stand saw Forest guard Abdul Majid running towards him and asked him, "O Majid ! why are you so panicky……..Is everything OK?" in reply to which he said, "Sir, I had been looking for you only………Just now we received a message in our office from your village…….," and suddenly he was speechless.

Bashir again asked him very impatiently in a way which betrayed more of worry than curiosity, "Why are you mum?…….Why don’t you speak??……..What message have you received from Sumlar???"

"Bashir Sir…..We’ve lost sister Zareena for ever………She has jumped into Erin river," said Abdul Majid hesitatingly with eyes full of tears and Bashir Ahmed not bearing the distressing news went into a shock and fell down right on the road saying in broken words….., " De…..De…ar Ma….. Majid, ….Aa…Aa…..I’m……the…the….re.....real…..gui…guilty….fo……for…….the……their death." 

(Disclaimer: All the incidents, characters, organisations etc. mentioned in this story are imaginary and their resemblance with any real person living or dead, can be a mere coincidence.)  

by Inder Krishen Koul (Talib Kashmiri) 
 
Dorji just stood still, dumbfound, eyes fixed onto that large peculiarly round boulder, which could perhaps be called a solitary one but for the presence of a smaller one of its kind only a few feet away, protruding from an undulating mass of sand on the banks of the mountain stream Teesta with volumes of tossing cold mercurial waters in the foothills of picturesque dense jungle. Residing not far away in the small hamlet Simtang on Siliguri-Gangtok highway where he had lived twenty five springs of his life, he knew its glades, pathways and even the pine trees like the palm of his hand. He turned his head around apparently listlessly gazing across the rumbling river into the morning haze of the woods, but actually lost in the depths of Kamini’s thought. “If only she could be, like before, beside me as close as water kissing the roots of that lone tree on the opposite riverbank and just not running afar washing away the tiny but significant specks of happiness from my life, as of now,” he thought to himself. The morning sun tried to beat the cold gusts of September wind and Dorji too made similar bids to disengage his mind from Kamini, but ironically both matched only in their failure. The will to sit on that solid rock, alone----without Kamini ----eluded him now and again like the moon playing hide and seek behind the cloud, and finally much to his chagrin, deciding to rest upon the smaller one in a position so as not to lose the sight of that entire big one where he and Kamini used to spend hours together during their long association of four years, in total seclusion away from the maddening world, talking and talking, laughing and laughing, complaining and capitulating, weeping and wailing, cajoling and coaxing, and so on and so forth.“

How did this happen……? Why did you forsake me for no fault of mine …….? I think God and you somehow conspired to forsake me …….He perhaps to demonstrate His absolute authority on Providence and you certainly to satiate your sadistic pleasures seeing some ones’ heart bleed which I am still afraid you would never like to do before when we met last ,” thus Dorji murmured to himself. There were times when Kamini Gurung and Tandup Dorji would enter into heated arguments or even quarrel, particularly when he broached the subject of their marriage and Kamini’s attempts to tactfully brush aside his insistence seemed to be having no impact on him. But this time only a few words from him would lead her onto the path of permanent estrangement, he never imagined on earth though knowing very well that the future of Kamini’s only mentally retarded brother who having lost his parents in early childhood was completely dependant on her, always weighed heavily upon her sensitive mind. 

Dorji gently picked up a piece of twig and unintentionally started scribbling something on the ground that eventually turned out to be a figure resembling his Kamini. He reached for his wallet in the right hand pocket of his jacket, took out an old but neatly kept photograph of Kamini and after making up some deficiencies in the figure below spoke to her again,” Oh!...... my dearest Kamini! What makes you to be so indifferent ……. so callous to me. I never said or did anything deserving punishment of such severity. There were a couple of more serious occasions in the past when we could’ve fallen apart, but it was you who said that this relationship of ours isn’t just like a bubble of water in its impermanence. What has suddenly made you so harsh……..so heartless, I still fail to understand. If in my obsession of love for you I made a simple and logical proposal that we should now concretize our relationship and marry what was wrong in it …..…it was all natural and anyone in my place would’ve done so long back. After all we both are settled……. earning and what should prevent us from realizing our dreams and start living the life of our choice that we’ve been cherishing all these years. Tell me sincerely, how long the flame of passion can be held back from ever flammable ocean of love…….wouldn’t it be disastrous for both of us and what sin did I commit in saying so to you……for God’s sake tell me, O!, my dearest one….., please speak ……. ” 

His whole body trembling, Dorji slowly got to his feet and aimlessly strolled from one bush to another piqued over the ‘noise’ made by a dozen odd thrushes in the barberry bushes which he otherwise used to enjoy so delectably to its hilt in the company of Kamini. Tastes change with time and happiness comes from within, he wasn’t in a mood to realize this cardinal principle of enjoyment, at the moment. Taking a few whirls which appeared more like inebriation than any acrobatics, Dorji turned back and seated himself where he previously was, but this time grasping his head firmly and staring furiously at the figure below created by him a few minutes back. For a moment he wished to spit at the image and destroy it for ever with his jungle boots, but something within restrained him…….an invisible struggle between heart and head ensued at the end of which the heart won. He bowed down and kissed the image as intensely and as warmly as he could, grossly unmindful whether it was sand or soil…….because for him it was Kamini and Kamini alone , and nothing else. Raising his head reluctantly, Dorji muttered gently, “O! My dearest Kamini, we both have perhaps failed our names….I being Dorji should have been basking in the glory of my ancestral royalty, but far from allowing me this liberty you went ahead ruling me ruthlessly and condemning me unheard, and you Kamini, which signifies one who is abode and embodiment of infinite love even in worst of tempests practically abandoned me in high ocean currents to drown…….to perish……..Ah! My dear, what a nice reward for my unflinching love?……what a reward?…….Is that what I deserved? O! My dear, should I say your ways of meeting the ends of love are as mysterious as malicious……….Oh! Dear, let the Angel of death devour me before I think so, because you weren’t like that before nor must be still so.” A stream of tears rolled down his cheeks getting slowly absorbed in the sandy image below as silently as his words vanished in thin air. 

A sudden splash in water attracted Dorji’s attention and he saw a big fish leap in air and drop back after taking a few spins as if to tell him that he was not alone in that moment of bewailing.. He got up and in a bid to follow his unexpected companion, took a few steps down the stream up to the point where local fish poachers had stealthily spread their nets to catch their bread earners, bellies downside up with the use of gunpowder. Disgusted, he returned but not before espying a large pack of deadly gelatin sticks with detonator, fuse and timer device all set to play havoc with the poor aquatic creatures within a period of ten minutes on the watch and he saying to himself, “Oh! My God….....what would be the fate of my companion, and his companions……..they will soon be dead for the only fault of being born in a world where the poor and helpless are bound to suffer the cruelty and high handedness of the rich and the resourceful, be it the richness of a beautiful face or that of wealth.” Dormancy of volcano within Dorji abruptly wore off and he cried in sheer madness, “ I’ll show to the world right now and here itself, that fish have from earliest times been dying for men, but today a man will die for fish……..I’ll sacrifice myself to save the fish who do not deceive…..who do not wear many masks on their pretty faces…...who do not torture……who do not laugh when others weep…....who do not go about kicking people whom they say they once loved……. Today I’ll give up my life for the poor dumb creatures and not for those who believe in killing people with sugar coated pellets of poison.”

Quickly but carefully Dorji untied the knot of the thick cord holding the deadly explosive tightly together with a piece of wood to make it float, unzipped two third of his jacket on front and cautiously slipped that mass of most devastatingly used Alfred Nobel’s costliest gift to mankind down his breast. He closed his eyes and only heard time ticking away from him. But suddenly something struck his mind. He got up and strode a few steps to the very rock which stood a silent witness to what he and Kamini had gone through in the past and what he was going through now, and peeped into his jacket. He had only two minutes of his life left and he wished to make the best use of it. He didn’t think, but involuntarily his hand reached for the mobile phone in his trouser pocket and with his benumbed fingers he hurriedly started pressing the maze of buttons which often got obliterated due to his moistened eyes. Time running away from him as quickly as sand held in fist, he doggedly continued with the last enterprise of his life.

Ten…….Nine……Eight……Seven…….Six…….Five…….Four……Three……..Two……..One…….and all of a sudden there was a big bang……..a mighty blast…..a bloody blaze…..a deafening sound……and…....a silence interrupted only by the roaring waves of Teesta dancing to their own tunes, one following the other in an unending trail………and poor forsaken Dorji ……..a dear son of his parents, a caring brother of his brothers and sisters, a helping hand of his colleagues, a trusted friend of his friends lay in charred blood soaked pieces littered all around that big stone………the citadel of his love.In the busy town life of Gangtok silence around Kamini Gurung in the retiring room of her office on the seventh floor was suddenly broken by just two beeps and she at once took out the mobile phone from her handbag while sitting pensively on the couch and unbelievingly went through the message appearing on it………..
 
“The forsaken is going to the Forsaker above and imploreHim that the forsaker below be forgiven. Wish uhappiness ever and always hereafter…….Tundup Dorji.”
 
Next morning almost the same time some passers by discovered the necrotic body of Kamini Gurung near the same rock………the only witness to Dorji and Kamini’s love, life and death, which no longer stood in silence, for it displayed visibly delible but infinitely lasting inscription in chalk………. 

“If only he could have understood my problems a bit more……….Kamini Gurung.”