Image of painting ‘Cheekh’ by S. L. Parashar
Intizar Husain
(Translated from Urdu by Alok Bhalla with Vishwamitter Adil)
T
he First Man declared, “I can tell you nothing about that. I am dead.”
Startled, the Third Man turned and looked at him in surprise and fear.
The Second Man, however, didn’t react at all. In a disinterested voice, he asked, “How did you die?”
The First Man replied dispassionately, “She was a dark girl with long hair which reached down to her waist. She wore a red bindi. A dark, young man stood beside her. I asked him — Is she related to you? She is my sister — he replied. I commanded — Strip her naked. When the girl heard that, she turned pale and began to tremble like leaves of a willow tree. The young man pleaded with me — Please don’t ask me to do that. I was insistent. I pulled my sword out of the scabbard and yelled — Strip her naked. He shuddered when he saw the naked sword in my hand. Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached for his sister’s saree. She screamed and covered her face. Before my very eyes his hands…”
“Before your eyes? Really?” the Third Man exclaimed.
The Second Man was still unmoved. Without a tremor in his voice, he asked, “Was it then that you died?”
“No, I continued to live,” he replied blandly.
“Continued to live? Really!”
“Yes, that’s what I said. I saw all that and continued to live. I lived to see that young man order another one to repeat that incident. He caught a woman in a burqa as she was running away in fear. The old man who was with her pleaded — O young man, have pity on us. Do not ruin us. The young man’s eyes burned red with rage as he shouted — Is she related to you? The old man begged — Son, she is my wife. Grinding his teeth, the young man ordered — Strip her. Pale with fear, the old man merely stared at the young man. Intoxicated with rage, the young man grabbed him by his neck and screamed – Strip her. When he said that, I…”
“Died?” the Third Man asked eagerly.
“No.”
“Really!”
“Yes. I heard and saw all that and still remained alive. Afraid that the young man might recognize me, I covered my face and ran away. But I was, finally, trapped by a crowd. Just as I was about to throw away my sword, a man forced his way through the crowd and stood before me. He looked into my eyes and said — Don’t lay down your sword. That’s against the laws of valour. I hesitated. He continued to stare at me. Utterly defeated, I lowered my eyes and said — There is no other solution. I must live. The moment I said that, his eyes began to smoulder with rage. He spat on my face and turned away. Suddenly, a sword flashed above his head. He spun around and fell on the ground. His body was drenched in blood. I washed my face in his hot blood and…”
“Died,” the Third Man said, anxious to complete the sentence once again.
“No. I still lived. I put my sword away, and continued to live. Suddenly, that young man reappeared out of nowhere. He stopped when he saw me. Glaring at me, he snarled — Aren’t you the same man? After some hesitation, I admitted — Yes, I am. The minute I said that, he turned around and disappeared into the crowd. Puzzled I remained standing there. A few moments later, he came back, dragging a young girl with him. He pushed her in front of me. When I finally recognized her grime-and-dust covered face, veiled by her wild hair, I was stunned. She looked at me and wept bitterly. I was utterly shattered. The young man asked venomously — Is she related to you? I hesitated before replying — She is my daughter. With a firm voice, he ordered — Strip her. That innocent and helpless girl began to tremble. I fainted and…”
“Died!” the Third Man added with anxiety in his voice.
“No.” The First Man paused. After a while, he whispered, “I still lived.”
“Still lived? Despite all that? Really!” the Third Man was amazed.
“Yes, despite all that I heard and did…Ashamed of myself, I crept away from there. Terrified, I hid in the shadows, ran across streets and finally reached my neighbourhood. Terror had gripped the street. In the twilight, everything was hazy. The street, normally full of hustle and bustle in the evening, was silent and empty. The street dog, who recognised everyone in the neighbourhood, growled when he saw me. Strange! In the past, he had always wagged his tail and greeted me affectionately. That day there was hostility and fear in his eyes, and his hair stood on end. He snarled at me and backed away as if I were an alien. A wave of fear swept over me. Carefully, I edged past the dog towards my house. The door was bolted from the inside. I knocked softly. No one answered. It seemed as if no one was at home. I was surprised. I knocked again, this time a little loudly.No one answered. A cat, walking on the low parapet wall of the house next door, stopped, looked at me strangely as if I were an enemy and then quickly slunk away.
I knocked again and called out — Open the door. A woman’s voice asked cautiously — Who is it? I was surprised that my wife hadn’t recognized my voice. Confidently, I replied — It’s me. Slowly and carefully, she opened the door, looked at me nervously and said — You? I was crushed. Yes, it’s really me. I walked in. There was an eerie silence in the house. It was as dark inside as it was outside. Only a small, dim lamp burned in the verandah. A prayer mat was spread on the floor. My father sat on it, silently telling his beads. My wife whispered anxiously — I thought our daughter had returned. I was shocked. I looked at her closely to see if she had already heard about our daughter. She stared at me apprehensively. Trying to avoid her gaze, I walked into the verandah and knelt beside the prayer mat. My father picked up the lamp and studied my face for a long time. You? — he asked finally. I replied — Yes, it’s me. My father continued to examine my face in the dim light of that lamp. Then, in disbelief, he mumbled — No. I said — It’s really me. I am alive. He didn’t say anything for a while. He shut his eyes, sighed and said — If you are alive, I must be dead. He then collapsed and died.
My wife said viciously — Your father is dead, your daughter has been raped and dishonoured…You are dead.
At that moment, I realized I had died.”
The First Man fell silent. The Second Man stared at his blank face and vacant eyes for a long time. Then he declared dryly, “What he says is true. The old man is dead.”
The Third Man was even more bewildered than before. He, too, looked at the First Man and, then, unexpectedly asked, “Where is your father’s body?”
“My father’s body?” the First Man was taken aback. He paused, and then slowly replied, “I left it behind.”
“Why didn’t you bring it with you?”
“How could I have carried two dead bodies? You don’t know how difficult it was for me to carry my own.”
The Second Man, who had till then listened to everything and spoken in a detached and dispassionate manner, suddenly sat up with a start and said, “O, I had almost forgotten. My dead body was left behind.”
“Your dead body!” exclaimed the Third Man, who had been curiously inspecting the face of the First Man. He turned to look at the Second Man in disbelief.
“Yes, my dead body,” the Second Man mumbled. “I should have brought it with me. Who knows how they will treat it.”
“Are you dead too?” the Third Man asked.
“Really!” the First Man exclaimed. “How did you die?”
“How can a dead man tell you how or why he died? I simply died,” said the Second Man and fell silent. After a pause, he began talking once again. His voice was emotionless. “The doom that had been hanging over other cities finally reached the ruined city too. I walked about stealthily. I knew that our fate would not be different from theirs.
Passing through a bazaar, I suddenly caught sight of a dark girl, and stopped. Her saree was in tatters, and couldn’t cover her nakedness. Her bindi was smudged. Her hair was wild and her face was covered with dirt. She was a very slim woman, but her stomach was swollen. There was terror in her eyes. I watched her apprehensively. When she saw me, she stopped. She was the same girl whom I had…She too recognized me. She covered her face and screamed — No, no! And fled in terror. My blood froze. I was sure she would have me arrested. Averting my face, I ran for a long time. First I hid in one neighbourhood, then in another. Every street I ran through turned out to be a dead end; every neighbourhood I took shelter in was a trap. I couldn’t find a way out of that ruined city.
After a long time, I came to a strange town. Dead bodies lay scattered everywhere. There wasn’t a single living soul in sight. Surprised and bewildered, I went from one neighbourhood to another, from one lane to another. The bazaars were shut, the roads were desolate, and the houses seemed empty. Occasionally, a window on the upper floor of a house would open cautiously to reveal a frightened pair of eyes and shut at once.
I didn’t know what to make of that strange town. It was inhabited, but the people who lived there seemed to be imprisoned in their own houses.
Finally, I came to an open field. A large crowd was gathered there. The children were crying with hunger, the lips of the adults were chapped, the breasts of the mothers were dry, fresh faces had withered, fair women were covered with dirt.
I asked them — Tell me, o people, what city is this? What calamity has befallen you? Why have the houses become prisons? Why does dust blow through the streets?
O unfortunate man — they replied — this is the city of sorrow. We are doomed. Our lives have been destroyed. Now we sit here waiting for death.
I looked at their faces. Every forehead was marked with woe; every face was marked by the shadow of death. Still curious, I persisted — Tell me truthfully, did you not come from distant lands to build your homes in this city of peace?
They answered — Yes, you are right. Now our homes lie in ruins.
Curious, I asked — Your homes lie in ruins now, but tell me, what was the city of peace like before?
They replied — We swear by God, we had to endure the injustices of our own people.
I laughed at that. They were shocked by my reaction. I laughed louder. They were even more shocked. I laughed wildly. They were horrified. I continued to laugh uproariously. They were utterly bewildered.
Soon, the news that a strange man had arrived in the city of sorrow and was laughing spread through the town.
— Even on a day like this?
— Who is this mad man?
— Where has he come from?
— God knows.
— He is not a spy, is he?
— Maybe.
They looked at one another apprehensively.
Then I said – Listen, people, I am not one of them.
— Then where do you come from?
— Where do I come from? I stood lost in thought for a while.
At that moment, an old man stepped out of the crowd and addressed me — If you are not one of them, you should weep.
— For whom? I asked.
— For the descendents of Israel.
— Why?
— Because what happened to them in the past is now happening again. What has happened once will happen again.
At that I stopped laughing. Concerned, I said — Old man, have you noticed that the earth never accepts those who leave their homeland?
— I have learnt that from experience, I have seen that with my own eyes. The earth does not forgive.
— What about the place where one was born?
— No, not even the place where one was born. Not even the land that promises peace and shelter. I was born in a place called Gaya. The mendicant of Gaya learnt that there is only suffering in this world, that it is impossible to attain nirvana here, and that this earth cannot be trusted.
— And the sky?
— Everything under the sky is an illusion.
I was unconvinced — I must think about that.
— Even to think is an illusion.
— But thought is man’s real wealth.
The old man retorted — Even man is an illusion.
— What, then, is the truth? I asked hesitantly.
— The truth? What is that?
— The truth, I said confidently, is the truth!
Calmly, he replied — What you call truth is also an illusion.
I thought to myself — This old man is under the shadow of death and this city is on its way to extinction.
I left those people to their fate and escaped. I wanted to live.
Soon I reached another strange place. The crowd swelled by the minute and people played the drums of victory.
Curious, I asked — O people, what place is this? What age am I in?
Someone whispered in my ear — This is the age of decadence, and here everyone is taught a lesson.
— And who is that man on whose face someone just spat?
He looked at me bitterly and asked — Don’t you recognize him?
— No.
— O disfigured one, you are that man.
— Me? — I was shocked into silence.
— Yes, you.
I examined at the face of that man carefully, and couldn’t turn my gaze away. I really was that man. I recognized myself and died.”
The Third Man said, “After discovering one’s real self it is difficult to live.”
The First Man turned towards the Second Man and asked, “Did someone really spit on your face?
“Yes.”
“I thought someone had spat on mine,” the First Man insisted.
“On your face?”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. Anyway, I now know that I was mistaken. It wasn’t I who was spat upon, but you.” the First Man sounded relieved. Soon, however, he began to feel uneasy again. The thought that someone might have spat on his face made him wince with pain. When he spoke again, his voice was no longer as casual as it had been before. He said to the Second Man, “You are mistaken. I am sure I was the one who was spat upon.”
Expressionless as ever, the Second Man said, “I looked very carefully at the face of that man who had been spat upon. His face was exactly like mine.”
The First Man studied the Second Man carefully from head to toe. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him, “Is it…is it possible…that you are me?”
“That I am you! No, it is not possible. I know myself. I am not under any delusion.”
“How can you be sure you know who you are?” the First Man challenged.
“I know who I am because someone spat on my face.”
“But that is how I know who I am too,” the First Man said. “That is why I suspect that you are me.”
“How is it possible that every face that has been spat upon is your face?”
“True. It is, however, possible that your face is not your face, but mine,” the First Man insisted.
The Second Man was now really confused. Apprehensively, they asked each other a variety of questions. Finally, the Second Man admitted defeat and said, “We are dead. How can we possibly recognize each other?”
The First Man answered, “Did we recognize each other when we were alive?”
The Second Man didn’t know how to respond to that question. At that moment, the Third Man came up with an embarrassing question, “Which of you has brought his body with him?”
“I have brought it with me,” the First Man replied.
The Third Man suggested, “Instead of shouting at each other, why don’t you go and look at the body? That should help you distinguish truth from falsehood.”
His proposal was accepted at once, and the three of them went to inspect the body. When the Third Man saw the body, he was shocked. He exclaimed, “The face is disfigured. It’s beyond recognition now.”
The Second Man said with conviction, “If the face of the corpse is disfigured, then it is certainly mine.”
“But my face, too, was disfigured,” the First Man insisted.
“When was your face disfigured?”
“When I forced to strip the young man’s sister,” the First Man replied.
The other two stared at him. Together, they asked, “And you continued to live even though your face had been disfigured?”
“Yes. I lived till the moment my father saw me and shut his eyes. Then I died.”
That reminded the Second Man of his own father. “My father too died the moment he saw me. I went to him seeking comfort. I appealed to him — O Father, your son died today. He looked at my disfigured face and said — I am glad that you died before you came to see me. If you had come to me while you were still alive, I would have cursed you to live and suffer till doomsday. Those were his last words. He died soon after.”
The First Man said, “Our fathers were more worthy of respect than we are. And yet we mistreated them. I brought my body with its disfigured face here, but left my father’s dead body behind.”
Startled, the Second Man said, “I didn’t think of it in that way either. I, too, left my father’s dead body behind.”
The Third Man laughed bitterly and said, “During the first migration, we left the graves of our ancestors behind. This time we left dead bodies behind.” He stopped laughing and grew sad. Memories of the first migration rose before him. In the dim light of the past, he saw a number of faces. A stream of bright faces. Faces that he would never see again, flowed before his eyes. Then he thought of the second migration and the same…
In disbelief, he thought, “I don’t know whether I migrated or not, but all these bright faces have once again vanished from my sight. How many of them have vanished from my sight in the past! How many bright faces have disappeared again?” Then he thought of the sadness that had clouded those glowing faces in the past, and recognized that the same sadness had cast its shadow over the faces in the present.
Sadly, he turned to the First and the Second Man and said, “What I said earlier was not true. The same thing happened during both the migrations — each time we left with our faces disfigured, and each time we left bright faces behind.”
The Second Man continued to stare into space for some time and then suddenly stood up. As he was about to leave, the other two asked him, “Where are you going?”
He replied, “I should at least bring my father’s body here.”
“You can no longer bring bodies from there.”
“Why not?”
“Because all the roads are blocked.”
“Really? Does that mean that my father’s body will remain there?”
“What will you do with it?” the First Man asked. “Look at me. I brought my dead body here. Now I have to carry it around on my shoulder.”
“Why don’t you bury it?” the Third Man asked.
“Where can I bury it? There is no place here where I can bury it.”
“You mean there are no burial grounds here?” the Second Man asked.
“No. There are burial grounds here. But they are overcrowded and there is no place for more graves.”
Upon hearing that, the Third Man wept. The other two were puzzled, “Why are you crying?”
“I am crying because I have yet to die and there is no ground here for new graves. Where will I be buried?”
“Aren’t you dead already?” the other two asked, looking at him carefully.
“No, I am still alive.”
The other two stared at him in surprise. “Do you want to continue to live? Are you sure you are still alive?”
“Yes, I am alive, but…”
“But?”
“But I have disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes, disappeared. Do you know how many people disappeared in this calamity?”
“And do you also know how many of them were killed?” the First Man added.
“I know, but I was not among those who were butchered.”
“Many died the way we died.”
“I was not one of them either.”
“How do you know that you are one of those who disappeared?”
“The truth is that it is impossible to find those who are still alive in the city of ruins. But the bodies of those who were slaughtered are found everyday. If I had been killed, my corpse would have been found by now.”
“If you are not dead, you should be among those who were captured. And if you are one of them, you have completed the circle.”
Puzzled, the Third Man asked, “Completed the circle? What do you mean?”
“I mean that after wandering from one place to another, you have returned to the city you once left behind. The same thing happened to a companion of mine. He was captured and taken to the place where he had been born. When he was contemplating escape from there, his friend asked him — Why do you want to run away from here? What does this soil say to you?
“That man wept – It is the season of basant. When I look out of this prison window, I see fields of yellow mustard sway in the wind before me. I was born here, but I am now in a prison and am shattered.
“Basant, the place of birth and captivity…Together they can be painful. That man escaped from captivity and disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” the Third Man asked with a start. “Are you sure that I wasn’t that man? It is possible. When mustard fields bloom, they create a crisis in me too.”
“No, you are not that man.”
“Basant, the place of birth and captivity…” the Third Man mumbled and fell into deep thought. After a long time, he said, “No, that man couldn’t have been me. I wasn’t ever captured.”
The First Man said, “Isn’t it strange to go back to the place of one’s birth as a captive?”
The Third Man frowned and answered, “Yes, it is strange indeed. My grandmother used to narrate stories about the mutiny of 1857. She told me that many people were killed during that uprising. They left their homes and never went back. There was a woman who fought the British valiantly. When her home was destroyed, she left her fragrant city and disappeared into the forests of Nepal. For years, she wandered from forest to forest like the vagabond breeze, and then she vanished.” He paused, took a deep breath and continued, “Instead of hiding in the cities of torment, it is better for a man find refuge in some dark and dense forest.”
He stopped talking. Something reminded him of the first migration. Lost in thought, he sat quietly for a long time. Then he sighed, and said in a voice full of regret, “Alas, if only my hijrat had been in the forests of Nepal.”
All the three men were now silent. Silent and still. They had lost interest in talking. Time passed. They continued to sit like statues. After a long time, the Third Man began to feel uneasy. He looked at the other two. They were staring blankly into empty space. He wondered if he, too, had turned into stone. As if to convince himself that he hadn’t, he deliberately raised his arms and yawned loudly. Reassured, he thought, “I am alive.” Then he turned towards the other two and asked, “Should we leave?” He wanted to let them know that he was really alive.
At first, the other two didn’t respond. Then they slowly turned and looked at the Third Man. Disinterestedly they asked, “Where should we go? There is no place for us to go to now. We are dead.”
Terrified, the Third Man glanced at their disfigured faces. Their eyes had neither light nor life in them. He said to himself, “I should leave before I, too, turn into stone.” After hesitating for a long time, he stood up. The other two watched him, and asked without curiosity or emotion, “Where will you go?”
“I’ll go and find out where I am.” He paused, and after some thought, asked, “I am not among the captives, am I? Have I been taken back there?”
“Where?” the First Man asked.
It appeared, however, that he didn’t hear the First Man. Staring at the Second Man, he asked, “Did he really escape from prison? Are you sure I wasn’t that man?”
“No, I am not,” the Second Man said, as he looked at him intently for the first time. With a start, he asked, “Were you not in the city of sorrow?”
“Yes, you do recognize me. I was in the city of sorrow.”
“It took me some time to recognize you, because your face has been disfigured. But when you were in the city of sorrow, sitting with those who were waiting for death, your face wasn’t mutilated. How did it get so disfigured?”
Ashamed, the Third Man replied after some hesitation, “It was disfigured when I turned my back on those people.”
“It is strange that you managed to escape. All the roads to the city of sorrow were closed. Weren’t you caught?”
“How could I have been caught? Who could have recognized me? My face was disfigured.”
“Your disfigured face was your salvation!”
The Second Man interrupted him, “Don’t delude yourself. If he is still hiding there, he’ll be caught in a day or two.”
“I am worried about that too. That is why I want to go and find out where I am.”
“Even if you do, what difference will it make?” the Second Man asked.
“I’ll try to find a way to escape.”
“Escape?” the Second Man looked at him with pity. “You have disappeared. Don’t you know that all the escape routes are closed?”
“That is true. But how long can I remain among those who have disappeared? I must find out where I am. Besides, who knows, I may be able to find a way out.”
“You are a simpleton. Where will you go?”
“Where? I’ll come back here. After all, those who escaped earlier did manage to find their way here.”
The First Man was surprised, “Here? There is no place here. Didn’t I tell you that my body is lying here without a grave?”
The Second Man looked at the other two and said, “Listen, didn’t I tell you about the man from Gaya? The earth is a place of suffering. Everything under the sky is an illusion. Those who have been uprooted can never find a place where they can flourish again.”
The Third Man was overcome with despair. The Second Man stared at him in silence.
At last, the Second Man said, “Listen. Sit down. Don’t worry about where you are. Accept the fact that you are dead.”
******
Notes Original title: Shahr-e-Afsos. Date of publication: 1973
Alok Bhalla is a literary critic, poet, translator and editor based in New Delhi Alok Bhalla in The Beacon
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