Representational image. Courtesy: VikalpSangam
Intizar Husain
(Translated from Urdu by M. Asaduddin)
Guest Editor: ALok Bhalla
H
e went far off in search of clouds. Wandering through lanes and streets, he reached the bare earthen well. And then he walked towards the unpaved road. A grass-cutter, balancing a bundle of grass on his head, was coming from the other direction. He stopped him and asked, “Did the clouds come this way?”
“Clouds?” asked the surprised grass-cutter, as though it was a bizarre question.
“Yes.” And when the grass cutter still looked blank, he walked on, disappointed. Later, he asked a peasant, who was furrowing his field, the sane question, “Did the clouds come this way?”
The peasant did not understand either. Startled, he said, “Clouds?”
“Yes.”
In fact, he asked about the clouds the way most people ask after a lost child. Perhaps, to him, the clouds were like lost children. He asked everybody he met, but no one could give him a satisfactory reply.
That morning, he asked his mother first, “Ammaji, where have the clouds gone?”
“What?Clouds!”Ammaji asked him incredulously,in a tone that made it obvious that she thought it was a silly question.
“The clouds!”
“The clouds? Are you out of your mind? Wash up quickly, eat your breakfast and go to school.” Ammaji’s response left a bitter taste in his mouth. He washed his hands and face, finished breakfast, and dejectedly started off for school. The moment he came out of the house with the satchel slung across his shoulder, the same question seized him again: where did the clouds go? And that reminded him of the previous night, when he saw the clouds swelling and heard them thundering. However, by the time he went to bed, the sky was completely clear and dotted with stars. The air was still. He was restless because it was very hot. He finally fell asleep, and then, God knows why, he suddenly awoke. Whatever the actual hour was, it felt like midnight to him. On the far horizon, the rumbling clouds were gathering. In the flash of lightning the clouds looked darker. It seemed that a downpour was imminent. But, at that point, he did not like the idea of rain because it would mean having to get up and go inside.
He closed his eyes and gradually became oblivious to the storm brewing in the sky. The next morning, there was no sign of rainfall in the courtyard. He was surprised at first, because he had seen the clouds tumble over one another, and then disappointed. Where had the clouds gone? Perhaps, if hehad not fallen asleep, he thought, the clouds would not have disappeared without a shower. That shower would have been the first of the season.
While he had slept, the clouds came in full strength and left without a single drop of rain. The monsoon was passing by without even a drizzle.
He looked up at the sky again. Not a speck of cloud. The sun blazed right above his head. Straying from the path that led to school, he wandered into the harvest field. Walking on the small dykes, he went quite far. He felt irritated, and his throat was dry. After passing through several fields he spotted a tree with dense foliage.Under its shade a wheel turned in the well. It was like chancing upon an oasis in the desert. Once under the shade, he put away his satcheland washed his legs in the water flowing from the wheel. He then washed his hands and drank his fill.
That soothed and refreshed him. He looked around and saw an old man sitting nearby on a tattered morrah, smoking his hookah. He turned towards the man a couple of times to say something, but hesitated. Eventually, he mustered enough courage to ask, “Babaji, did the clouds come this way?”
The old man looked at himclosely as he smoked the hookah. Then, hesaid, “Beta, the clouds wouldn’t come in secret, would they? And when they come in full strength, both heaven and earth will know.”
“They came last night, but no one seems to know.”
“Did they?” The old man asked. He called out to Allahdin, “Did the clouds gather last night?”
Allahdin stopped shepherding the bulls and said, “I don’t know. I fell asleep the moment I hit the cot.”
The old man said, “Beta, the mere coming of clouds does notmean much. Ilived in places where there was no rain for ten years.”
“For ten years?” he asked with great surprise.
“Yes. For ten years. But the clouds would still come. Once, when I was there, thick clouds covered the sky but there was no rain.”
“How strange.”
“No, notstrange. The rains come at His will. If He commands, the clouds give rain, and if He does not, then they do not.”
The old man’s words made him recallinstances when thick clouds darkened the sky, but instead of flooding the earth, vanished without shedding a drop. At other times, thin clouds brought such torrential rain that every pond and pool overflowed.
The old man looked up at the blazing sky and mumbled, “The season is on its way out. No one knows when He shall command.”
In reply, he muttered, “The rains have not come at all. No one knows where the clouds have gone.”
“What is the use, beta? Rains never come. And ever when they do, they bring floods. The sky has turned miserly, and the earth is no longer benevolent.”
He barely understood the import of the old man’s words. Yet he listened, sitting there. Suddenly, he realized that it was getting late. He picked up his satchel, slung it aroundhis neck, and got up to leave. He took the same route on his way back, walking on dusty tracks, kicking dust. The sun was still intense. However, as he reached the earthen well, a cool breeze wafted by and the earth under his feet felt moist.
As he was about to enter the town, he noticed that the road was wet, and the trees, which had been coated with layers of dust a while ago, were now washed clean. The drain that haddried flowed again. A wave of joy ran through him. He was impatient to reach home because he wanted to see how fresh the jamun tree in his courtyard looked.
He reached home, he realized that everything around looked different after the rain. Leaves from the jamun treecovered with wet earth. The tree stood there, sparkling. Delighted,Ammajiexclaimed, “Good rain. Thank you, God. I couldn’t even breathe in the heat.” Drops of water still trickled from thejamun tree branches. He stood under the tree and let the drops fall on his head and cheeks. He looked up.It was a clear sky.No trace of clouds. He had ventured far in the sunlight in search of the clouds, andthe clouds had come, dropped their rain, and left.This thought saddened him. Thefresh, wet surroundings began to seem meaningless.
******
M. Asaduddin is Professor of English and Advisor to the Vice-Chancellor, Jamia Milia Islamia, New Delhi. Among other writings he has translated Ismat Chugtai’s autobiography, A Life in Words Memoirs. He has also translated and edited four volumes of the complete stories of Premchand.
M. Asaduddin in The Beacon
Leave a Reply