‘The roads were dark and deserted. Not even soldiers – a common sight in those days – were around. I kept walking about aimlessly for hours. There were many dead bodies lying on the streets, but they seemed to have no effect on me. After some time, I found myself in the Civil Lines area. The roads were without any sign of life. Suddenly I heard the sound of an approaching car. I turned. It was a small Austin being driven at breakneck speed. I don’t know what came over me, but I placed myself in the middle of the road and began to wave frantically for the driver to stop.
‘The car did not slow down. However, I was not going to move. When it was only a few yards away, it suddenly swerved to the left. In trying to run after it, I fell down, but got up immediately. I hadn’t hurt myself. The car braked, then skidded and went off the road. It finally came to a stop, resting against a tree. I began to move towards it. The door was thrown open and a woman in a red raincoat jumped out. I couldn’t see her face, but her shimmering raincoat was visible in the murky light. A wave of heat gripped my body.
‘When she saw me moving towards her, she broke into a run. However, I caught up with her after a few yards. “Help me,” she screamed as my arms enveloped her tightly, more her slippery raincoat than her, come to think of it.
‘ “Are you a Englishwoman?” I asked her in English, realizing too late that I should have said ‘an’, not ‘a’.
‘ “No,” she replied.
‘I hated Englishwomen, so I said to her, “Then it’s all right.”
‘She began to scream in Urdu, “You’re going to kill me. You’re going to kill me.”
‘I said nothing. I was only trying to guess her age and what she looked like. The hood of her raincoat covered her face. When I tried to remove it, she put both her hands in front of her face. I didn’t force her. Instead, I walked towards the car, opened the rear door and pushed her in. I started the car and the engine caught. I put it in reverse and it responded. I steered it carefully back on to the road and took off.
‘I switched off the engine when we were in front of my house. My first thought was to take her to the balcony, but I changed my mind, not being sure if she would willingly walk up all those stairs. I shouted for the houseboy. “Open the living room door,” I told him. After he had done that, I pushed her into the room. In the dark, I caught hold of her and gently pushed her onto the sofa.
‘ “Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me please,” she began to scream.
‘It sounded funny. In a mock-heroic voice I said, “I won’t kill you. I won’t kill you, darling.”
‘She began to cry. I sent the servant, who was still hanging around, out of the house. I pulled out a box of matches from my pocket, but the rain had made it damp. There hadn’t been any power for weeks. I had a torch upstairs but I didn’t really want to bother. “I’m not exactly going to take pictures that I should need a light,” I said to myself. I took off my raincoat and threw it on the floor. “Let me take yours,” I suggested to her.
‘I fumbled for her on the sofa but she wasn’t there. However, I wasn’t worried. She had to be in the room somewhere. Methodically, I began to comb the place and in a few minutes I found her. In fact, we had a near collision on the floor. I touched her on the throat by accident. She screamed. “Stop that,” I said. “I’m not going to kill you.”
‘I ignored her sobbing and began to unbutton her raincoat, which was made of some plastic material and was very slippery. She kept wailing and trying to struggle free, but I managed to get her free of that silly coat of hers. I realized that she was wearing a sari underneath. I touched her knee and it felt solid. A violent electric current went through my entire body. But I didn’t want to rush things.
‘I tried to calm her down. “Darling, I didn’t bring you here to murder you. Don’t be afraid. You are safer here than you would be outside. If you want to leave, you are free to do so. However, I would suggest that as long as these riots last, you should stay here with me. You’re an educated girl. Out there, people have become like wild beasts. I don’t want you to fall into the hands of those savages.”
‘ “You won’t kill me?” she sobbed.
‘ “No sir,” I said.
‘She burst out laughing because I had called her sir. However, her laughter encouraged me. “Darling, my English is rather weak,” I said with a laugh.
‘She did not speak for some time. Then she said, “If you don’t want to kill me, why have you brought me here?”
‘It was an awkward question. I couldn’t think of an answer, but I heard myself saying, “Of course I don’t want to kill you for the simple reason that I don’t like killing people. So why have I brought you here? Well, I suppose because I’m lonely.”
‘ “But you have your live-in servant.”
‘ “He is only a servant. He doesn’t matter.”
‘She fell silent. I began to experience a sense of guilt, so I got up and said, “Let’s forget about it. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”
‘I caught hold of her hand, then I thought of her knee which I had touched. Violently, I pressed her against my chest. I could feel her warm breath under my chin. I put my lips on hers. She began to tremble. “Don’t be afraid, darling. I won’t kill you,” I whispered.
‘ “Please let me go,” she said in a tremulous voice.
‘I gently pulled my arms away, but then on an impulse I lifted her off the ground. The flesh on her hips was extremely soft, I noticed. I also found that she was carrying a small handbag. I laid her down on the sofa and took her bag away. “Believe me, if it contains valuables, they will be quite safe. In fact, if you like, there are things I can give you,” I told her by way of reassurance.
‘ “I don’t need anything,” she said.
‘ “But there is something I need,” I replied.
‘ “What?” she asked.
“You,” I answered.
‘She didn’t say anything. I began to rub her knee. She offered no resistance. Feeling that she might think I was taking advantage of her helplessness, I said, “I don’t want to force you. If you don’t want it, you can leave, really.”
‘I was about to get up, when she grabbed my hand and put it on her breast. Her heart was beating violently. I became excited. “Darling,” I whispered, taking her into my arms again.
‘We began to kiss each other with reckless abandon. She kept cooing “darling” and God knows what nonsense I myself spoke during that mad interlude.
‘ “You should take those things off,” I suggested.
‘ “Why don’t you take them off yourself?” she answered in an emotional voice.
‘I began to caress her. “Who are you?” she asked.
‘I was in no mood to tell her, so I said, “I am yours, darling.”
‘ “You’re a naughty boy,” she said coquettishly, while pressing me close to her. I was now trying to take off her blouse, but she said to me, “Please don’t make me naked.”
‘ “What does it matter? It’s dark,” I said.
‘ “No, no!”
‘She lifted my hands and began to kiss them. “No, please no. I just feel shy.”
‘ “Forget about the blouse,” I said. “It’s all going to be fine.”
‘There was a silence, which she broke. “You’re not annoyed, are you?”
‘ “No, why should I be? You don’t want to take off your blouse, so that’s fine, but…” I couldn’t complete the sentence, but then with some effort, I said, “But anyway something should happen. I mean, take off your sari.”
‘ “I am afraid.” Her throat seemed to have gone dry.
‘ “Who are you afraid of?” I asked flirtatiously.
‘ “I am afraid,” she replied and began to weep.
‘ “There is nothing to be afraid of,” I said in a consoling voice.
‘ “I won’t hurt you, but if you are really afraid, then let’s forget about it. You stay here for a few days and, when you begin to feel at home and are not afraid of me any longer, then we’ll see.”
‘ “No, no,” she said, putting her head on my thighs. I began to comb her hair with my fingers. After some time, she calmed down, then suddenly she pulled me to her with such force that I was taken aback. She was also trembling violently.
‘There was a knock at the door and streaks of light began to filter into the dark room from outside.
‘It was the servant. “I have brought a lantern. Would you please take it?”
‘ “All right,” I answered.
‘ “No, no,” she said in a terrified, muffled voice.
‘ “Look, what’s the harm? I will lower the wick and place it in a corner,” I said.
‘I went to the door, brought the lantern in and placed it in a corner of the room. Since my eyes were not yet accustomed to the light, for a few seconds I could see nothing. Meanwhile, she had moved into the farthest corner.
‘ “Come on now,” I said, “we can sit in the light and chat for a few minutes. Whenever you wish, I will put the lantern out.”
‘Picking up the lantern, I took a few steps towards her. She had covered her face with her sari. “You’re a strange girl,” I said, “after all, I’m like your bridegroom.”
‘Suddenly there was a loud explosion outside. She rushed forward and fell into my arms. “It’s only a bomb,” I said. “Don’t be afraid. It’s nothing these days.”
‘ “My eyes were now beginning to get used to the light. Her face began to come into focus. I had a feeling that I had seen it before, but I still couldn’t see it clearly.
‘I put my hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. God, I can’t explain to you what I saw. It was the face of an old woman, deeply painted and yet lined with creases. Because of the rain, her make-up had become patchy. Her hair was coloured, but you could see the roots, which were white. She had a band of plastic flowers across her forehead. I stared at her in a state bordering on shock. Then I put the lantern down and said, “You may leave if you wish.”
‘She wanted to say something, but when she saw me picking up her raincoat and handbag, she decided not to. Without looking at her, I handed her things to her. She stood for a few minutes staring at her feet, then opened the door and walked out.’
* * *
—
After my friend had finished his story, I asked him, ‘Did you know who that woman was?’
‘No,’ he answered.
‘She was the famous artist Miss “M,” ’ I told him.
‘Miss “M,” ’ he screamed, ‘the woman whose paintings I used to try to copy at school?’
‘Yes. She was the principal of the art college and she used to teach her women students how to paint still lifes. She hated men.’
‘Where is she now?’ he asked suddenly.
‘In heaven,’ I replied.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘That night when you let her out of your house, she died in a car accident. You are her murderer. In fact, you are the murderer of two women. One, who is known as a great artist, and the other who was born from the body of the first woman in your living room that night and whom you alone know.’
My friend said nothing.
Translated by Khalid Hasan
The Last Salute
THIS BATTLE for Kashmir was nothing like any other battle. It had confused Subedar Rub Nawaz so much that he couldn’t think clearly. He felt as though he had turned into a rifle, but one whose trigger was jammed.
He had fought on so many fronts in the last Great War and knew how to kill and be killed. All the high- and low-ranking officers regarded him with admiration and respected his wits, daring and pluck. The platoon commanders always assigned him the most hazardous duty and he never failed to live up to their expectations. But this battle…it was so strange. He had joined it with great fervour and passion, obsessed with the single thought – annihilate the enemy at any cost. But when he confronted the enemy, he saw familiar faces. Some had once been his friends, his bosom buddies in fact. They had fought alongside him against the enemies of the Allied forces, but now they seemed to have become sworn enemies hell-bent on killing him.
Sometimes it all seemed like images in a dream: the declaration of the last Great War, enlistment, the usual physical tests, target practice, being packed off to the front and moved from one theatre of war to another, and, finally, the war’s end. And close upon its heels the creation of Pakistan, followed immediately by the Kashmir war – so many events occurring in dizzying succession. Could it be that all this was done to confound people, to prevent them from taking the time to grasp it all? Why else would all these momentous events occur so rapidly that it made your head spin?
Subedar Rub Nawaz understood one thing: They were fighting to win Kashmir. Why did they need to win Kashmir? Its annexation was vital for the survival of Pakistan. But as he took aim to shoot and a familiar face appeared on the opposite side, he forgot for a moment why they were fighting, why he had lifted his gun and aimed. At such times he had to remind himself repeatedly that he was no longer fighting for wages, a parcel of land or medals, but for his country. But this was his country before too, wasn’t it? He belonged to this same region that had now been included in Pakistan. Now he had to fight the very person who, not long ago, had been his countryman – why even his next-door neighbour, and their two families had been bonded for generations. All of a sudden that man’s country had become an alien piece of land where he had never set foot before, whose water he had never tasted. He had been given a gun and ordered, ‘Go fight for this land where you still haven’t set up your home, acquired a taste for its water or gotten used to the feel of its air. Go fight Pakistan – where you’ve lived so many years of your life.’
Rub Nawaz’s thoughts drifted off to the Muslim soldiers who had been forced to abandon their homes and property to come here. Whatever they owned had been taken away. And what had they found here? Nothing, except guns, of the same weight and calibre, even the same make.
Whereas before they had fought together against a common enemy, whom they had merely imagined to be their enemy for the sake of their stomachs and rewards and recognition, now they had themselves split into two groups. They were no longer Indian soldiers, but Indian and Pakistani soldiers. The thought that there were still Muslim soldiers back in India flummoxed his mind, and when he thought about Kashmir his mind became even more muddled. It just refused to think further. Were Pakistanis fighting for Kashmir or for Kashmiri Muslims? If the latter, why not also fight for the Muslims of Hyderabad and Junagarh? And if this was purely a war for Islam, why weren’t other Muslim countries fighting alongside of them?
After thinking long and hard, Rub Nawaz concluded that these matters were far too subtle for the intelligence of an ordinary soldier, who needed to be a little thick in the head if he wanted to be a good soldier. It was best not to think about them. There were times, though, when his disposition got the better of him and he did pursue these thoughts furtively only to have a hearty laugh about his lapse.
The battle for control of the road that led from Muzaffarabad to Kiran had been raging along the banks of the Kishan Ganga for some time. It was a strange battle. At night, rather than the sound of bullets, a crescendo of abuses, each one smuttier than the last, rose from the neighbouring hills.
One evening, as Subedar Rub Nawaz was getting his platoon ready for a surprise assault, a barrage of obscenities shot up from a trench below their position. Initially he freaked out. It seemed as if a gang of afreets were jitterbugging and laughing raucously. ‘Pig’s ass,’ he muttered. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
One member of his platoon responded with filthy abuse and said to Rub Nawaz, ‘Subedar Sahib, the motherfuck
ers are swearing at us.’
At first, when he heard the provocative insults, Rub Nawaz thought of throwing himself headlong into the fray, but decided to hold back. His men couldn’t stay quiet for very long. Soon they had had enough and began returning the enemy’s noxious abuse with their own equally hideous invectives at the top of their lungs. It was a peculiar battle for Subedar Rub Nawaz. He tried a few times to restrain his men, but the profanities got so vicious it wasn’t possible to hold back. Naturally the enemy couldn’t be seen at night, but it also couldn’t be spotted in the daylight because of the cover of thick vegetation. Only their foul abuse rose from the foothills, crashed against the rocks and melted into thin air. Rub Nawaz felt that his men’s counter-abuses probably weren’t making it all the way down to the valley but were simply evaporating overhead. This rattled his nerves and in a huff he ordered them to attack.
He noticed something rather peculiar about the hills. Some were densely covered with trees and vegetation on the upward slope and entirely barren on the downward, while others were the reverse, with tall, sturdy pines on the downward side. The needles on these pines were so damp that the boots of the soldiers lost all traction so his men kept slipping again and again.
The Dog of Tithwal Page 32
