The Highlander
Written in Urdu by Atif Malik , Translated in English by Suhail Akhtar
The original Urdu writing is available at
A faint smile clung to the aging
highlander’s lips as he squinted at the snow-capped peaks of the distant
mountains. He could make out the tiny rivulets that came down the mountainside
as the summer sun battled the accumulated snow. Over time, the rivulets had cut
deep ravines into the mountainside which were bordered by deep snow on both
sides. As he gazed upon brilliant blue of the summer sky, the old man’s smile
grew a little deeper. He knew that the sky is a brighter blue when viewed from
the mountain top. It made him think of the night sky, which is even more
wondrous, brimming with a multitude of bright twinkling stars, like the
shimmering beads sewed on to an innocent child’s quilt.
These mountains were a part of
the highlander’s life. When he stood up his hulking frame reminded passerby’s of the mountains from where
he had descended. His beard was as white and as deep as the snow that
covered them and his soul was as bright as the sun that shone down upon them. Time had carved craggy lines into
his weathered rough-hewn face like the ravines on the mountains.
Over the years tiny rivulets of tears must have
flown through the craggy lines on the mountain man’s face, but no one had ever
seen him cry. Not even when he buried his teenaged son. Even on that day his
eyes remained dry and emotionless like the dark granite of a barren rocky
mountain.
Yet tears must have flown. They
must have. In the dead of a gloomy moonless, starless night when darkness
engulfs everything. The kind of night when a brooding malevolent presence lies
in waiting for the weary traveller who has wandered off the trodden path. The
one waiting for the traveller to come home, has to wait that night and every night.
He has wait even when time has carved
craggy lines into his weathered face. Or was it the tears that had sculpted the
highlander’s face?
The highlander was like a mountain. Craggy
weathered face, flowing white beard and a white woolen cloak thrown over his
broad shoulders. He was sitting cross legged in the patio of his house, the
woodwork that adorned the boundary of the patio was a simple pattern of
crisscrossing wooden panels whose intersections were little squares of
emptiness. The sunlight cascading through panels was filtered into neat little
squares of sunlight. Neat little squares of sunlight strewn across the floor,
strung together like in a garland of light lying on the ground.
The highlander was still smiling
as the sun began to set. The garland of light was becoming one with shadows. He
rose effortlessly off the floor and lay down on his bed placed in the patio. He
took another look at the distant mountains, smiled and closed his eyes.
از موت و حیات چند پرسی آخر
خورشید بہ روزنے در افتاد و برفت
(Persian Couplet)
And you ask me what are life and death
Sunlight that crept in from an oriel, and then faded away
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