کیا ناپاکی سے پا کی حاصل کی جاسکتی ہے؟
وہ سوچنے لگا کہ کیا یہ ڈھیر پہلے زیادہ گندا تھا کہ اب۔
اُسی لمحے اُسےمزید خیال آیا کہ کیا ناپاکی سے پا کی حاصل کی جاسکتی ہے؟
کیا ناپاکوں کے پاکی کے نعروں سے مملکت پاک ہو جائے گی؟
A Short English translation of the above story by Aatif Malik
It was a long road, a road long like his thoughts, whirling and never
ending.
He started walking on the road. There was a playground on the right side,
and children were playing cricket and soccer. On other corner of the
playground, two men teams were playing volleyball. He stopped there. The men
were bare feet, with their baggy trousers tucked up, without shirts, they were in
their white vests, exhibiting their bulging bellies. Their shirts were hanging
on the poles of volleyball net or placed on nearby wooden benches. They were
playing a different version of volleyball, different than the usual pass, set
and smash. It was an individual powerful shot on the small, comparatively hard
ball. Their enmity with the ball was
worth observing. They put their whole body’s strength while hitting the ball.
When the hand struck the ball, a loud sound disseminates around, and is
augmented by the non-comprehensible sound screamed from the player’s mouth. Looking
at them, it reminds him of the dancing African tribes, bare bodied, beating the
drums, producing sounds from their mouths, and the bodies gleaming with the
sweat. As the shot from one player is not handled by its opponent, he parades
with a style in his area, a strange pride. A style like a proud rooster in a
group of hen, with raised chest, attempting to cajole them.
He stayed there, enjoying the spectacle of game for some time and then
started walking. The road entered a colony with bureaucrats’ houses on both
sides. He knew them. Many among them were master of talk, exemplary eloquence,
with amazing proficiency of transforming a lie into truth. He had seen their
craft in many meetings. This is also a sport. A sport whose rules are learnt during
its play. Unlike the rules of other games, these rule are fully adaptable. As
per the ability of the player, these rule can change even in the mid of the
game, and that too without any announcement. Sometimes, the rules vary to serve
the self interest, sometimes the rules are varied to serve the interest of
boss. At that moment, truth, reality, national interest everything becomes
secondary, players play as per the desires and greed. Afterwards, they sit
together and talk about their cleverness, manoeuvres, cunningness and meanness.
They talk with a pride, a style like a proud rooster in a group of hen, with
raised chest, trying to cajole them.
He sat down on the grass in front of these big houses. The bureaucrats
living in these house were selected one, the chosen people. They were
intelligent and powerful. They had toured the whole world on government
expenses. They were elite, the masters of the common people. Sitting there, he
kept on thinking about the poor, the injustice, the poverty, the killings, the
bomb blasts, the weeping mothers, hungry stomachs, the indifferent bureaucrats
and greedy businessmen. He kept
thinking. The scenes kept flashing in front of his eyes; a country gaining
independence sailing through rivers of blood, people leaving their ancestral houses,
the graves of their forefathers, their land, farms, houses, bare feet on the
journey of miles, with kids on their shoulders, towing their cattle with ropes
and then ambushes. The beheaded bodies and sliced wombs. Then a dream that did
not come true. Religious bigotry, indifferent bureaucracy and leaders with
price tags…………….He kept on thinking………What went wrong?
He now enters a ghetto, small tiny quarters for the worker class. Each
quarter had two small rooms with a small courtyard. There was a bathroom and a latrine
at the end of the courtyard. Like a bustling bus station of a crowded city,
these latrines stink severely and their commodes were turned yellow.
He was still thinking, what went wrong. Why all the sacrifices bore no
result, no fruit. All in vain. Why is the destination not reached? Why is this
journey never ending? Why? He was
confused.
He asked so many the same question.
System is corrupt, we are not following the religion, People are
illiterate, leadership is bad, population growth is enormous, the resources are
lacking, and so many other answers he receives. Some were seeing capitalism as
a solution, for some socialism was the answer. Some with closed eyes, were
looking towards religion for the solution. They all were fierce, they all think
that they have the solution. Once they argue, non-comprehensible sounds scream
out from their mouths. They consider the other as the small ball, on which they
strike with their whole might, with might and feverish anger.
He was confused, confused with the replies, with the anger, with the
directionless replies. He was confused.
He sat down at one side of these small quarters. On one corner, there was a
garbage dumping area. A square place with three walls, each 4 feet high, while
fourth side was open. It was filled with filth. As the breeze flows, it brings
stinking odour to him.
Suddenly a boy climbed on one wall of garbage dump, lowered his trouser,
and started urinating on the filth. Child was holding his shaft, and trying to
piss some time far and sometime nearby in a playful mood.
He started thinking whether this filth was earlier more dirty or now?
He started thinking whether individual cleaning can bring collective
cleanliness. Does it require burning of the whole prior filth or there is some
easy possible course.
At that instant, a question came into his mind. Can filth lead to
cleanliness?
The yellow commodes, the lying bureaucracy (liar bureaucrats), the
paedophile priests. A question came to his mind. Can filth lead to cleanliness?
The wind was blowing. That brought the stinking smell of filth. And some kids of nearby working class were happily playing there, without any feel.
The End
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