FICTION
Urdu Literature / Urdu Fiction
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NARANG
โ SHORT STORY by
Dr. Mryam Irfan
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(Translated from Urdu by Rashid Javed Ahmed)
Every man harbors within him a beast โ a creature that rises itself at times: its gait like a leopard and face with pigโs grimace. Thorns emerge from its flesh, and its teeth bite not only into flesh but also into the very core of the soul. This grotesque beast knows no restraint; its veins swell with centuries of forbidden sins, seeping drop by drop until they turn into a torrent. When this fevered blood boils, even statues of honor crumble, and mothers, sisters, and wives dissolve into a single indistinct mass.
Hence, such a beast dwelled within Narang โ a scion of wild blood. With small, bead-like eyes, a dusky complexion, and an unremarkable stature, Narang was but a shadow in the village. His nose sat uncomfortably close to his eyes, the round nostrils flaring like an ever-sniffing animal. And, his face was overgrown with hair, giving him the semblance of a disheveled imp lost amidst an unruly beard. When lost in thought, his fingers would absently claw through the thick tangle, his eyes flickering like dying embers. A tangled mane of unwashed hair tumbled down his head, reeking of sweat and grime. Hunched like a ragged ascetic; he would sit with his legs tucked beneath him; his mind a crucible of searing thoughts โ fingers sifting through ashes of contemplation.
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A surprising short story narrating the Oedipus complex and its consequences in a unique style.
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The youngest of twelve siblings, Narang wandered through village lanes like a stray dog โ unmoored and restless. His father, the village schoolmaster, though, wielded authority like an iron rod โunchallengeable and absolute, both in the classroom and at home, too. And, a molten fury coursed through his veins, hardening him like steel. Narangโs mother was merely an instrument of joy to him; and the dozen children they bore but clucking hens fluttering in a coop. Narang was the rebel โ seething beneath his fatherโs covetous gaze. As he kept his mother within the fortress of his watch, but when his father swooped like a hawk with claws bared, Narang would scurry across the courtyard โ knees skinned, spiraling into frantic, self-destructive cycles. Hence, his fragile body bore scars from these wild rituals, and his spirit grew more untamed with each passing day.
To drown the chaos of his parentsโ tumultuous lives, Narang often lingered near Chacha Rafiqโs soda cart, where thuds of bottle caps and the glug glug of poured drinks soothed him. He watched customers gulp fizzy soda as if consuming invisible children, his mind replaying old memories like a flickering reel โ teeth gnawing at his nails in restless anticipation.
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And, the men like Narang born seldom โ they are the culmination of centuries of filth and decay. Their lives, cursed from the very beginning, ferment in impurity.
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He recalled the day of Masi Barkateโs daughterโs wedding, when his father had lined up all the children and sent them to the brideโs house, only to slink back home himself. But Narang, like a hunting dog, sniffed out his fatherโs trail, peering through the broken lattice of the bedroom window. Swallowing his rage, he imagined grinding his fatherโs gaunt face beneath his untied boots. Pity for his mother swelled within him, his heartbeat quickening, sweat beading at the corners of his nose. He dashed into the courtyard, eyes landing on a stick propped against the edge of the trough. Snatching it up, he brought it crashing down upon the charpoy with furious blows โ each strike a blow to the man he despised. When his mother entered, scolding him for disturbing the fragile bed, Narang felt like a cannon teetering on the verge of explosion.
And, the men like Narang born seldom โ they are the culmination of centuries of filth and decay. So, their lives, cursed from the very beginning, ferment in impurity. Now, the rot inside Narang had become so deep-rooted that cleanliness seemed him futile. As the Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and he moved through life unwashed, untouched by the warm sunrays. His heart and mind, like those of wild creatures, were now jungles where no light dared to penetrate.
As, he bore no love for home. Instead, he roamed the village lanes โ initially obsessed with billiards, then football, later the headmanโs VCR screenings, where flickering images of women sent his body into frenzied delight. Then, he collected film advertisements from newspapers, tracing the curves of actresses with trembling fingers.
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Yet Narang slept with them under his pillow, coiled around them like a serpent guarding stolen treasure.
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Then he fell in love โ with Niggo, the neighboring daughter โ her dusky skin a mirror of his own shadows. Yet, his love was like crude oil โ its value fluctuating wildly. He was raw himself, an unripe fruit with no sweetness โ its juice bitter and untasted. Soon, his fascination shifted to his sistersโ belongings. He rummaged through Anwar and Akhtarโs drawers, stealing their undergarments and hiding them beneath his clothes, as if to steal their essence.
One day, when the house was quiet, he crept into Akhtarโs cupboard and slipped on her blouse and petticoat before stepping outside. Akhtar wept for her missing clothes for days, the house turned upside down in frantic search. Yet Narang slept with them under his pillow, coiled around them like a serpent guarding stolen treasure.
His torment grew unbearable until, one afternoon, a toy-sellerโs call broke his reverie: โGhungroo horses for sale! Elephants, lions, bears!โ
โAunty, donโt you have any new toys?โ Narang asked, squatting on the ground.
โWhat kind of toy do you want, boy?โ
โSomething for girls.โ
The vendor cackled. โGirls? Since when do you play with dolls?โ
โI donโt want ghungroo horses. Show me something else.โ
Narang adored figurines โ plastic or clay. He would stare at them for hours before finally shutting his eyes, inhaling their aroma. He kept a plastic doll buried near the buffalo pen, digging it up whenever his mother milked the cows. He smelled it and imagined it was his sister Anwar โ her firm body, shapely legs, high breasts. One evening, he watched her stoke the fire, her face reddening like a tomato, sweat gleaming on her cheeks. Later, he lay his head on her lap and kissed her feet.
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But, his mother remained like fallen kite โ her motherhood long dead โ to Narang, a string twitching in his fingers, sending her soaring.
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โMy sweet brother,โ she murmured, unaware of the beast lurking behind his gentle faรงade.
โAnwar, love me,โ he pleaded, the leopard within him pouncing โ gripping her wrists. She hesitated for a moment but then hugged him, kissing his cheeks. โGo home, child. The streets arenโt safe after dark.โ
She knew nothing of the beasts outside โ only the one within her brotherโs gaze.
Narang returned home, unsatisfied, his mind brimming with violent urges โ to crush Akhtar in his arms or claw at his motherโs breasts. Although, he feared that Anwar would reveal him, but then a sly smile curled his thin lips. He began visiting her every other day. At first, she ignored him, but gradually, like a tethered buffalo, she swayed closer. And Narang, like a rutting bull, nuzzled against her. The jungleโs law ruled in the depths of that village โ unseen, unchallenged.
When he massaged Anwarโs shoulders, her body trembled beneath his fingers โ a drumbeat in his mind. He played her like an instrument, plucking melodies of his own desire. Both Anwar and Akhtar became drums in his hands โ rhythms under his control.
But the house remained deaf to the beastโs growl. No one saw falling Narang into darkness. Until one day, his mother perceived it โ that this beast now thirsted for its own blood.
She was oiling his wild hair when the swine within him exhaled slowly. The leopard had yet to stretch its limbs, but the heat of her touch hardened him like forging steel. His neck trembled, and he shoved her onto the charpoy, pinning her beneath him. She lay frozen โ paralyzed by an avalanche of rage and fear. Narang whimpered like a child, nestling against her breast.
Thus, it became a pattern โ the beast, with the leopardโs agility and the pigโs snout, lunging for her buttons before retreating, muttering โMa… one…โ as it bumped into his fatherโs legs. But, his mother remained like fallen kite โ her motherhood long dead โ to Narang, a string twitching in his fingers, sending her soaring. When his father attempted to rein her in, Narang yanked the string, laughing cruelly like a reckless kite-flyer.
So, time flowed relentlessly, darkening Narang like panโs burnt oil. Akhtar married, and the house lost its hold on him. Madness spilled forth โ hours lost in thought, his legs swelling from kneeling too long. His mother shook him awake, dragging him to the charpoy, but his father only grunted around his hookah: โWoman, the boy has the evil eye. What can a doctor do?โ
Eventually, the beast vanished โ taking the evil eye with it. His mother searched the house, his brothers scoured the fields, yet Narang was gone. His father, resigned, puffed his hookah, whispering that it was divine will. How could he challenge the wild bloodline โ children as expendable as foam on piss?
Now, along the railway tracks of Badami Bagh in Lahore, among huts of fakirs, a beast-like figure roams. Clad in a tattered coat, his beard matted with froth, he either sits lost in thought or squats like a sage amidst his shit, rolling his bead-like eyes. The creature โ embodying the leopardโs spring and the pigโs snout โ has become the cityโs object of ridicule, darting past those who laugh at him, muttering maan yak as he walks around.
โฆ.
(Translated from Urdu by Rashid Javed Ahmed)
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Dr. Maryam Irfan
Professor at a Govt: post graduate college Lahore. Additionally, Dr. Maryam Irfan is a well-known Urdu Short story writer, popular in literary circles. So far, she has published a collection of Urdu short stories: โRaj Hansโ (The Swan). Moreover, her second collection of Urdu short stories is under process.
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Rashid Javed Ahmed
Drama writer, critic and short story writer. Also, Rashid Javed Ahmed is a retired bank executive and lives in Lahore. He has published 2 books of short stories in Punjabi: โMittee uttey leekโ; and โJungle uggi chupโ. Moreover, he also published one collection of Urdu short stories: โRaf Raf Raftanโ, and one book in English: โFractured Silenceโ. Besides, he is also an editor an online magazine: www.penslipsmagazine.com
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Thank you very much, Admins and editors.