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SHORT STORY 𝒃𝒚 Khalid Farhad Dhariwal

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May God forgive Munni’s father; when he was alive, I held certain significance. It has faded now. The daughter-in-law doesn’t give me any importance, and my son is the master of his own volition. They both do as they wish, and I’m an odd one out in their affairs. Who is there to ask after me now, besides? I spend my days, sitting here on this cot, engaging my grandchildren in play.

I desired to meet Munni. Her visit was expected by the end of January, but spring has almost passed, and she has not yet showed her up. When I had been in good health, I visited her myself. But now, it is difficult to bear with the din of the buses with this oldness. I had entreated my son to go and ascertain Muni’s wellbeing. He did go to his sister-in-law’s but he had no time for visiting Munni.

I feel so much for Munni. How affectionate I’m for her! How couldn’t I be, I am a mother after all! Do all mothers not love their daughter in the same way?

The reason for this affection is not just our mother-daughter relationship; one major reason is the fact of us both being women.

Whenever I visited my own ancestral village, my mother now in heaven chided me, “Why have you come after such a long time?” I remember I used to say, “As if you have only awaited my arrival all this while.” Then my mother would tenderly kiss my forehead and reply, “What else do you think?”

Now that my heart goes out for my own daughter, I can fathom the depths of my mother’s love.

Munni has been married for fifteen or twenty years now, yet it feels like only yesterday when she used to frolic in this very yard. When it came to Munni’s marriage, her father God forgive us had remarked, “Indeed, daughters grow rapidly like Persian lilac trees; how quickly she has attained youth.” He would, then, heave a sigh, and say, “If God had not written it in their fates to belong to some stranger, parents would not give even a single hair of theirs’ to him.”

I intervened to break the seriousness of the situation, “We, too, were the heartthrobs at our parents once, you know!”

A couple of days prior to the day of visit of Munni’s prospective in-laws, her engagement was quite conspicuous in the house. Together with her sister-in-law, she swiped the entire house clean. Once the house had been tastefully decorated, its beauty was unforeseen. It seemed as very different from what it had been before. Afterward, she had stayed in her room accompanied by her friends for quite a long time. Nothing was discernible from the outside; but I knew well what had been transpiring within the closed door. I knew that Munni’s friends were in earnest consultation to select her attire for the following day.

On the day they visited for the matchmaking, Munni overcame by an unfamiliar sensation. While walking about in the porch, she had been conscious all the time that their gaze was fixed upon her. They had been assessing her demeanor against the standards set by them. Poor Munni! She had been moving around in her own house, having draped a shawl of modesty around herself. I felt much pity for her that day (Surely, my mother must have had similar feelings for me.) Then arrived the moment the decisive moment before the guests’ departure when a girl, free from any bond, exists only as a woman (If someone was to see her as a daughter or a sister at that time, how would they point out her mistakes?) Alongside the hope of appreciation lingers the fear of rejection. And when, finally, Munni’s mother-in-law-to-be placed a rupee upon Munni’s palm and bestowed her blessings upon the latter, tears welled up in my eyes. I was not sure whether those tears meant joy or sorrow!

When Munni had not been married, she meticulously attended to the upkeep of this house. Not a thing was ever found out of place. Had there been a disorder, she would swiftly spring into action to tackle it. This often led to her arguments with her sister-in-law. I would often try to explain it to Munni, “Why do you bother yourself with this house? Let the owners decide if they wish to take care or not?” She always vehemently argued, “Why? Is this my house not mine?”

After her marriage, I once questioned Munni, “Tell me something.” She asked, “What?” I expressed my concern, “Now, whenever you visit, there are layers of dirt in the rooms. Things lie scattered here and there. Why don’t you take care of these things, now?” She replied, “Oh Mom! I feel scared.” I asked, “What are you afraid of?” She said, “Of the family. They might assert that it is their house. Whether they take care of it or not, why should I interfere?”

If I had wanted to, I could have said that you always used to argue that this is your house too, but now… But I kept quiet. Perhaps, I didn’t want to add to her worries.

On her third visit to the parental home, I inquired, “Are you happy with your in-laws?”

She smiled a bit and replied, “Yes, but the ambience of my dreams still matches this house.”

I reminisce about Munni’s childhood. Once, there was a wedding in the neighborhood. In the late afternoon, as we were bidding adieu to the bride with welling eyes, “Why are all of you crying?” Munni asked innocently, clinging to my leg. I gently replied, “Because Rajji is departing for her home.” Munni asked, “But if she is going to her own home, why is she crying then?” I reiterated, “Because Rajji is departing for her home.” Upon hearing this, Munni, too, repeated her question, “If she’s going to her home, why is she crying?” Instead of satisfying her with another reply to her question, I tenderly lifted Munni into my arms and showered her with my affectionate kisses, embracing her tightly.

Munni was only a child when once she had come running and asked, “Mom! Should I tell you something funny?” I replied, “Go ahead.” She began by saying that Auntie had gone somewhere as a guest. Curiously, I asked Auntie, “Where have you come back from?” “From my village,” replied Auntie. I asked her, “Whose village this one is, then?” She replied, “Your uncle’s.” Munni couldn’t control her laughter, telling me this.

In a world where by simply repeating the word ‘talaaq’(divorce) three times, a woman can be exiled from a place at any stage of her life  where she has been living at, how can she ever claim that place to be her own? Though this thought obsessed my mind, but I refrained from sharing it with Munni, because I didn’t want to dampen her joyous spirits with perplexing thoughts.

When it had not been much time after Munni’s marriage, I would ponder over the idea of asking her to stay with us for six months during her next visit. But, I always dismissed my whim with a chuckle. What right do we hold over her now? Then I would sing a folk saying:

Parents

Nurture their daughters with love,

To, one day, distance themselves.

And I would think that… It was now solely the discretion of her owner — whether he allows her to stay or not. Nevertheless, is it not a great blessing for daughters when they thrive in their in-laws’ house?

Once Munni’s father-in-law came to take her back home. Coincidentally, Munni’s childhood friend Salma also arrived from her in-laws’ house. Now, Munni yearned to spend a few days with Salma to sit together, and to listen and share each other’s stories. Munni wanted us to refuse and not send her away with her father-in-law just then. But her father-in-law had come to take her for the first time; we couldn’t return him alone, like that. So, Munni had to go along.

Once Munni’s aunt had been visiting us and Munni also arrived. Her aunt insisted, “Munni should come with us this time.” Before I could have responded, Munni is now another’s possession, we cannot send her, Munni said, “I would have gone, but I haven’t taken permission to go to aunt’s place. If I go anywhere on my own, my in-laws get angry.”

Now, on her arrival, I exclaim, “What kept you away so long?” She replies that she doesn’t get any free time due to household chores. In anger, I retort, “God only knows what kind of work are you stuck with?”

Although, on the inside, I feel satisfied that she has been busy taking care of her own household.

Daughters should be given some gifts when they leave back for their in-laws’ home. They should never be sent away empty-handed. Although they, by no means, are dependent on these gifts, but daughters do have expectations from the parental home. They always take pride in the things they are gifted from their parents. Last time, when my daughter was about to leave after having hugged me, I said, “Wait, Munni! Take some jaggery from here.” While saying it, I glanced at my daughter-in-law, indicating her that she should go and get something in a small bag. But, she kept seated, unmoving. And when I got up to go inside, Munni said, “No, Mom… Let it be. How will I carry the weight of it with me?” And she stepped out of the threshold.

Perhaps, Munni had sensed something…

This house, which I was once the sole possessor of, now belongs to my daughter-in-law. Like Munni, even I feel scared now. I think many times before I touch anything here!

….

(Translated  from Punjabi by Eesha Narang )

****

 

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Authors

  • Khalid Farhad Dhariwal, born in Pasrur, Sialkot, Pakistan, on July 10, 1978, is a prominent Punjabi short story writer and a translator. Besides his mother language Punjabi, he is also well versed in Urdu, Hindi and Sindhi languages. His debut collection of short stories, 'Watandara’ (The Exchange) was published in 2007. This collection garnered widespread acclaim in literary circles. It was reviewed extensively in literary sessions and journals, with many critics providing their insights. Khalid has been honored with several literary awards, including the prestigious Pakistan Writers Guild Award for his fiction.

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  • Eesha Narang is M.A., M.Phil. (English) from Delhi University. She is an educator and has been teaching as Assistant Professor (English) at DAV College, Abohar since 2019. She is also a writer, a poetess and a translator. She has two books of translated poetry from Punjabi to English to her credit viz., 𝘗𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴 and 𝘔𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘥 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. Her own maiden collection of poems in Punjabi “𝘐𝘩 𝘝𝘪 𝘔𝘦𝘪𝘯” has been published in 2023. She has recently published a book of translations of Punjabi Short Stories to English titled “QUILTING”.

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Qamar uz Zaman
2 months ago

It is really a great story of Khalid Farhad Dhariwal that so elaborately tells the themes of maternal love, longing, and the bittersweet passage of time. Eesha Narang skillfully keeps the story’s emotions and cultural richness intact with clear and beautiful language. Congratulations both of you and stay blessed…………….

Najamuddin Ahmad
1 month ago

Superb

Haseeb
1 month ago

Great

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𝘗𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘢𝘣𝘪 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦/𝘗𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘢𝘣𝘪 𝘍𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯/𝘗𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘢𝘣𝘪 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝘣𝘺 𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐥 The story has been narrated in flash back. It portrays a mother’s longing for her daughter — Munni — who, after marriage, lives distant. Reveals the deep bonds between mothers and daughters and a poignant meditation on motherhood, love, separation, and changing family dynamics. The protagonist is confronted with her own feelings of displacement in the very home she once ruled: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘪𝘯-𝘭𝘢𝘸. 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! The story tells us the social tragedy eloquently: 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳; 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘪𝘯-𝘭𝘢𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘮 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴? .... Read full short story in 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓸 𝓛𝓮𝔁𝓲𝓬𝓸𝓷.
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— POEM 𝒃𝒚 Tsai Jung-Yung

There was not enough time for Sherrie, To reminisce upon Dad, Yet had to let Dad be...

— POEM 𝒃𝒚 Tsai Jung-Yung

Sherrie, 29 years of age, Not yet old. And her life ended, Leaving behind, my oldness...

FICTION

The Bamboo Man — SHORT STORY by Salma Sanam

𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙍𝙖𝙩𝙣𝙖, 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙖 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙆𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙖...

SHORT STORY 𝒃𝒚 Khalid Fateh Muhammad

𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨! 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚 𝙣𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙧...

SHORT STORY 𝒃𝒚 Selma Aydın

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝟑...

FLASH FICTION 𝒃𝒚 Valentina Novković

𝙄𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙢𝙪𝙧 — 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙨, 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧...

SHORT STORY 𝒃𝒚 Khalid Farhad Dhariwal

𝙈𝙖𝙮 𝙂𝙤𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞’𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧; 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚, 𝙄 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙙 𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚. 𝙄𝙩...

FLASH FICTION 𝒃𝒚 Hasan Nasir

𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙙...

FLASH FICTION 𝒃𝒚 Dua Azeemi

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨, 𝙬𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙖𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙...

FLASH FICTION 𝒃𝒚 Elisa Mascia

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙖, 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 — 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜...

SHORT STORY 𝒃𝒚 Najam-uddin Ahmad

“𝘿𝙤𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧, 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤... 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩... 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙩... 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚.” 𝙈𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨...

APPRAISE

The Depths of Love in Trandafir Sîmpetru’s “You…”

Trandafir Sîmpetru’s poem “You” is an evocative and deeply sensuous exploration of...

A Reflection on “We’re the Dream Diggers”

To read all posts of Nasir Karim, Please click here   by Nasir Karim Charles Lipanda...

Elisa Mascia’s Childhood Dream

“Childhood Dream” by Elisa Mascia is a poem that gently and profoundly...

Aadil Raza Mansoori’s Emotions and Imagery in Urdu Poetry…

His work, characterized by its profound emotional depth and intricate imagery, has...

Arifa Shahzad’s Poetry: An Exploration of Life, Love, and Memory

Arifa Shahzad’s poetry speaks with a unique voice that resonates deeply with the...

The Themes and Imagery in Azhar Nadeem’s Poetry

Azhar Nadeem’s poems reflect a deep connection with nature, love, and the eternal...

Amrita Pritam’s Light

Amrita Pritam, a literary luminary, expressed her profound thoughts and emotions...

Jayant Parmar’s Broken Flask of Poems

Jayant Parmar, a prominent Indian Urdu language poet, artist, and calligrapher...

Saleem Shahzad’s Recitation of a Dream

Saleem Shahzad’s mesmerizing poems offer a unique lens to view the complexities of...

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Fiction
VISION & MISSION of 𝘛𝘩𝘦 ᒪIᑎGO ᒪE᙭IᑕOᑎ
The Last Rain
VISION & MISSION of 𝘛𝘩𝘦 ᒪIᑎGO ᒪE᙭IᑕOᑎ
The LINGO LEXICON has been founded ONLINE with the vision of a magazine for the publication of translations of pieces of fiction and poetry of deprived languages — the languages whose literature affluent with rich native knowledge & wisdom has either been never translated or much less translated and the same is hidden yet from the eyes of the world. We aim to solve the problems of partiality, conservatism with their choices and visibility for all the ignored, unrepresented, unrepresented and marginalized and deprived languages of the world. As its name suggests, The LINGO LEXICON aims to select the “gold” — the native knowledge and wisdom — in the translated literary work of the world neglected languages. We are dedicated to supporting the best translations and emerging translators of these languages beyond accepting their work. The unrepresented underrepresented voices are cordially welcome to find a home for their work here.
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