SHORT STORY 𝒃𝒚 Khalid Fateh Muhammad

Hope is always hopeless!

They were dying in large numbers. There was no medicine nor any treatment but they had a hope. Hope — a support for the helpless and gift for the privileged ones that has been bestowed upon their fate and they became successful. Now the helpless and the privileged were sailing in the same boat. The boat — whose getting shored was impossible and sinking its fate.

The epidemic first approached houses that were in darkness with mud walls and narrow court yards. The residents of these houses appeared to be sickly, their faces were devoid of any radiance. Pleasures of life had hardly passed by them and deprivation furthered misery in those narrow court yards. Initially the body ached, then temperature, lymph with flowing puss. So high temperatures that if somebody touched the body his fingers would burn. Then the patient would start somersaulting. It appeared as if he would fall down from the cot. If he had been sleeping on the floor, his somersaults would be stopped by the wall. Then every movement of his body stopped, the tongue slip out, a shadow of fear flew before eyes and the death stationed there. People, sitting there on his head side, could only heave a sigh, helplessness oozeed out of those standing in a corner and somebody could only cry but no one went near the patient because of the contagiousness of the epidemic.

People were dying in every house, street and around. There was no need to inform anyone about the death. On seeing them those responsible for making the entries would leave the municipal committee’s compound immediately. The scaffies were not inflicted by this disease. Was it a miracle or their will power?  They went around in the houses to knock at the doors, the streets and the neighborhood, threw the dead bodies on the carts — one over the other: faces upwards or downwards, some straight and some in breech, stranger men on women, old men over young women and young men over older women. There was no caring about pudendum, chastity and secrecy. Everything around was temporary — but the death was the only permanent factor. The scaffies were found sometimes serious, sometimes laughing heartily, sometimes tired and sometimes absolutely fresh, scared and making a joke of the death, pushing the carts to the south of city towards the open field located behind those government buildings which had a high protection  wall around  with observation posts on their corners. The town had not spread up there by then. They buried there the corpses in the mass graves. Neither final bath, coffin, casket, burial prayers nor invocation. Only it was enough that soil covered dead bodies. All around was stink of decomposing bodies.

Like the male cat that rules the area, the epidemic slowly, with grace, dignity and indifference, fearlessness, with grandeur, moved out of narrow houses, streets and surrounding areas into the wide and bright houses. The inhabitants did not expect that it would ever enter their houses. They had a complacency that they had a gifted lucky fate, and epidemic was to be destined only to the areas of the deprived and the helpless. But now, they got upset, ran around and protested but the epidemic had neither ears nor eyes. She was like a hag that is nude and to scare her, and it was useless to be undressed. Privileged ones also started to die like the unprivileged, though in less numbers. In the beginning their corpses were buried in the graveyards but soon after their dead bodies were also transported in the carts beyond the city and the river.

According to a rough estimate about thirty-five thousand people died. That was an affliction. The survived ones were happy but with a deep grief on losing their dear ones. They wanted to visit the place where their dear ones, acquaintances, near relatives and coworkers had been thrown but nobody wished to have even a look at that side. The area was a jungle of the stench of decomposing and insect bitten cadavers. If somebody dared to go there, he became nuts.        

There were rains, draughts, wars, revolutions, country came into existence, the city spread but nobody went there. The city spread in all directions except that side. The life was then spurred by time. The horse of time continued running constantly. It had different colors — spotted, light or dark bay. It kept running, and kept changing its colors. The population started creeping ahead of those official buildings whose high protective walls had observation towers fixed in them. The city kept spreading within itself and from the outside. The roads got limited and narrow. Floods of cars, buses, wagons, motor cycles and pedestrians moved here and there. A cloud of smoke and dust hung over the city; the stars became invisible at night. It was felt that load of heavy traffic should be reduced in the city. After long deliberations, a highway was constructed around the city and auxiliary roads leading from this road were also constructed to reach the various parts of the city. The highway, touching the main city, passed closer to the place, where thirty-five thousand dead bodies were buried, which became a depression when the road was built. Huge dumper trucks started dumping city’s refuse at that precipitous place, where scaffies used to throw dead bodies approximately a century ago. The dumper trucks unloaded their refuse there from morning to evening, using their hydraulic systems, and then returned to the town to bring more. For weeks, months and years the trucks continued their numerous trips daily and eventually the place took the shape of a mountain — a grey mountain consisted of town’s shit. The kites, crows and stray dogs searched for their food there and the poorest women, men and girls looked for the plastic bags and other alike items that might carried their livelihood.

Dumpers continued making that ugly mountain uglier until its ugliness became horrendous. So, it was decided to level the area to make purposeful. Now bulldozers, tractors, cranes and dumper trucks started their work round the clock without a break. After an eight hour shift fresh crew and machines replaced the previous ones. The land was levelled within a few months. Its mid part, which was adjacent to the road, was converted to a landscaped by planting grass and flowery plants, installing a tube well installed for irrigation and a dozen or so gardeners were appointed. After a few months the grass started getting flourish. Leaves of seasonal flowers — planted in an arrangement —worn a fresh coat and flower beds started to give a look like a rain bow, and fountains showered. It was a fantasy like scene. Children played, women and men took a relaxing stroll. Since, there was no sign of that ugly mountain there now.

Human thought has always had been like a child’s curiosity. He’s been never able to get out of the triangle of why, how and when. So, an afterthought gave the idea the park’s read land was not brought in use, and the park started to become an excruciation for the authorities. Every other day someone met with an accident, crossing the road. An open discussion ensued. Government wanted to install industry there but media was in favor of residential colonies — an activated idea by the land mafia. There was a wilderness of a dried up river behind the proposed colony, and the beautiful park in its front.  The colony had to be located on both sides of an important major road that led to all the parts of the country. At last, the government bowed before the pressures of the media propaganda.

A comprehensive plan was chalked out for a modern housing society. The sale of plots began. Soon thereafter, the construction of the houses started. The dumper trucks played an important role in giving this colony a shape. The scaffies who were operating and emptying the dumpers were grand and great grandsons of those who threw there the corpses in carts. Many of them, who constructed their houses there, were those whose ancestors were thrown there…and their bones…!

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(Self-translation from URDU)

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