Translated to English by:
Uzair Mehr
1. The Bitterness
Originally written in
Balochi by: Asghar Zaheer
It was the holy month of
Ramadan. He yearned for some vegetables and fruits. He visited and traversed
five or six hand carts and glanced at vegetables and fruits. Then he wore a
bitter smile and sat on his bicycle with gloomy face and empty hands. He
started paddling towards his home.
2. The Impious
Originally written in Balochi by: Inaam Raza
If I die tomorrow,
bury me without a shroud. Instead of buying cerement for me with my money, buy
a pair of clothes for my neighbor Rasheed as I saw him in tattered clothes
yesterday.
Neither observe a
session of mourning and lamentation nor distribute alms and charity among the
people for the sake of my remission and absolution of sins.
Instead of spending
the money on mourning disbursement and alms, provide dinner for the satiation
of a hungry and poor person.
Molvi Sahab read
the concluding part of his testament and frowningly said:
" He was an
ungodly person and there's no funeral prayer for such an unbeliever."
3. Faith
Originally written in Balochi by: Inam Raza
After Asr prayer,
Molvi Sahab congregated students of the Madrasah on the porch and addressed
them:
“It is the order of
Allah to slay and jihad in my blessed path. Our faith is weak today as an
unholy house of idols has been built up in front of the mosque (The Holy House
of Allah).”
After a while,
students left for the raid with axes and pickaxes then they saw that a few
young men were demolishing the *Mihrab.
* Mihrab: (semicircular niche in a mosque that
identifies the direction of Kaaba).
4. Me
Originally
written in Balochi by: J.M Azaat
Two crows
were sitting on the exterior part of both my eyelids, and I was becoming
semiconscious owing to a stench of a rotten corpse. I look toward the sky now, and all the
angels deride me. I cast my eyes around
me. All the people held their nose here,
as well, and sequester themselves from me.
In these
entire movements, it’s as if the crows are oscillating a swing on my eyelids
and the stink of the corpse is utterly smothering me, now.
5. The Fire
Originally
written in Balochi by: Jameel Mihrab
Translated
to English by: Uzair Mehr
It was an
unfathomable fire, and all the people were being suffocated by it. The people
were preoccupied by various
thoughts in their hearts. Some were uttering that lightning
fulgurated from the sky and fire erupted, while others were articulating that
someone set something aflame, which resulted in a fire. Everyone was terrified.
People advised each other to not approach the fire, and avert yourselves from
it. The fire spread out, burning houses and oases, until it incinerated the
entire city.
6. The Ants
Originally
written in Balochi by: Jameel Mehrab
Translated
into English by: Uzair Mehr
All of a
sudden, hot water was poured on a swarm of ants. Several died and dozens of
them were wounded. An ant was chocked by the water and miserably hid itself
behind a stone. Another ant limping, reached near the same stone and saw another
ant reclining next to it.
“I thought
you were dead, but hats off to your scurry.”
“What else
to do if I don’t run? These gargantuan and callous humans can’t be subdued by
us and by the way, did you wage a war against them, yourself?”
“I arrived
here, just now. If all flew the coop, how will I conquer them, alone?”
“But what we
have harmed to humans that they don’t let us live peacefully?”
“Yes, they
don’t consort with one another and always slay one another, then how could they
pardon us?”
“Look at
that locust, how weary it is. If we weren’t strewn, we could get dinner for
another night,” Uttered the limp ant, after some quietness.
7. The lesions
on body
Originally
written in Balochi by: Jameel Mehrab
Translated
into English by: Uzair Mehr
When I
entered the room, my eyes caught glimpses of torn paper pieces on which I had
written a short story about a shepherd who was trapped on the way to the river while
passing his herd, he washed up. Then, no one dared to bring his corpse out from
the river. Seeing my short story torn, thrown and scattered, I became enraged.
“It’s enough
now. Father has no other work except tearing asunder, my poetries and short
stories.”
When I came
out and saw a stick lying in the cortile, I realized there were lesions all
over my body.
8. The piggy bank
Originally written in Balochi by: Asghar Zaheer
Translated into English by: Uzair Mehr
when Mahnaaz left for school in the morning, she saw a child sitting in the street and crying. she returned home taciturnly and broke her piggy bank with a stone.
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