Of Smokeless Fire by A.A. Jafri (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

air; he broke his neck and died on the spot. They told Farhat that some evil churail had cast her ugly shadow on Israr. She felt cheated and crushed. She felt that without Israr, life would end. It did not; instead, she became part of an exigency plot; her marriage was arranged with Noor, who, on their wedding night, recited meaningless poems, some of them in Farsi! In the early years of their marriage, she felt disconnected, later she felt neglected, and after Noor started drinking, she felt downright disgusted. She hardly felt any warmth for him; now it was just contempt, while he grew more indifferent towards her.

‘Khuda ke wastey, please stop drinking; it is haram in our religion,’ she had pleaded one day when he came home tipsy.

‘For God’s sake?’ Noor had turned around and replied. ‘Farhat Begum, I don’t believe in your God, so keep quiet.’

When life appeared unjust to Farhat, she buried herself in religion and its occupying rituals. Their separate attempts at preserving their own sanity caused Farhat and Noor to drift apart. They could wander away from each other’s existence, as far as possible, but they couldn’t separate. The word ‘divorce’ had not entered their cultural vocabulary yet; although permitted by religion, their traditional society did not condone it. Handcuffed by circumstances, Noor thirsted for an intellectual outlet that Farhat couldn’t provide, while Farhat searched for a spirituality that Noor couldn’t offer. They stayed lonely and alone in their togetherness.

*

That Pakistan was created by secular leaders like Mohammad Ali Jinnah and Liaquat Ali Khan as a homeland for the Muslims of India, had initially made Noor hopeful about the country’s temporal path. After all, these were men steeped in the lofty traditions of Western education. But soon after their deaths, when their secular agenda was first challenged and later expunged by the reactionary right, Noor became increasingly disillusioned. Ironically, many of the same conservative leaders who had vigorously opposed the idea of Pakistan, migrated to the country when it became a reality. And upon arrival, they began sowing the seeds of their parochiality. As sectarianism deepened its roots in Pakistan, Noor felt more deracinated. He felt as if he had been transplanted into a country where normality meant heeding to the language of exclusion and bearing witness to the politics of hate.

During Noor’s college years, alcohol had been his preferred symbol of rebellion, but in Pakistan, it had hardened into a daily ritual. In whisky, he found release, and he rationalized his increasing intake by calling it his ‘defence mechanism’ against the ‘suffocating anti-intellectualism of this country’. Unable to speak his mind in public, he ranted privately at home about the political and religious situation in Pakistan. And so, when he wanted to lash out, it was Farhat at the receiving end. But Farhat was too smart to listen to these silly tirades. She also had her coping rituals. Every night, when she felt that a lecture was coming, she would pop two Optalidon pills from the orange bottle, take out a cotton ball (which she had ripped into two), stuff it in both ears and go to sleep.

*

On Mansoor’s first birthday, Noor remained missing from the festivities at home, choosing to spend the evening at the Sindh Club. Farhat had invited all their close relatives for an elaborate dinner, and Noor’s absence made people talk. Embarrassed and angry, she moved from one relative to another to avoid the wicked whisperings, until Nawab Khan Namaqul, Sarwat’s ne’er-do-well husband, finally caught up with her. Noor had a private nickname for Nawab Khan: Nawab Khan Namaqul, or Lord Khan Idiot. An ageing Lothario, Namaqul’s chief interests lay in erotic poetry, lascivious banter and patronizing Karachi’s crumbling brothels. To embarrass Farhat, he recited what seemed like an extempore Urdu couplet about Noor, loud enough for everyone to hear:

Koi roshni nahi baqi baghair-e-Noor

Aaj shub chiraghan karain andhere me

(There is no light here without Noor,

Tonight, we will rejoice in darkness)

‘Where is our Noor?’

‘He . . . He . . . he is extremely busy these days with a very important case. He . . . usually w-works till la-late night,’ Farhat replied.

Everyone knew she was covering up for him. The rising colour of her face revealed her anguish; her words betrayed her emotions. When all the guests had left, she put Mansoor in his crib and sank into her bed without changing her clothes. A deluge of emotions swept over her and she cried bitterly. Much later at night, Noor returned home, drunk as usual, and fell on the bed without changing his clothes or taking off his shoes. Farhat got up, covered him with a blanket and went to sleep in the women’s quarters, taking her son with her.

She had a restless night, her dreams transmuting from one nightmare into another. Noor, Israr, Mansoor and Nawab Khan, all jumbled together as her brain created grotesque imageries. It was a dream about death, about her sobbing incessantly and about a horse. She woke up perspiring. Where had that horse come from? Had she suppressed her emotions and her pain for so long that they were coming back now in her dreams? Every night when Noor came home drunk, she felt that something inside her had died. Glancing at her son, she caressed his tiny hands and gently kissed his forehead. It was still dark and quiet outside, but then the muezzin’s call for prayers shattered the night’s serenity. Farhat got up, went to the bathroom and performed her ablutions. Spreading the prayer rug, she prayed to God, almost hysterically so, begging His forgiveness, pleading with Him to make her husband change into a better man, to show him the light, to put him on the righteous path. She prayed to Him to make Noor give up alcohol, and then, finally, she prayed for her son.

Outside, the vermilion sun began spreading its light over the dust-covered city. Farhat’s heart ached and a dull pain throbbed in the back of her