The Eastern Brew

“The extremely beguiling guest house is visible from a distance, perched on a verdant hilltop surrounded by a girdle of fresh spring flowers. A bubbling mountain lake runs down the hillock and a narrow track winds its way up along this lake reaching all the way to the gate of the guesthouse. A photographer with a walrus moustache sits indolently in a metal chair near the gate, his equipment lying on the ground beside him. This relatively unknown mountain town is off the usual tourist route and, therefore, is rarely frequented by regular travellers. If perchance some honeymooning couple or traveller wanders towards the guesthouse, the waiting photographer gets up and starts walking on the garden path, holding his camera with hope and patience. There is an unspoken understanding between him and the gardener that the latter will beckon him when going to present a morning bouquet of flowers to the guests, preferably the young ladies. And when the young damsels walk down to the garden after their breakfast, they find the gardener and the photographer waiting vigilantly for them.” FROM QURRATUL AIN HAIDER’S PHOTOGRAPHER __________ “Long, long ago, there was a seer called Kaushika¹. Though a good old seer, he was in actual fact a very irascible man. And so fierce was his wrath that those who met his furious, flaming gaze were burnt to coals. The seer would then regret why he burnt the poor fellow away. Once when he was sitting under a holy fig tree, lost in profound meditation, an ill-fated swan, exhausted after a long non-stop flight, descended on the lush green tree, shedding its droppings as it alighted on a branch. The seer was engrossed in his contemplation right under the same branch. The droppings landed directly on his holy head, interrupting his meditation. The wise man fumed with rage and looked up. So, it was the swan’s doing! The seer thought, and cast such a fierce look at it that the poor bird burnt into a lump of coal, and dropped to the ground in front of him. After punishing the swan thus for its sin, his anger faded, replacing it with an overpowering feeling of remorse. O, miserable bird! How could have it stopped its crap? It hadn’t, after all, committed any sin heinous enough to claim its life. A fool that I was, I realized little what I was going to do. Ah, I’ve taken the poor swan’s life! Seer Kaushika grieved greatly over burning the luckless bird. Struck with deep repentance, he made a firm intention to control his anger. But, as was his wont, he remembered nothing whenever anger inflamed him, and regretted later at his blind rage. One day he left his ashram to collect dakshina². On his round of a nearby village, he reached a house and tapped on the door. The mistress of the house was washing the dishes. She looked out from her kitchen window, and saw an old man with white matted hair standing in the doorway, carrying a spouted vessel in his hand.” FROM INTEZAR HUSSAIN’S ‘THE SEER AND THE BUTCHER’ __________ “Amazing stories about maharaj were rife among his followers. Some said that he was seen flying like birds, during the dark, moonless nights, while others said that every part of his body split up and worshipped God separately. There were the others who said that he often stood for the whole night in the river, as an act of religious penance. And then the glorious light that exuded from his face, brilliantly illuminated the dark night to a distance. In fact there were many mouths of village gossip going around the place about him. But there was not a soul who really knew who the maharaj actually was. The day when I came back home after taking my BA exams, my uncle took me to sadhu maharaj. He had a firm belief that the sadhu’s one close look at me would bring me good fortune. But I had little faith in paranormal beliefs, though I never attacked them in public. However, my uncle’s constant insistence forced me to accompany him to the sadhu. As I was conveyed to the presence of the holy man, our eyes locked together, and I felt a sudden shiver running through my body. My lips lost their quiver and I lost my speech. I still remember those piercing red eyes! They looked like those of a drunkard. Long dishevelled hair, flowing unkempt beard, and bushy moustache, all combined to make his face appear so glorious and divine! I was so lost in thoughts that I could not hear what transpired between him and my uncle. I asked myself why I got so quickly impressed by the man, whereas in fact I had no faith in a sadhu, whether the one before me or anybody else. But I didn’t know what power radiated from the holy man that was slowly overpowering my soul. I was bathed in sweat. The spell was broken when the maharaj moved his lips, asking me to leave and also reminding me to visit him sometimes.” FROM SUHAIL AZIMABADI’S ‘SADHU’ __________ “Sometimes, these rebukes and spanks came to Sundri as bearers of glad tidings, as the elixirs of life. She awaited them restlessly, as it were, with a longing heart, whenever she committed a mistake. But she dreaded when her aunt’s wrath flared beyond limits, because then it immobilized her hands and tongue, and she quietly deprived Sundri of any food for the whole day. Blood drained from Sundri’s body at the thought of starvation – the abject misery of being deprived of full two meals! She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach watching the entire household eating their belly full right in front of her, and the poor girl, serving them their food, watching them eat with delight, clearing the table, washing their dishes, and helplessly looking at the leftovers being given to the dogs and cats. Sundri had to douse the fire of hunger raging in her stomach with glasses of water only. She trembled with fear at the thought of such a punishment. What if her aunt beat her savagely, she at least gave her the leftover to eat! Sundri couldn’t help making those unavoidable little mistakes that were bound to happen everyday. She paid for them fittingly, willingly, carefully avoiding the big ones. The abuses and battering, in any case, guaranteed her food, without which she would be shattered.” FROM MOHAMMED MOHSIN’S ‘SHADES OF PAIN’. __________ “Niyaz sat unmoved in his room, hearing the rising and then falling noises in the house. He heard the car starting and then leaving his house, consigning him to his liberty and his ego. The house was turned into wilderness after a brief interval. There was silence everywhere. He walked over to Shahina’s room, and stepped accidentally on the fragments scattered on the floor. They creaked and groaned under his shoes, but the picture lying on the floor was still smiling. His eyes glowed with happiness when he realized that the smile that had threatened to snatch his vanity, his self-love, has vanished. But when his eyes fell on the golden haired doll lying broken and lonely in the childless cradle, his heart strings suddenly started vibrating violently, and he became restless. Tears coursed down his eyes, and picking the doll up, he clutched it to his chest, bringing it closer to his eyes, cuddling and kissing it passionately, crying in desperation, “My darling child! O, my little doll!” All around the house, he found his own being, his existence, the self he loved madly, lying scattered in bits and pieces wherever his eyes could see.” FROM SHAKILA AKHTAR’S ‘THE BROKEN DOLL’