http://www.kashmirdispatch.com/literary-dispatch/041018043-son-of-mary-be-he-who-he-may.htm
English translation of Muzaffar Karim's Urdu short story "
Ibn-e-Mariam Hua Karey Koi"
by Mubashir Karim
Roads
turned into mirrors when the fresh March rains poured their reflection in them.
The colour red rilling out of the red light of her school-bus dispersed and
dazzled such that I was reminded of Messih’s blood; that sacramental
blood which would have oozed out from the wounds of Messih at the time
of crucifixion. A cool gust of air whiffed and I sensed in my existence the
twinge of Messih’s wounds and the flow of thoughts drifted me away to
the edges. Balram was constantly telling me about the Dargah which I had
come to visit. But, after seeing that innocent girl, I have no idea when I got
absorbed in Messih’s thoughts.
“Are
you listening Casper?” questioned Balram.
“Yes,
yes!” I answered.
“This
is the place where Christ is buried but, these local people don’t believe in
this – saaley” said Balram.
I
was taken aback at his use of the word Saaley. I wanted to tell him that
even we Christians do not believe in it. But, my eyes at once caught hold of
his army uniform and I kept silent. He kept on muttering.
“They
don’t let any firangi enter the Dargah. They say that these firangis
search for Christ there and if they do succeed in finding him they will make
this place a part of their own.”
“Ha!
Ha!” he laughed, “Kashmir will always remain a part of India” and with that he
braced his gun.
Balram
was never like this. He was my classmate in Delhi Missionary School. His father
was an army person but he was not quite inspired by army schooling, so he had
admitted Balram in our missionary school. We used to sit in the same bench and
even my friendship with him started because of Messih. After seeing the cross
held round my neck, he stated that he loved Christ. I knew exactly that he was
saying all this just to start a conversation. But, when he said that he liked
him because of his mysterious nature, I had to question him, “Why?” And that
conversation, since then, hasn’t ended till date.
But,
the Balram of these days is not the Balram that he used to be. I still remember
him in that school uniform with sleepy morning eyes. Quite innocent was he
then, but now quite hard, quite rigid. After completing his matric exam, he
admitted himself in some army school and thereafter joined the army. Those days
we used to talk on phone. He had changed a lot during that period.
But
I have also changed, that’s what Balram says. My interest was to be a
historian, but now I am a teacher in my missionary school. My interest and
inclination towards the sacred persona of Messih increased and I kept on
searching him as I reached matriculation. From the
last two three years I became quite interested in the literature of a particular
kind. This search for the Messiahship of Messih has brought me to
Kashmir. Actually, these are the books which tell us that after the
cruxification when Messih resurrected, he moved away from Europe to
India and spent his last days with Kashmiris in Kashmir, and that his tomb is
still here in Khanyar. And I was exactly standing there, just a road away from
his tomb.
I
had to bear a lot while coming here. No one was allowing me to go to Kashmir, neither
my family nor the school committee. I persuaded the school committee by saying
that I am doing some research on Messih and the family by reiterating
that Balram is posted there, so no need to fear about anything. Only then have
I been able to come here to this sacred land which my Messih has treaded
upon. This land and the people of this land, for me, are sacred. That is why I
always get angry whenever Balram abuses Kashmir or its people.
When
I reached Kashmir and met Balram, I told him that I want to visit that tomb in
Khanyar. Balram already knew the place. He was posted there two months back and
then one day he took me there and showed me the mazaar, which was more
or less a tomb. But, something quite strange happened there. For a period of
two three years I kept thinking, what could have Messih been doing in a
place like Kashmir and I wasn’t for even a single moment able to imagine him
crucified on the cross. But, on that day when I went to visit his tomb, that
innocent girl waiting for her school bus at once reminded me of Maryam,
and when she boarded the bus, I have no idea when exactly the red light of the
bus prompted me to think about Messih’s blood and his wounds. The tomb
which I was so eager to visit from the last two years lay before my eyes, but
my heart rested somewhere else. Either it was Satan who was distracting me or
that innocent girl had come to me as Messih’s message, I thought.
I
told Balram that I will come again here and because now I know the way, I’ll
come again. I noted the time, it was 8:10.
That means I have to be here at 8, I told myself. Next day, I reached
exactly at 8 and saw that seraphic girl waiting for her school bus. Today, I
truly felt her innocence and the sanctity of her existence. If I believed in
reincarnation she would definitely be the sacred Maryam. I decided to
cross the road but my whole being shivered. I changed the road and went back to
my room.
My
room was in the nearby mohalla of Kathi Darwaza. It was a small
room. Balram had requested me to stay with him in his army camp but, after a
night’s stay there, I felt suffocated because of the people there and also
because of their grumblings. That very night I told myself that neither have I
anything to do with the situation of Kashmir nor with its conflict. Moreover, I
did not want to involve myself either in the affairs of the army or in Kashmir’s
Azaadi. My purpose was to search for Messih and its climax lay in
that mazaar. Once I visit the mazaar I am done. At that moment, I
decided that I will rent a small room for the next few more days and then leave
for home. The people of our church at Dalgate helped me in getting this room. That
night I contemplated a lot about that girl and her sacred thoughts lulled me to
sleep.
Next morning I woke up and decided that I will definitely talk to her
today. I left the room with the maiden ray of the morning. The surrounding
mosques echoed with a lot of rhythmic voices which were soothing my ears a lot.
When I reached Khanyar, my eyes, for the first time caught hold of the
martyr’s graveyard there. My mind was about to involve itself with Balram’s
statements and those Kashmiri graves when I stopped myself at once and went
straight towards the mazaar. There was no one there at that time. The
squat iron gate was closed. I knocked and an old man smilingly came, opened the
door and went back inside. My heart throbbed with beats. The mazaar was
duly preserved by the local people. I was shivering as I went in. Inside there,
I saw a long grave with a chaadar on it. I kissed the grave and suddenly
a deluge of tears poured out, the source of which I myself was unaware of.
Coming out from there after an hour, I noticed that the wetness of my tears has
drenched the whole earth. It was raining. I stopped near the bus stop. It was
not 8 yet, a few minutes still remained. Rain drops were thumping my cheeks and
I felt turning sacred. At once I saw the girl standing in front of me. Fear
stricken, I tightly grasped the cross in my hand.
“My
name is Maryam.” she pronounced.
After
hearing this, the ground beneath my feet slid and I was about to collapse had
not the lightning struck so hard in the sky.
“Hello!”
I replied and resented myself for using such a trivial word to address the
sacred Maryam with. But . . . she cannot be the Maryam. How can I believe in
another life? What was happening to my faith?
“You
are Casper na!” I was about to die with fear after hearing this but, in
a civil manner I replied, “Yes, I am – but how do you know?”
“Messih
told me that you would come – but you would be so late, I didn’t know
that.”
Astonished,
I kept listening. I could not understand what she was saying. I asked her, “Messih
told you? What?”
“I
see Messih, he communicates with me. He told me that a wayfarer who had
come on my birth will come to meet me in search of my death. Do tell him.”
“To
tell what?”
Meanwhile,
her school bus arrived and while leaving she uttered, “He will meet you in the
same manner as you have imagined him.”
She
boarded the bus while saying this and I kept searching for Messih in the
redness of her school bus, whom I could not find. I was quite amazed and
worried too. What was that girl saying? If she really sees Messih, what
is that which he is trying to communicate? I have always imagined him in pain.
Is he still suffering? I have always imagined him on the rood, is he still carrying
it? What was he trying to say?
I
was in a deep inquietude and confliction. I went back to my room but could not
find peace there either. I went straight to Balram’s camp and found that he was
posted in some different area now. I did not know what to do. I thought about
meeting Maryam and then again thought that whatever she had to say, she has
already. Whatever there was, it was all in those words of Messih. Those
words of Messih were sesame full of meaning, of wisdom but I lacked the
word with which to open it. I booked my ticket and came back to Delhi.
I
could not find peace in Delhi either. That sentence of Messih which the
sacred mouth of Maryam hummed out kept bashing me from the inside. I repeatedly
kept thinking about the meaning of that sentence. What was Messih
actually trying to tell me? But . . . after some days I saw a dream. I saw
Maryam telling me, “I am alive, won’t you come to meet me?” I woke up disturbed
and the very next morning went back to Kashmir.
Two
months had passed away. Here in Kashmir, even the hot June air carries within
itself the fragrance of winter. It was all green. Life was rejuvenating
everywhere. I called Balram, and came to know that he was again posted in
Khanyar. I felt happy and straight away went to his camp. When I reached I saw
Balram lying injured. I feared a lot after seeing him but he consoled me not to
worry. His camp was attacked some days back and a bullet grazed him closely, he
fell off and broke his bone.
“Then?”
I inquired.
“Then
nothing – they were hiding in the nearby mohalla. Caught all of them saaley.
And this time they crossed the limits, used children to exchange and pass on
the guns.” I was annoyed at Balram’s use of the word saaley and after
that whatever he informed me about I listened to nothing. I rested myself and
tried to sleep. The secret of Messih’s message shall unravel tomorrow. I
was quite sure that Maryam held another message. I desperately waited for the
next morning.
Next
morning I dressed myself and went to the bus stop. But, Maryam did not come. At
8:10 her school bus, without waiting for her, without stopping and without
displaying the red light passed away from me.
I waited there till 9 AM. And when she did not show up, I straightaway
went towards Messih’s mazaar. Passing from there, I reached the
nearby mohalla and inquired from some shopkeepers about the girl who
daily waits here for her school bus. They all, with a dolorous face, told me
the way to her home. I reached and opened the door and saw a crowd of people
there. I blenched. I mustered some courage and went inside. There I saw a woman
beating her chest and crying – in the same way as any mother cries after losing
her child. I shivered and asked a nearby man, “What has happened?”
He
grouched, perhaps at my use of Urdu because everyone there was speaking in
Kashmiri. Then, after sometime he said, “The same thing that happens in Kashmir
repeatedly, they took her girl and didn’t even hand down the corpse back.”
I
shuddered as if a bomb exploded in my head. Shiveringly I asked, “Maryam?” The
man almost weepingly answered, “Yes.” I stood like a statue there. I could not
even feel my feet. I felt as if with the sliding of the ground beneath, my feet
also slid away with it. I left the house in the dark shadows of the cries of
Maryam’s mother and went straight back to Balram’s camp. I could not understand
anything. I was at once reminded of Balram’s statement about the attack when I
saw him. In a hollering voice I inquired, “What have you done to the girl?”
Balram
was quite amazed at hearing this. For the first time, maybe, in the course of our friendship had I raised my voice in front of
him. Shakingly he replied, “Which girl?”
“Maryam.”
“You
. . . how do you know her name?”
In a
gust of anger I took hold of his collar and asked, “What have you done to
Maryam.”
“I .
. . I did nothing. She was with the terrorists.”
After
that I saw Balram holding his cheek. I do not remember when in anger had I
slapped him.
I
screamed, “Tell me what you have done? . . . where is she? . . . Tell me?”
“She
died.” In a hesitant voice Balram replied.
“No!
. . . She is alive.” I bewailed, “I know she is alive. She told me so. Balram
tell me where is she?”
“Casper!
I am telling you the truth. She died.”
This
statement suffocated me and I came out breaking the barbed wires of the camp.
But, those wires had caught hold of my body and were quickly piercing my soul,
wounding me. A piece of wire stuck my head and slowly started gnawing my mind.
My existence was flagellating me from the inside and I could feel the weight of
thousand crucifixes on my shoulders. Dragging the crucifixes I reached Messih’s
mazaar. Sitting there by the shadow of the wall, I saw the wall
bespattered with blood. Is this my blood or Messih’s? I kept thinking.
As I was deliberating upon this riddle, a shopkeeper angrily came at me and
said, “Haven’t you brought the camera with you. What will you publish in
newspaper tomorrow? Yes, it’s her blood, those kaminey, they kicked her
innocent head right here. You people don’t even spare a little girl.” And with
tears in his eyes he went away.
I
saw the stains of blood on the wall. It was exactly in the shape of a crucifix.
I put on that crucifix too and went back to the camp. Balram startled, after
seeing me, and grasped his gun. I was quite amazed. I took hold of his collar
and asked, “where is her body and why didn’t her family get it?”
Balram
strongly grasped his gun and replied, “I’ll tell you on the condition that you
won’t share it with anyone.”
I
promised.
“If
we give them the body back, it will result in a huge uproar. People will rip
us. That’s why we have told them she’s in custody.”
“What
have you done to her?” I asked.
“Arrey
baba! We buried her properly.”
“Where?”
“Casper,
look, I can’t tell you that.”
I
eased my grasp on his collar and requested him to tell me for the sake of our
friendship, I have to go to her. He understood the pain in my eyes and replied,
“But Casper, you too, for the sake of our friendship, don’t let anybody know
about this. There are many more like this . . . if you let anybody know about
this, it will ruin me.”
I
promised again and he revealed the location to me.
They
had buried Maryam far away. When I reached there I saw a deserted ground. Here
and there lay sepulchers bearing no name. It was almost impossible to find
Maryam here. It was at this juncture that I heard a noise of somebody digging.
I followed the noise. Nearby, I saw a corpse in a shroud and somebody digging
the grave. His naked back was bruised with flagellated marks. I walked towards
him and when he turned I saw a weak old man. His hair and beard were dust
ridden and his teeth full of blood. After seeing him I could only utter, “O, Messih!”
He
looked at me and said, “So late!”
“But
Messih . . . what is this . . . you here and in this condition.”
His
face as hard as stone.
“But
you are a messiah . . . and messiahship is your . . .”
I
was yet to complete my sentence that he raised his spade and started digging
the earth saying, “My messiahship has been murdered . . . my work, now, is just
to bury.”
