Memories, that the river refused to bear

Little shameless mounds stretched out to the horizon as far as the eyes could see. Hastily dug, callously
covered, ruthlessly forgotten, what did the mounds contain? Memories. Memories that the river had
refused to bear. Dug up by dogs, sniffed at by jackals, it was a place where cameras & vultures loved to
roost.

Shahīd came here everyday. Fingers clutching at a torn tasbeeh he searched endlessly amidst the
mounds. What did he search for? Shabnam, he replied. His rose, his shama, his plough and his penance.
What had happened to her? Memories, that the river refused to carry.

Farmers living off a hateful land, they were like a salat and its imām, a sickle and a sigh. Enduring floods,
famines, droughts, and riots, their homestead blossomed like a tiny 'eid-gāh, until...until Covid-19 came.
Everyone had abandoned them except their village muezzin. That man, that farishtā in a brilliant white
jubbā had taken them to the local hospital.

Like a sapling struggling to rear its head, like a root labouring to reach water, they fought for 10 days and
11 nights until he won, and she couldn't. Like a djinn he rampaged though the wards, through the
hospital records, through every hand that demanded a bribe, but none could tell him what had
happened to his wife.

Thousands of bodies came floating by the river. Memories, memories, oh how they lined up the
banks...how they bobbed up and down...how they defiled our cutting-edge TV sets. Who are they? His
Shabnam, he said. How did they die? Like a paddy field does when the government shuts down the
mandis, he said. What are they doing in the river? That's what memories do when shame is seen as
treason...

Each daybreak he came to the riverbank, skipping across the mounds like a moth flutters from one
ember to another in search of the sun. A peepal grew on a mound, was this Shabnam? A tuft of moss
grew on another, was this Shabnam? He read the namāz-e-janazā at each. Like an 'arsh and sutūn they
once were... but now he couldn't even find the right hole in the ground.
 Shahāda-e-kāfir

Ask our parchham, ask

For a sky, death is a dream
In a damselfly...
 Mehr in a kāfir
Ishq-e-muhājir
Wait like a cigarette, weep like a stone...
Trapped in an ātir
Nahrul-anāsir
Dream like a dream in a plough all alone.
 Sing my children
Surkh-i-nihān,
Sing like a bee on a driftwood sun.
 Her lips
Her lips
Like a holocaust drips,
Or a Buddha who stole my blue eclipse,
Unaware that a moth
Is a jashn-e-shihāb.
 Hope is a tasneem
Written in a grain,
Hope is a farmer's origami rain.
 Abr-ul-sitam,
Sajdā-e-gham,
Like a page in a page or a shivering hand...
Mirhā-i-tan,
Sihrul-kafan,
Like a plough, like a poem in a thimble o' sand.
 Sleep like a sarhad
Wince like a dove,
Dance like a worm for a banshee above.
 Ghanana fāni qahr-ul-zubāni
Like an ant on a window, hashr of a birth,
Badr-i-sāqi dafnāna bāki
Like a seed in a labourer's terracotta hearth.
 Weep like a shrapnel
Weep like a sin,
Kiss like a blacksmith, jism-ul-anīn.
 Have you ever seen ---
Wombs of a green ---
Sold as a whisper, bought for a sun?
Waqt hai dhāni,
Mehr-e-miyāni,
Fitr of a bayonet, ashq-e-azān.
 Rain is an anvil
Rain is a tongue,
Rain is a hammer and a rashk-e-patañg.
 Naqsh-e-āriz,
My guzārish,
Let the rosebuds drift apart.
Dil siyāhi, bismilāhi,
Reap a twilight in my heart.

- By Joshua Bodhinetra
GLOSSARY

Tasbeeh: rosaries.
Shama: candle.
Salat: prayer.
Imām: one who leads a prayer, a spiritual leader.
'Eid-gāh: a place where the namāz of Eid are performed.
Muezzin: one who gives the call to azān.
Farishtā: angel.
Jubbā: a loose-fitting tunic.
Djinn: demon.
Mandi: ref. to the kisaan mandi system.
Namāz-e-janazā: funeral prayer.
'Arsh: roof.
Sutūn: column.
Parchham: flag.
Mehr: moon.
Kāfir: non-believer.
Ishq-e-muhājir: a refugee's love.
Ātir: fragrance.
Nahrul-anāsir: elements of a river.
Surkh-i-nihān: secret red.
Jashn-e-shihāb: celebration of fire.
Tasneem: fountain of firdaus.
Abr-ul-sitam: tyranny of clouds.
Sajdā-e-gham: prayers of sorrow.
Mirhā-i-tan: body made of divine light.
Sihrul-kafan: magical funeral shroud.
Sarhad: border.
Banshee: a harbinger of death.
Ghanana: thundering rain-laden clouds.
Fāni: mirage.
Qahr-ul-zubāni: wrathful words.
Hashr: day of final judgement.
Badr-i-sāqi: moon as a cup-bearer.
Dafnāna bāki: yet to be buried.
Anīn: blind
Waqt: time.
Dhāni: paddy-coloured.
Mehr: moon.
Miyāni: pālki.
Fitr: breaking of fast.
Ashq: tears.
Rashk-e-patañg: envy of an insect/kite.
Naqsh-e-āriz: painting of a rain-laden cloud.
Guzārish: desire.
Dil siyāhi: a defiled heart.
Bismilāhi: in the name of Allāh.