Legends of Lal Din and Allah Rakhi could not have broken out at a more opportune time for Little Commanders, who now were feeling tremendous heat to sustain the Order that had been created by overcoming countless hurdles, and making unmentionable sacrifices. Commander had also started showing bitter annoyance with the way the law of the land was being violated across the Commanderate’s horizons and with impunity. The regulation that people would number and not name their new-borns was being infringed. Although the majority of the citizenry still kept their tongues relatively quiet, yet they partially abused the decree by opening their ears to whispers. Similarly, despite severe punishments, animals still mated in the open; and square-shaped houses instead of round ones had again started springing up in the far corners evidently flouting the rules. In the market, horses still fetched a higher price as compared to mules despite clear codes to the contrary. Some people still laughed when they were happy, and wept when they were sad; some mothers still delivered twins; rains still fell off-season; and death still ruled the roost like in the pre-insurrection era breaching the relevant regulations enforced in the Commanderate. These were disturbing signs and Commander, in no less words, had expressed his frustration with the available armoury of powers. Little Commanders were at a loss how to further beef up Commander’s power arsenal, when, to their sheer good luck, stories about Lal Din and Allah Rakhi surfaced. Fort, with its awe-inspiring height of walls was abuzz and thrilled again. Little Commanders were regaining their lost confidence, and had started to re-group and re- assert themselves. * Today Dara Masih resembled an obnoxious, ugly, and repulsive hairy ape. There were a couple of other equally tall, stout, and monstrous lashers waiting in the wings, but Dara Masih had been chosen for the day – and not without reason. There was a sea of difference between Dara Masih and his peers, when it came to both the demonstration effect and the outcome. When Dara Masih lashed the bare backs, both the condemned and the on- lookers envisioned a spectre of the hereafter – an effect considered so very important for the decontamination of the citizenry. Dara Masih, as was his wont, would brandish his bamboo, dance down the run-up, and scream like a bat while landing it hard at the naked surface; it was a bit of an entertainment for the spectators – anything bare and being hit, too. This afternoon, in the midst of the lush green lawns of Fort, Dara Masih was standing tall, stiffly upright, and fully focused with his ugly hands strongly holding the bamboo lash that he had so lovingly oiled just a day ago. He was waiting for the wink to unleash himself on the deviants. This was a settled norm in the Commanderate that all steps involved in the deliverance of justice from cognizance, investigation, litigation, adjudication, and execution were performed in one go. This was considered to be a quick and convenient system of delivery of justice to the citizenry at their feet. Commander had taken his seat in an impressive style, and nodded to initiate the proceedings. There was a pin-drop silence in the crowd, which was unusually large – given the importance of the day. Jawans were called to bring up the first deviant. Allah Rakhi – a shabby-looking woman – three scores and upward – barely clad and exceedingly fragile, is presented before the one-man jury –Magistrate. “Statement of Allegations is to be read out loud and clear to the ear of everybody present!” Magistrate ordered commandingly. “My Lord, this old lady, known as Allah Rakhi, the widow of that miserably dead Karam Din, in her bosom as cold as a glacier, holds the secret that is so very important for the Commanderate, its citizenry, and the Order that has been established by overcoming insurmountable hurdles.” Prosecutor took a break to have an eye contact with Commander, who was peacefully perched on his throne. Allah Rakhi in her leaning posture remained detached, calm, and motionless. “She is known to have known and knows Saint who is known to have known and knows Flash of Acceptance that befalls during the heavenly Shab-e-Qadar…” Prosecutor continued with the Statement of Allegations. Allah Rakhi coughed and looked for a stool, which was not there, nor made available. She leans forward a bit further. “She is known to have met, interacted, and got blessings from Saint who guided her in how to spot Flash of Acceptance during Shab-e-Qadar…” He took a breath and gauged the audience’s involvement in his argumentation. “She is also known to have spotted Flash of Acceptance alongside Saint during Shab-e-Qadar many many years ago, and… all night… she remained with Saint…!” His insinuation made with a repulsive grin, did not go well with the crowd. Prosecutor, showing no signs of embarrassment, continues. “She out of an extreme self-centeredness, instead of imploring to Almighty for goodness and bounties for the entire citizenry, sought to serve her base self-interest…!” Some of Ultra- loyalists in the crowd shouted, “Shame, Shame, Shame.” Prosecutor continues: “She is known to have demanded herself a daughter-in-law – when she still was nurturing her baby-boy in the womb – churning milk in a Silver-barrel with a Golden- rocker and a sanction to play with her grand-son…!” “What is your prayer?” Magistrate enquired visibly getting upset with Prosecutor’s extended primer. “My lord, our prayer is that Allah Rakhi be directed to divulge all information with regard to Saint so that collective benefits for the citizenry are extracted from that fellow before he vanishes into the valley of death, failing which Allah Rakhi be punished to life imprisonment with twenty-four lashes upfront.” He looked at the lasher meaningfully. Dara Masih felt itching in his hands holding the bamboo rod. Magistrate now turned to Allah Rakhi. “What do you have to say in your defence, old lady”? Allah Rakhi, apparently disoriented, remained silent. Magistrate sought to frame his question differently. “What is the truth”? She still remains silent. Commander, who is completely engrossed in the proceedings, looks towards Jawans. A Jawan pops out of the seat and pushes Allah Rakhi in the ribs with a wooden stick. She curls. Ultra-loyalists vehemently shout: “Lash her. Lash her. Lash her.” Magistrate feeling the heat, growls at Allah Rakhi, annoyed. “What you have to say in your defence…say something ... anything…otherwise, I would be compelled to pronounce my judgment. So, say something before it is too late.” ”Some two twenty-years ago when my man had just died by falling in the village well, he met me with his knife and dirty clothes. I gave him food and washed his clothes, and he became happy with me. He wanted to help me, if I promised not to reveal him. He thought my heart had the depth to keep the secret. During Shab-e-Qadar he prayed for me…God was kind … and after a few months, I got the emblem of my late husband – my son – and I never shared this secret with anybody!” “How about the Silver-barrel and the Golden-rocker, and the remaining allegations?” Magistrate enquired probingly. “Yes, then he the most unfortunate, my only son, ran away with everything, the Silver-barrel, the Golden-rocker, and the lush woman. I don’t know when he would have pity on me to bring up my grandson to play with me, and let me get rid of my now simmering and feeble body.” She completed the sentence in utter dejection. “How about Saint?” Magistrate frowned. “I don’t know. He would have died and been down beneath the surface by now!” Allah Rakhi replied nonchalantly and collapsed. Before Magistrate could pose any further questions, Ultra-loyalists clamoured again: “Lash her. Lash her. Lash her!” Prosecutor pressed the point that she had feigned fainting. Magistrate took time, before pronouncing his judgment: “Although Allah Rakhi has been guilty of observing confidentiality of the secrets that are so very important for the smooth running of the Commanderate, its citizenry, and the Order here, yet keeping in view her old age, infirm body, and the fact that she has just fainted, it is ordained that she be put behind the bars for the rest of her life.” The punishment being on the lower side did not go well with Ultra-loyalists, who raised slogans of “Shame. Shame. Shame!” Then suddenly everything went into an eerie silence – a lull before the storm. Four Jawans pounced on Magistrate and punching and kicking him in the ribs took him away. They also whisked away Allah Rakhi from the scene. In the background, Ultra-loyalists kept raising slogans: “Long Live Commander. Long Live Commander. Long Live Commander!” ** When the proceedings resumed, there was New Magistrate in place, and a new deviant in the dock. Prosecutor as usual read aloud the Statement of Allegations. “This man who is known as Lal Din is known to have known and knows Saint who is known to have known and knows to spot Flash of Acceptance during Shab-e-Qadar.” “Lal Din out of an utter greed for wealth – the very insult to the Commanderate – is known to have sought for himself an expensive iron plank, which he hid in his paddy fields and let it rust, and then, later on, was caught trying to cut it into pieces and sell – without realizing that the plank now had assumed the status of a holy relic for the entire Commanderate…” Prosecutor’s eloquence had no end. “Our prayer, my lord, thus is, that Lal Din be ordered to reveal the name of Saint, so that collective good of the Commanderate’s citizenry be ensured, along with validation of confiscation of the iron plank.” Looking at New Magistrate, Prosecutor concluded his inquisition. New Magistrate turned to Lal Din with visibly a belligerent tone… “What is the truth, cheat?” Lal Din was looking for an opportunity. “Well, one day I was planking my paddy fields in the afternoon, when he with a knife in his hands passed by; he was going to another far village, I thought. He was thirsty and hungry. My wife had just brought me food. I shared my bread and milk with him, and he was happy. He told me he was Saint. I said ‘it is ok’. He asked me if I wanted anything. I asked him to pray for my ailing buffalo. He laughed. He was more happy with me and asked for something more. I didn’t know what to ask, and then he said the falling night was Shab-e-Qadar and I could get anything I wanted. I still didn’t know what to ask. He advised me that I could even get that plank of mine turned gold. I thought he joked. I refused because then how would I plank my fields? My wife laughed. He told me I was a dude, and I might not then need planking at all. My wife was happy. He advised me to lift the plank on my shoulder and keep saying; ‘Oh, You owner of Shab-e-Qadar turn it gold…; Oh, You owner of Shab-e-Qadar turn it gold…; Oh, You owner of Shab-e-Qadar turn it gold…!” Saint said I had to keep repeating it quickly because Flash of Acceptance was only very very small. Saint started offering his prayers. He kept offering prayers all night. It was quite tough and my wife gave me water. I remember I stood all night and one of my sheep gave two baby lambs that night. Late mid-night my shoulder tired, but his prayers did not come to an end. Whole night standing with a plank on your shoulder is not easy, but my wife encouraged me and I stood. She managed the cattle. How long …? My shoulder swelled. It was painful. I felt my shoulder would break. Saint was there to identify me Flash of Acceptance, but he did not … he kept praying. Tired, I threw my plank down saying hell with gold … turn iron …, and it turned iron … It was my bad luck…I am not sure about trees, and animals, but Saint was prostrating.” New Magistrate growled. “I am not interested in tales man; where is Saint?” “How would I know?” Lal Din retorted. “Did he advise you to keep his identity confidential?” New Magistrate questioned. “Yes, he said to me but that was many years ago, and how would I remember him even if I want to? I don’t think I know him anymore? So may I go now as I have to feed my buffalos? They would be hungry!” Lal Din’s hurry further fuelled New Magistrate’s ire. His wink was good for a judgment to bring Dara Masih into the act. Lal Din did not budge an inch for the full quota of a dozen whips. This was unusual. This had never happened to Dara Masih; the target would start uttering the wanted words much before the pronounced punishment had been awarded fully. He looked at New Magistrate enquiringly, who obliged him with a nod of his head that meant extension in punishment by one hundred per cent. According to the decree of Commander, Magistrate carried a carte blanche – he could change, increase, decrease the quantum and nature of punishment to any level for any deviant, but was responsible to produce positive results. The hunter could become hunted in no time in the Commanderate, so he had to be careful. His predecessor-in- office had just been sent to jail on charges of conniving and commiserating with a deviant. “Where is Saint?” New Magistrate fumed after the twentieth whip. He was afraid of losing Lal Din along with that critical information Commander needed so desperately to restore Order. “I don’t know!” Lal Din murmured after that fierce hit. “You shut up bastard … it can’t be.” Magistrate got out of his elevated dais and kicked him between the legs irritably. “Ok! Let it be so…” Lal Din said resignedly. “Who and where is Saint?” New Magistrate growled and slapped Lal Din in the face. “Which Saint you are talking about – he was just a passer-by. I don’t know him anymore. I swear I don’t know him. Now let me go; my wife alone cannot feed the cattle!” Visibly broken Lal Din pleaded. Dara Masih sensing success, hopped for the next strike. This stalemate came to an end when Lal Din’s bare back bled badly, and he felt they would take him like in cases of so many people he knew and then they were never heard of. This terrified him. Lal Din thought he was a man of his words; but he had been caught and lashed brutally. He sympathized with Saint. *** Decree for Saint’s arrest was immediately issued, but Commander’s camp increasingly felt frustrated as Shab-e-Qadar was fast approaching, too. To read the rest of this story please download the full text from the 2010 Anthology for £0.86 HERE ***** © Muhammad Ashfaq All Rights Reserved www.millionstories.net What we like about this story: It makes myth-making a modern endeavour and reminds us that while we may pass away stories can live forever. Cool-Character Wrote: It is awesome and captivating. I happened to read the story as I was just browsing, and then I recommended to my friends. We all agree that it is really good stuff. I am writing an article on the story for the "Iran Bulletin" - which is already longer than the story itself. I do not know if the writer is Iranian, but the story is all Iranian but it could be applicable to all Muslim cultures and their despotic ruling structures. The strength of the story comes from the myth of shab-e-Kadar and the Iranian folk-lore woven around it (Alah Rakhi and Lal Din), and its symbolic description in modern diction. When you anthologize it, it will be hit in Iran and the Muslim world, I am sure. I would share my article when it is published in the "Iran Bulletin". Shazia Khanum Wrote: Hey, It took me quite a while to understand the story, but when I did, it took me another quite a while to unfurl and peel off its layers. Ashfaq has craftily juxtaposed the Muslim religious fable and sub-fables within the political systems as prevalent in much of the Muslim world. Kudos to you as well for understanding a fiction replete with allusions not easily understandable in the Western World. God bless you for making this story available to us. A. Haider Wrote: A gripping round up of chilling rites. I don't agree with an earlier commentor that it is an Iranian story. Isn't it patently Syrian one? Does not it capture what recently happened in Bangaldesh, Pakistan, and Malysia when Enver was charged with immorality and jailed for life. It is a terrifying tale, which develops its own locale, law, lingo, lore, and lusts, and the reader is lost in the world of the story itself. |
| We like this story because: It takes us into the realm of myth in a very modern way. Here, the future meets the ancient in a fable that tells us that you don't always get what you want! |
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