The Death of Sheherzad

by Intizar Hussain

  Then Abu Tahir, who was the eldest among us, looked towards me and said, ‘What do you have to say about this, O Mansur?’

  I offered, ‘Friends, remember the hadith of the Prophet: When your city becomes narrow and small for you, you must leave it and go away.’

  Upon hearing these words, all three friends were convinced and we began to make preparations for our departure.

  How easy we had thought it would be to leave the city, and how difficult it turned out to be.

  There were guards at the gates. Those who wished to enter and those who left were barred and questioned. Several times we reached the two gates and quietly returned upon seeing the alert, watchful sentries. Kufa was increasingly becoming cramped and intolerable for us, so cramped that it seemed like a mousetrap. And trapped inside it, we were like the mice that go round and round but are unable to escape.

  Seeing no means for our departure, we became utterly despondent. Haroon-bin-Sohail heaved a deep sigh and said, ‘If only our mothers had turned barren and our fathers’ seed gone to waste so that we would never have been born and never have had to see such black days!’

  Jafar Raba’ii cried and said, ‘Shame on us that we are willing to endure captivity in our own city and shame on the city too that she has become a stepmother to her own sons.’

  Having reached this nadir of despair, we became fearless. After all, what did we have to lose? Somehow we strengthened our resolve and set out. We do not know how it happened. Either the sentries were temporarily blinded or perchance they fell asleep. Be that as it may, we were now out of the city and breathing the air of freedom.

  The evening shadows were lengthening and the hot air was turning cooler.

  ‘Friends! The night is dark and the journey is long.’

  ‘Is this night darker than the days we have seen in Kufa?’

  The argument went down well with everyone. We agreed to travel on into the ink-black night.

  ‘But where shall we go?’

  The question caught everyone unawares. We had simply set out. We had given no thought at all to where we would go.

  Abu Tahir thought for a moment, then said, ‘Medina, where else?’

  Jafar Raba’ii and I agreed with the suggestion, but Haroon-bin-Sohail fell into deep thought. Then, softly, he said, ‘What if Medina too has become Kufa?’

  All of us looked angrily at him. ‘O friend,’ Jafar Raba’ii said, ‘how can you say such a thing about that resplendent city, especially when you yourself are from its soil?’

  Haroon-bin-Sohail checked himself, then said, ‘Friends, no doubt it is a holy city. Its soil is fragrant, its water is sacred, but I have met those who have come from it. I have seen how worried they have been.’

  At this, we fell silent. No one could think of an answer. But Haroon-bin-Sohail had still not finished. He spoke thoughtfully, ‘Friends, the more I think about it, the more it surprises me that the cities that were once lit by the Light of Truth turned over to the other side so quickly. How quickly their days became disconsolate and their nights without rest!’

  Abu Tahir looked angrily towards him and said, ‘O disobedient, untrue son of Sohail, may your mother sit in mourning over you! Do you refute the essential Truth of Islam?’

  Haroon-bin-Sohail said, ‘Respected Elder, I seek shelter from the day when I may inadvertently cast doubt on the wisdom of my elders and refute the Truth that is Islam, but Kufa …’

  Abu Tahir cut him off angrily, ‘What about Kufa? What do you want to say?’

  ‘That is exactly what I am trying to say: what is it about Kufa and why? The more I push away all thoughts of Kufa, the more they crowd around me. Why does Kufa appear in the midst of thoughts of that holy city? And why does it appear so quickly? It hasn’t even been very long since the hijrat of the Prophet.’

  I could see Abu Tahir’s temper rising. I decided to intervene. ‘My suggestion is that we proceed towards that city which has been called by the highest of the highs the City of Peace. Even if the world is run over by tyrants and the earth is carpeted in riots, there will be no disorder in the peace and tranquillity of the holy city of Mecca.’

  Everyone agreed with my suggestion, and we mounted our camels immediately. The darkness was immense, for this was one of those nights that fall in the early days of the new moon. But our resolve drew us inexorably on. The night became steadily drenched with dew and the nip in the air filled our hearts with delight. Engrossed in thoughts of the City of Peace, drunk on the heady brew of freedom, we rode on. I nearly dozed off on my camel and what a beautiful dream I saw! I was sitting in the City of Peace amidst pious and saintly elders, telling them about the state of affairs in Kufa when, suddenly, I heard a voice. ‘But we have once again reached there.’ Startled, I opened my eyes. It was dawn and before us lay the walls of Kufa.

  ‘We have once again reached here,’ Jafar Raba’ii was speaking.

  Abu Tahir and Haroon-bin-Sohail looked at the walls, their eyes filled with astonishment and terror.

  ‘But how is that possible?’ The words escaped my mouth.

  Abu Tahir took a minute to think. Then he said, ‘The night was exceedingly dark. We did not pay attention to the direction we were taking. We took the same path we had taken to escape.’

  We were all silent.

  ‘What shall we do now?’ Jafar Raba’ii asked.

  Once again, Abu Tahir weighed his words carefully, then said, ‘It is impossible to go back, for the guards have spotted us. Perhaps Nature does not want us to leave this place.’

  Haroon bin-Sohail took a long, shuddering breath and said, ‘You are right. Kufa is our destiny.’

  And I, Mansur bin Noman al-Hadeedi, became sorrowful and said, ‘Yes, Mecca is our dream; Kufa is our fate.’

  And we trooped back into Kufa, tired and defeated.

  The Story about the Monkeys

  of the Big Forest1

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  This is the tragic tale of the monkeys of the Big Forest, the monkeys that have since disappeared without a trace. The place where the monkeys once lived has turned into a city full of human beings; where there were once tall trees there are now sky-scraping buildings. It is said that once upon a time there was a densely forested tract here. There were monkeys on the trees, so many monkeys that they could scarcely be counted. The monkeys had sharp teeth, sharper claws and strong bodies. Their life was all about ravaging and pillaging the groves and orchards far and near, lunging from the branch of one dense tree to the other and eating the ripe and unripe fruits that grew on them. The monkeys were free-spirited and fearless. They spent their days jumping from tree to tree in the dense undergrowth, climbing the highest branches of the tallest trees to touch the skies and outdoing each other in jumping higher and further.

  Those who tended the orchards and the fields were heartily sick of the monkeys. The monkeys were known to be so ferocious that those who tended the orchards and the fields did not have the courage to face them. Once, a wise farmer came up with a novel scheme. He brought some gram, a big chunk of jaggary and some sticks, and placed them under a large tree in the Big Forest. He came back and told the owners of the orchards and the fields that henceforth their crops would be safe and the wayfarers would be able to travel safely through the forest because he had taken care of the monkey menace.

  The monkeys saw the gram and the chunk of jaggary and came down from the trees and fell upon the gram. The gram, at least, they shared among themselves, but one greedy monkey grabbed the chunk of jaggary and went off to eat it by himself. An alert monkey saw this and immediately leapt towards the greedy monkey, grabbed the jaggary and went off to a far side. A sturdy monkey saw this and pounced to grab the jaggary and made off with it. The other monkeys saw the jaggary disappearing before their eyes and fell upon their fleeing comrade. Soon, the chunk of jaggary was up for grabs – now in one pair of paws, now in another. In the midst of this melee, one monkey got a strange idea in his head; he picked up one of the sticks and brought it do
wn hard on the head of the monkey who held the chunk of jaggary. The monkey’s head split wide open and the chunk of jaggary fell from his clutches. The monkey with the stick immediately pounced on the jaggary. At first, the pack of monkeys stood in fearful stillness at this strange sight, but then they saw more sticks lying under the tree. The sturdier among them picked up a stick each. The fight that now broke out among them cannot be described. One suffered a broken head, another a broken leg, still another a bloodied mouth.

  When the monkeys were exhausted and paused to draw a breath, they went and sat down far away from each other. That is when they saw that the oldest among them was sitting on a high branch of a peepal tree; his eyes were closed and his head was bent. The old monkey was the wisest in their community. All the other monkeys respected him. Seeing him sitting with his eyes closed and head bent, they crowded around him, enquiring about his health and asking why he sat in such a manner. The wise old monkey raised his head to look at them with his red eyes and, speaking in a sorrowful voice, mourned the plummeting standards of social etiquette among monkeys, their fall into the pit of human-ness, and the fact that their unity was being ripped to shreds.

  The words of the wise monkey had a deep impact on the other monkeys. The next day, they did not fight amongst themselves at all. When the wise farmer came to place the gram and jaggary under the tree once more, those monkeys who had picked up sticks took possession of the goods. They distributed them among all the monkeys. The other monkeys were happy: they didn’t get their heads bashed up and yet got to eat the gram and jaggary.

  The wise farmer turned out to be a canny man: every day he would deposit a lot of gram and jaggary under the tree. The monkeys thought it was a good thing they got their daily sustenance without having to forage and plunder orchards and fields. But monkey business, as you know, is famous for a good reason. Some days one monkey would get a larger share and some days an especially good-looking female monkey would get a bigger share than the others. This would cause an outcry among the monkeys who would climb the branches of the trees and let loose a raucous protest. Sometimes, one monkey would clatter its teeth and get into a scuffle with another. They would fight and grapple with each other, but then, after some time, peace would be restored.

  Once, it so happened that the gram fell short. The monkeys screeched and howled at each other. One monkey climbed down from his perch on the high branches of a tree and created such a din that his face grew red as a burning ember. But soon, like the others, he was exhausted and fell silent. The next day, the gram fell shorter still, and it so happened that while some monkeys stuffed their faces with the gram, others could get no more than a few grains. On the third day, a matter of minutes after they had been placed under the tree, only the gram remained and the chunk of jaggary disappeared. No one knew who had picked it up or where it had been hidden. Soon, it became a matter of routine: the chunk of jaggary would disappear in the blink of an eye, and the gram fell to the lot of some while most had to do without any. In the early days, this would cause great outrage among the monkeys and they would let loose a clamour, but soon their anger abated. Unfortunately, they had completely abandoned their practice of pillaging and ravaging orchards and fields. They were completely focussed on the jaggary and gram that was left for them every day.

  One fine day, the monkeys created an uproar when they could get no gram. A young monkey appeared among them, propped himself against the trunk of a tree and launched into a speech on the impermanence of gram. This was an entirely new move for the others. They looked at this self-appointed spokesperson with wide-open eyes. When they could not understand what was going on, they closed their eyes. One of them began to pick the lice out of his female’s head. A young female climbed a tree and hung upside down from a branch. When the young monkey finished his speech, the wise old monkey looked closely at him and announced in a sorrowful tone: ‘This monkey wants to become human.’

  This announcement created a furore among the assembled monkeys. They looked closely at the self-appointed monkey, but they could not understand how he could have become human. The self-appointed monkey furiously replied, ‘This is a completely false allegation against me.’

  The wise monkey said, ‘Monkeys are supposed to eat gram, not give speeches on it. If such a thing happens, let it be known that the monkey race has fallen into decline. Evidently, some members of this race want to change their form.’

  The monkeys asked, ‘O Wise One, what is meant by changing one’s form?’

  The wise monkey replied, ‘When a monkey acquires the traits of another race and, for the sake of this mortal life, changes his way of life, that is known as changing one’s form. Have you not heard the story about a monkey named Jan-e Alam?’

  The monkeys expressed their surprise and asked, ‘Who was Jan-e Alam and what is his story?’

  The wise monkey told them, ‘It cannot be said with any certainty as to who Jan-e Alam was. I have heard from older monkeys that he was a monkey like us, but had changed his form and become a human. But it has also been said that he was a human who had changed form and become a monkey. Be that as it may, monkeys and humans have always changed and interchanged forms to become one or the other. Sometimes humans become monkeys and sometimes it is the other way round. From my ancestors, I have heard that there was a time when there was a large-scale slaughter of monkeys. Monkey blood became cheaper than the blood of humans. It was in the midst of this calamity that Jan-e Alam was caught and paraded atop an elephant so that the populace could get a good look at him before he was slaughtered. Jan-e Alam came up with a clever idea: he launched into a lecture.

  ‘Three old monkeys, who had somehow managed to evade the vigilant eye of the minister’s sons, sat hidden on the branches of a tall tree. As soon as the procession came close by, they peered through the foliage and what do they see? They see a monkey riding atop an elephant. What is more, he is reciting an elegy on the declining world and the sorrowful times in Urdu, and the people around him are scratching their heads in befuddlement.

  ‘One of the three monkeys said in a tone of part-surprise and part-grief, “This creature of God appears to be changing his form. He is talking exactly like a human.”

  ‘The second monkey drew a long breath and said, “These are nothing but signs of the decline of the monkey race.”

  ‘The third monkey spoke in a tone laced with anxiety, “If this lad continues to exhibit these symptoms, he will ruin our youth.”

  ‘The first one spoke in a disappointed tone, “He is hardly likely to return amongst us. He has learnt the use of alliterations in his statements. He will become a teacher at some college amongst humans. He will teach literature or conduct research on the Fasana-e-Ajaib.”2

  ‘The second monkey sighed again and said, “Bad monkeys meet with a bad end.”’

  And with this, the wise monkey closed his eyes.

  The assembly of monkeys was much impressed by this story. But the young monkey addressed the wise one thus, ‘O Wise Monkey, one has to be educated to become a teacher, and in order to be educated one has to study books. If monkeys cannot read books, how can they become teachers and how can they teach language and literature?’

  The wise monkey looked closely at him and said, ‘O Young One, did you not get your gram today …?’

  The young monkey replied, ‘I haven’t got any gram for the past three days.’

  The wise monkey said, ‘No wonder you are asking such a question. If monkeys don’t get gram to eat they start asking questions. O Child of a Monkey, it is not necessary to be literate to become a teacher, or to have read and studied to be called a learned being. Have you not heard the story of the literate monkey in the qissa of Alif Laila?’3

  The young monkey asked in surprise, ‘O Old One, what is the story of the literate monkey in Alif Laila?’

  Then the wise monkey said, ‘The story of the literate monkey in Alif Laila goes like this: Once there was a ship that could not reach the shore. When the ship
’s captain could find no fault with the ship, he addressed his passengers thus, “Friends, there is one among you who has escaped from his master. All of you must write down your name and address, and the one who fails to do so will be deemed the suspicious one and will be taken off the ship.” All the passengers wrote down their names and addresses with alacrity. The captain ran his eye over the list, then counted the passengers and found the numbers to be correct. Then he ran his eye over the entire ship and espied a monkey sitting in one corner. He saw the monkey and was alarmed. He immediately decided that the monkey must be taken off the ship.

  ‘The monkey was upset by this decision and, like a human, began to beg and plead. When his entreaties had no effect, he lunged and picked up a pen and wrote down his name and address. Upon seeing this, the people of the ship were much amazed and began to exclaim that even monkeys had become people of the pen!

  ‘Then the monkey narrated his tale of sorrows thus: “Friends, I am a monkey of the poet laureate of your city. He raised me since I was a baby. He used to love me dearly. When he sat down to write a qasidah, I would jump into his lap and watch him closely as he wrote and whenever he went out, I would pick up his pen and try to write like him. One day he saw me writing. He saw that the qasidah written by me was much better than his. This made him envious and he ran to kill me. I ran for my life and jumped onto your ship in the hope that I could travel to another city where art would be appreciated and become a source of livelihood for me.”

  ‘A physician, who was also a writer, happened to be travelling on the ship. He heard the story and spoke in a sorrowful tone, “Now monkeys too have become people of the pen! Where is the joy of writing?” And so saying, he broke his own pen into pieces and flung them into the sea.’

  The wise monkey had narrated this incident to strike awe and terror into the heart of his audience, but since it was the time of the decline of the monkey race, and every instruction has the opposite effect during an age of decline, this strange anecdote had the opposite effect on the young monkey, so much so that he began to dream of turning into Jan-e Alam. And he asked, ‘So what happened to Jan-e Alam?’