The Dying Sun: Stories

By Joginder Paul

Does age ever catch up with the immortal? Listen in as Heer and Ranjha converse in whispered tones of a time that was; walk around with Lord Ram who has stepped out of the mosque compound, unable to cope with the frenzy of devotees who have installed him there; fly away to London, where the ageing Kasturi Lal Brahman struggles to let go of the idea of India; follow the travails of a 'perfect couple' who compromise on everything that is decent to create the 'perfect life' for themselves; listen to a dog who has walked off the pages of an author's stories to engage him in discussion on the world he has left behind. The Dying Sun collects eminent Urdu writer Joginder Paul's stories of wonder, whimsy and wisdom. With elegant simplicity, Paul describes the journeys of his characters through myriad landscapes, from the tangible to the internal and the imagined. A pungent satire on liberalization, a mother's plangent longing for her son, a playful take on an accountant's obsession with a character in a TV serial as he copes with the drudgery of his daily life - Paul's writing encompasses worlds that defy the imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperPerennial
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9789350298923

Joginder Paul

Winner of the Iqbal Samman and the Ghalib Award among a host of other literary honours, is widely regarded as one of the most innovative and compelling writers in Urdu today. Edited by noted critic and poet, Sukrita Paul Kumar, this new translation by and faithfully recreates the lightness of touch, and the nuance and sophistication of the original.

Book preview

Heer Ranjha

‘What’s the matter?’ asked old Ranjha, making a vain attempt to cough out the phlegm stuck in his throat, and without waiting for an answer he continued, ‘We spent all our lives in useless things, doing this and that, Heere.’

‘Yes, but life is not over yet, is it?’ said Heer, her voice fluttering out of her deeply lined face.

‘But Heere, it is time it was over.’ With another noisy attempt at clearing his throat, Ranjha managed to get the phlegm out. There was a look of pure relief on his face after that. ‘People just didn’t allow us to die even after we have ceased to exist.’

‘Yes, Ranjhe, people after all! They will not allow you to live in peace nor let you die … haaye … aah…!’

‘Now what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing new! The same old joint pains.’

‘Why are you groaning then? It’s only joint pains, isn’t it?’ Another gob of phlegm had sneaked into his throat. ‘Most people enjoy life till they are seventy or eighty and then depart for the other shore.’ cough, cough he went. ‘But look at us – khaon – still lingering on and no end in sight.’

‘But tell me, Ranjhe, are we really still alive?’

‘You are a strange woman! If we are not dead, we must be alive, you fool!’

‘Haaye … aah!’

‘I am fed up of your aahs and haayes.’

‘If you are so fed up, why don’t you wring my neck?’

‘Arre bhai, it’s your joints that pain and it’s my ribs that ache. I don’t bring the skies down on my head, do I?’

‘What do you know how deadly joint pains can be!’

‘The pain in my ribs is just as bad, but what to do? Our lives seem to be trapped in us.’

‘You’re right. If only we could breathe our last! We would be at peace. Why don’t people just push us out of their myths and legends?’

Ranjha suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter.

‘When you begin to laugh like this in the midst of your groaning, you sound as though the pain in your ribs has intensified.’

‘Haha-haha!’

‘Don’t laugh so hard lest you break a rib or two.’

‘Can I ask you a question, Heere?’

‘Ask ten. Only don’t scare me with your laughter.’

‘Just think … what lies we used to tell in our youth!’

‘Lies? What sort of lies?’

‘What sort of lies are there? Lies are lies – sweet sometimes, but lies all the same.’

‘So what? At least they were sweet ones.’

‘The soft, smooth desire to tell lies would fill my mouth. I would hold your hand and say wistfully…’

‘We can’t tell whether we are happy or unhappy when we are young.’

‘Why are you interrupting me? I’d hold your hand and say, I am your Heer, o Heere! Hahaha! And you would respond in the same tone, I’m your Ranjha, o Ranjhe! What nonsense! Professing to be Heer and Ranjha all at the same time … ha ha ha … utter rubbish!’

‘Arre! Why are you calling it nonsense? When the soul is in agony, everyone looks like one’s own self.’

‘Hahaha’ (a fit of coughing overtakes him). ‘Khaon … kha…’

‘Didn’t I warn you not to laugh so hard?’

Ranjha spat a blob of phlegm and felt better.

‘Haaye … oh!’

‘Now what’s the matter?’

‘What do you care? If you take your mind off your ribs for a bit, you will pay attention to my joints!’

‘Why do you quarrel so? Have some patience!’

‘How can I be patient?’

‘That’s what I was about to tell you…’

‘I know exactly what you were about to tell me.’

‘Khaon … khaon…’ Ranjha’s throat was full of another mass of phlegm.

‘You know what pain is only when your own body suffers it.’

‘You go around as if you are very smart, why don’t you find a way to put us out of this misery once and for all?’

‘There is only one way out …’

‘Hurry up … tell me what it is. There has to be a way to end this living death somehow … Haaye.’

‘First stop your haaye haaye, for God’s sake!’ Ranjha’s anger gave rise to another bout of coughing.

‘And for God’s sake, don’t you start to laugh again or it will be difficult to stop your cough.’

‘Khaon … khaon…’ The blob of phlegm stuck in his throat suddenly popped out of his mouth, bringing a smile of relief to Ranjha’s face. ‘Yes, and what was I trying to say?’

‘How should I know?’

‘That there is only one way to get rid of this life.’

So pleased was Heer that she forgot all about her joint pains. ‘You have this terrible habit of going round in circles. Tell me quickly – what is it?’

‘It is this – somehow get out of these legends and find a life outside. You will be surprised how quickly you meet your end.’

‘Then what are we waiting for? Come, let’s step out of these tales.’

‘You are so foolish!’ Ranjha stopped to take a good look at his old woman. ‘Disentangling from the magical weave of immortal legends is no mean feat!’

The Settled People

The hero and heroine of my novel were really upset with me. In the novel, they were moving naturally and logically towards their marriage, but I ruined their plans by imposing my preferences on the plot and keeping them apart till the very last page.

Actually, I was very fond of them. But the trouble was that if I had created a situation conducive to their marriage, they would have begun to live for each other, and the goals I had set for my own life would have fallen by the wayside. All said and done, they were my characters, and whoever or whatever they were, it was courtesy me. So, they had no alternative but to continue to generate the means of my livelihood.

The two of them were just waiting for an opportunity, and one day they slipped out of my sight and disappeared. I scanned every sentence of the manuscript and searched every place to find them hidden behind their own names. But only if they were there would I have found them, isn’t it?

I began to feel truly remorseful. If I were to meet them somewhere, I would have immediately made them take their vows, but it was too late now. I simply hid myself under the covers and lay down. You will be amazed to learn that one day, several years later, I ran into them in my own town. Yes, they were extremely cordial and took me to their home. Actually, they had got married as soon as they left the pages of my novel. And now, after all these years they were the proud parents of three lovely children.

Seeing them so happily settled in life, I did not have the heart to ask them to return to the novel!

The Shelter

When all the others had left, Phattu and Veero too took to the road leading to the fairground. Both of them bounced along so fast that it seemed they wanted to get to the mela before the road reached there.

Mirza watched them from the terrace of Hakim Sultan Shah’s house with a smile. Running his fingers through his beard, he said, ‘Only the young can bounce this way.’

‘You’re absolutely right, Mirza!’ replied Hakim, adjusting the chillum on his hookah. ‘But the pity is that youth never stays put.’

‘That’s just the problem, my friend! The poor old paths remain rooted, rolling along in their own dust, while the young ones stride past and get lost, who knows where!’

Taking the pipe of the hookah out of his mouth, Hakim Sultan Shah said, ‘The fun and frolic of youth lasts but a few days. If the old routes were also to move from their places, how would the young find their way back home?’

‘Wah! Well said!’ Mirza replied appreciatively and pulled the stem of the hookah towards his mouth. ‘Sell these sayings of yours in little packets along with those you give for fevers, Hakim! What do we zamindars know except to dig up and soften the earth?’

‘You are not capable of even that any more, Mirze!’

Mirza looked up only to fix his gaze on Phattu and Veero. ‘I wish I could preserve this image of the two of them in my eyes forever.’

When Hakim opened his mouth to answer his friend, his voice sounded suspiciously like the gurgle of the hookah. ‘When the two of them used to meet secretly before their marriage, they could never find sugar-cane fields that were dense and tall enough to hide their love from probing eyes.’

‘Ah, yes, Shah.’ Mirza seemed intoxicated by the smoke of the hookah or perhaps by the image of Phattu and Veero’s love. ‘When lovers gain such heights, the sugar cane swells with sweetness and leans over their heads to reach their mouths.’

It was Hakim’s turn to draw on the hookah. ‘Wah, my friend! You really do know how to soften the earth and sell it. Your words have filled my mouth with the sweetness of all the sugar cane I have sucked in my life.’ He took a long drag of the hookah and gulped a mouthful of smoke down his throat. ‘I submitted to a second nikah only for the sake of Ummed’s upbringing. But it is my late wife who still resonates in my bones. You know, I had pulled her away from amidst a hundred drawn spears … Hold on, I will take another puff.’

Mirza again cast a glance towards the dusty path that ended in the fairground after a mile or so. ‘They must be near the mela by now.’

‘Youth is a mela in itself, Mirze. How can your misty eyes hope to contain it? Here, wet your throat,’ he said, pushing the hookah to him, ‘and chant the name of Allah!’

‘Take all my lands, Sultan Shah, but make me a potion that will infuse new life into these old bones for at least six months to a year.’

‘I just said, didn’t I, that it’s time to think of Allah. If new life is injected into your old bones, they will wear out even faster.’

Just then, Kallu Mirasi climbed up to Hakim’s terrace, groaning in pain, ‘Pain in my tooth, very bad, Hakimji.’

‘Go and eat more of your Mirasin’s jaggery. What else did you expect?’

‘You’re the sultan and you are the shah, Hakimji – you were the one who advised that good woman to feed me almond-filled jaggery.’

‘You fool! When did I tell you to stuff yourself with it so you get cavities in your mouth? Here, take this medicine. Rub it on your gums and go to sleep.’

‘What else is there for me to do, Hakimji, with Mirasin having gone off to the mela?’

Mirasi said his salaams and went down the steps. Then Mirza said, ‘Is it true, Sultan Shah, that whenever Phattu and Veero set off across the hill, Mirasin kept watch on this side?’

From the sound of the hookah, Hakim Sultan Shah could tell that the fire had died out, so instead of answering Mirza’s question he began to stoke it with a piece of wire. ‘You don’t even possess the energy to rekindle the fire in the chillum – no wonder your Mirzain is fading away.’

‘Good you reminded me! Before I go, be sure to give me a pudiya for Mirzain.’

‘Yes, yes, sure…’

Hakim started to fan the fire with a piece of cardboard and, as the coals turned to embers, his eyes reflected the glow. ‘Finally some life in it…’

‘So, is it true, then?’

Hakim ignored Mirza’s query once again and, exhaling the smoke from his mouth, said, ‘When the warmth percolates through the water and reaches your mouth, how does it feel?

‘I feel like going chuk-chuk like a steam engine.’

‘I feel the same. But the right use of this energy is to let everybody’s engines keep chugging.’

‘You’re right, my friend, but why aren’t you answering my question? Is it true?’

‘Yes, it is.’ He then turned towards the door behind him and shouted, ‘Arre bhai! Do you hear me? Mirza is here and says he won’t leave without a cup of tea.’

‘Assalaam-e-aleikum, bhabhi. I will have my lunch also here.’

Both of them began to laugh and the sound of their laughter brought a little mouse out of its hole. It came close to them and started scampering around.

Hakim Sultan Shah suddenly became serious and said to Mirza, ‘Mirasin is very fond of Phattu. She often tells him that if she were twelve or so years older, he would have been born of her own womb. She is barely three or four years older than him and yet she watches over him like he is her own child.’

‘That’s true. You know, there was a rumour that she was in love with Phattu!’

‘Well, a bold, unabashed person is our Mirasin – if not a lover, at least a son. At first, she was nervous because Phattu is a devout Muslim and Veero a staunch Hindu, but then she realized that if they are forbidden to live for each other they will not live at all. If the word gets around in the village, she said to me, think about it, Hakimji, so many sick people draw breath in this world, but that does not defile the pure air of Allah. Whereas the breath of Phattu and Veero is so unsullied that it could breathe life into the dead. The Hindus and Muslims are fighting each other for nothing. Why don’t they let the lovers live with their love?’ Hakim felt an obstruction in the pipe of the hookah. So he stopped in the middle of his conversation and began to blow into it.

‘When it is a matter of love, Sultan Shah, it is not a question of religion, but of faith.’

‘Right. That’s why Mirasin lay like a layer of scum on the surface of deep waters so that no eye could penetrate to the bottom – aah, now the hookah is bubbling like a spring – yes, I was telling you that Mirasin did all she could, but when it rains, the scum proves powerless. The affair came to light and the story spread like fire. There, your tea has arrived.’

Hakim’s wife placed two glasses in front of them, poured the tea up to the brim, then turned to Mirza. ‘Why do you always come by yourself? Why don’t you bring our sister along too?’

‘I would have loved to, but God knows who made your husband a Hakim! His medicine is only making her sicker and sicker.’

‘If that’s so, why don’t you ask him to take me to visit her?’

‘Why, you do go and see her every now and again, have I ever stopped you? In fact, I suggest you two live over there while Mirza and I stay here. There is no give or take between us any longer.’

‘That account of give and take we will settle only in His presence.’

‘In that case, my good woman, add one more debit … the preparation of hookah … to my account. With your kindness, it will be great to enjoy the fresh hookah after a hot cup of tea.’

After Hakim’s wife left the room with the hookah, Mirza turned his gaze back to the road leading to the mela. ‘It looks as though the path is waiting with bated breath … the moment it gets itself together it will make a run for it.’

‘Say a prayer, Mirze, that the old and the roads always remain steadfast so the young do not lose their way.’

‘Yes, you’ve said it before.’

Both of them were looking down at their tea, thinking that it was still too hot. They would have to let it cool before picking it up.

Just then the village sarpanch Kans Rav’s nephew appeared. ‘Ram Ram, Hakim Chacha, Ram Ram, Mirza Chacha.’

‘Bless you, Durge. What brings you here?’

‘Tau has asked for saunf extract, Hakim Chacha. Ranu has a stomach ache.’

‘What kind of ache?’

‘The kind one gets in the stomach, Chacha, what else?’

‘Here’s the saunf extract. Take two doses of medicine also.’

After Durga’s departure, Mirza remarked, ‘You must have dispensed a lakh or more pudiyas of medicine to the villagers by now, right, Sultan Shah?’

‘Yes, Mirze, must be more than that. I read the kalma over every pudiya of medicine that I wrap so that my prayers are infused into it.’

‘No wonder, my Mirzain says that she’d rather die than go to another Hakim. The doctors in the city simply distribute poison in the name of medicine.’

‘Kans Rav was dying of pain due to kidney stones. Your tea, Mirze, it’s getting cold. His elder son wanted to take him to the city for an operation, but I told Kans Rav, Why not try the effects of prayer first? If Allah fails me, you can always go in for the cutting and slashing.’

‘By the grace of Allah, he now roams around like Mundu’s horse with the whole village in tow. I must say, bhabhi has poured her soul into this tea.’

‘Our sarpanch is truly a noble soul. When he heard of the secret meetings of Phattu and Veero, he dropped everything and came straight to my house and said to me, Don’t worry about a thing, Sultan Shah. Phattu is not just Rakha Teli’s son. He is the treasure of the whole village. There is not one in the radius of a hundred miles around who compares with him.’

‘That’s so true. He really gladdens one’s heart.’

‘Not only that, Kans Rav told Veero’s father that it was not a Hindu–Muslim thing. The fact is, they are made for each other. Only once in a hundred or maybe a thousand years does a couple like this one come along.’

‘Yes, bhai, they do make a delightful twosome. Just the sight of them makes the wheat in my fields double its yield.’

‘Of course their marriage has been solemnized, but the Pundit’s lad is still busy fomenting communal tension.’

‘Khuda save us – that boy is nothing but trouble! The fact is that he had set his heart on Veero himself, but when she ignored him, he turned it into a Hindu–Muslim issue. No wonder both sets of parents were so reluctant. They put their heads together to come up with something that would make the two youngsters change their minds.’

The pale-brown skin from the hot tea was stuck in Mirza’s thick white moustache, making Hakim laugh. ‘Have you tied these thick white brooms to your upper lip in order to sweep away your wrinkles? Isn’t it enough that you support such a fetching beard on your chin?’

Mirza wiped his whiskers with the napkin on his shoulder and sighed. ‘You