Blind

By Joginder Paul

In the blind home that Baba runs, the residents can see. Sharfu sees through fingers that weave bamboo strands into beautiful baskets. Even blinded by desires, Roni sees through her lovers. Bhola keeps a watchful eye over his friends through intuition and guile. Yet, when Baba, the guardian and mentor to them all, regains sight in an accident, all he sees is a corrupt and decadent world. Joginder Paul, one of the greats of Urdu literature, tells a powerful story about sight and perception, and how it impacts many facets of the human existence: territoriality, greed, selfishness, corruption, acceptance and discovery. Blind is a powerful metaphor for a country and a society that is crippled by spiritual and moral degeneration. Sparked off by a visit to a blind home in Nairobi, Paul's story appears to ask: of what use is sight for those who only look but do not see?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperPerennial
• Release date: Jun 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9789351364795

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

1

Sharfu

E

ACH OF US has his own way of seeing. Who can tell how the other sees? As for me, I see the whole world within myself – lofty mountain peaks that pierce my insides, wide rivers in whose eddies I sometimes get trapped; dashing against the rocks, I smash into pieces, but my banks gather all the pieces from the flowing waters, put them together and carry me to a safe and secluded maidan.

Within me lies the world-of-worlds. Many places in this world have been torn and worn by cruel seasons, but somehow I manage to patiently build kutcha-pukka bridges so that no part of me remains isolated. I arrive wherever I wish to reach the very moment the thought of getting there comes to me. I live in every speck and atom of this universe of mine.

No, I am not making any claim to godhood! The truth is that I was born blind and I lie inside myself quietly. Quietly? No, that’s a lie! And … and it is also a lie that all of my fragments lie scattered. The truth is that all my bridges are broken. I comfort myself in vain. In fact, blind as I am, I’m unable to reach anywhere; even if I have to reach my mouth from my ears, I fall with a thud on the way.

The mention of mouth, ears and all reminds me of a curious incident that took place a few days ago.

The three of us from our Home for the Blind were sitting together after lunch when Bhola said, Yaaro, life stinks but if we spend it together it won’t be so bad.

Bhola always comes out with meaningful observations, so both of us listen to him very attentively.

The distance from inside to outside stretches across in an awfully tangled length, yaaro! I keep falling on my face even if I have to travel from my head to my belly.

Yes, Bhola, precisely! This is the problem when it is one’s fate to fill the belly with just thoughts. And then with a full belly, who can remember the way back to the head?

Shall I ask you something, Bhola? Why return to the head anyway? As for me, once my stomach is full I lie crouched in the middle with my legs under my belly.

That’s it, Bhola. A full belly makes one feel one is on a swing.

But for how long does a full belly remain full, yaaro?

When the belly gets empty, the swing snaps, the bones crack, and the person feels them stabbing his feet.

Yes, we should get back to the head as soon as the belly is full.

But that is the dilemma! Once the belly is full, one can’t figure out the way back home.

Right, Bhola! A man’s head is his home … but how to fill our bellies if we don’t step out of the house?

And how to go back when the belly is full?

That’s exactly what I’m saying! The life of a lone blind man is no less than death. But if there are so many blind men it can be improved. I have thought of a very effective solution. Come, let’s try it out right away.

I raised my sightless eyes towards Bhola.

If one can see, yaaro, one man alone can take care of ten things. But if a man can’t, get him to do only one thing. I think for both of you as well as for myself. Ratne, you only listen – as if you are not a complete man.

Complete man, even Humayun is not. Shall I ask you something?

Don’t interrupt, Ratne, hear me out. Imagine you are only ears – and ears alone. And you, Sharfu – addressing me, he said – imagine that you are only a mouth. You will only speak. The worst thing for the blind is to have to go from one place to another. Think about it … why shouldn’t the blind remain in one place to avoid stumbling?

But you have taken on the entire burden of thinking now, haven’t you, Bhola?

Yes, yes. Only I will think now.

Then let’s begin. I shall only listen.

And I shall only speak.

Shabash! I am only going to think. Sharfu, whatever we have to say, you and only you will say it. And Ratne, you and only you will listen to whatever we have to listen to – and I will only think. Come, let’s begin. Here! I’m thinking. All your thoughts have become mine; I mean, you are thinking, not me; I mean, I am listening not you; I am speaking. I am …

Wait, Bhola. It seems we are no longer three, we have become just one.

Hmm … look carefully and tell me, are we three or actually just one?

Maybe not with eyes … but surely we can ‘look carefully’!

Ha-ha … ha … ha!

Why are you laughing?

I felt I actually caught a glimpse of the two of you. Identical! Couldn’t tell if you were he or he was you.

Ha! I felt exactly the same. Can I ask you something?

A miracle of blind eyes, yaaro! Look at someone as your own and he becomes just that.

Are you saying that our dead vision really became somewhat alive?

No, how can a blind man see? In just that one moment, the very same desire in all three of us – the fierce desire – must have broken down the doors of our eyes to spill out blindly, and we must have really seen each other – just one glimpse, because even the strongest of desires does not have eyes to go on gazing forever. One face for all three in the pitch dark! One of them must have leapt out for an instant, that’s all! Whatever my face may look like on the outside, this is the face now etched forever on my soul as mine.

This talk about faces brought Roni to mind. That blind girl would often say to me, Sharfu, I don’t know but you would know, what do I look like?

What could I say to her? If one is fated to find refuge in hell, how can one see the lustre of the seventh heaven?

Roni too lived with us in this ‘Home for the Blind’. She was very dear to me. Wherever she was, near or far, I would touch her and feel her in my mind, and so see her. God knows why we called her Roni, the weeping one. She would break into laughter all the time, for no reason at all. To see someone who is blind laugh so blindly was always scary for fear that the person might stumble and fall.

That day she was sitting in front of me, laughing as usual, and my ears stared unblinkingly at the laughing bundle unfolding before me.

What are you staring at like that, Sharfu?

At you! – I wanted to tell Roni, but embarrassment flashing in my two dark hovels made me giggle.

Go on, tell me. Do you like me?

Perhaps this is what is called blind love – one should neither be seen nor be able to see in love.

Why don’t you say something? Tell me, how do you imagine me? What do you think I look like?

What could I tell Roni? She is the same as she was at that moment when she emerged from her voice and entered my heart and head: now this … now someone else … and …

Go on tell me, how do I look?

The blind wish of a blind girl – let her lover look at the whole world with blind eyes, but his sightless eyes should open fully when they fall upon her.

The weight of my silence almost broke her bones. Laugh at me if you will, but I was not able to utter a single word. My mouth was stuffed with words, but instead of being able to spout them with ease, I chewed and swallowed them quietly and pushed them back into my throat. Living in darkness all the time tends to make a thief out of a man, and he carries his own self around furtively lest someone catches him. Having answered all of Roni’s questions in my mind, I’d believe the conversation was over.

But the conversation had to be completed in some other way. What happened was that one day Roni crept into my room. She came in at a time when only Bhola was in the room, not me. Our Bhola is very wise. Whatever we do, we use his wisdom and he did exactly what I would have done. As soon as Roni came into the room, she must have said, I’m here, Sharfu … and Bhola must have quietly taken her into his arms. Had it been another man I would have killed him then and there, but then whether it was Bhola or me or even Ratne … one speaks, the other thinks, the third listens. But actually it is only one person who speaks, thinks and listens. What Bhola did with Roni is what I would have done too. Actually, what he did is what I did.

Bhola narrated the entire story to me exactly as it happened that very night … When Roni came to my room again the next night, I wanted to say sorry to her. Roni was bubbling with laughter.

Sorry for what? Come, today …

Fumbling my way through, I explained the whole story to her. But before I could assure her that Bhola was innocent and that I was the one to blame, she stomped out of the room in shame and anger. She left the home for the blind and went off to who knows where.

You are getting upset for nothing, Sharfu, Bhola consoled me. The best day for a blind person is when he happily – or even unhappily – goes out somewhere.

But where? Where will the poor thing go, Bhola?

Anywhere! Isn’t it a big step even if she went off in anger, after this shock?

No, Bhola bhai, the poor thing will waste away, she’ll die!

So what? At least, the shackles will be broken. One can’t get into the hurly-burly of life without first throwing open the doors.

But where will I find Roni if she gets lost in the hurly-burly of the world, I fretted.

Come then, Bhola, let us also break the door open and get out.

Sure we can go, my friend, but you know that I am the kind to take decisions after careful thought. And such a big step can only be taken by not thinking carefully about it.

Disappointed with Bhola, many a time have I thought of stepping out all by myself, but God had closed the iron gates with His own hands and surrounded me with water. No, my friend, God’s will is too great to be affected by man’s will. There are bound to be other ways of getting out.

My eyes may be sightless, but they open as soon as I hear Bhola talk.

God shuts some of our paths, Sharfu, so that we move towards others that are open.

Bhola can’t be wrong; definitely, some other paths must be open.

Not some, yaar, but countless. Our body remains closed precisely because every pore of it is open.

I am surprised why Bhola continues to stay here helplessly like us when he knows so much. Why doesn’t he just jump out?

Haven’t I told you, Sharfu, that the precise reason for my helplessness is that I know everything. Only those who know nothing have the courage to escape.

What Bhola says is not really wrong. This is my problem too. Some things I know, some I don’t. My ignorance pushes me outwards. Jump! This darkness is bound to end somewhere. As long as there’s breath in your body, don’t hesitate. Jump. Once the breath stops, it is over, you will collapse in a heap of ruins. At least, if you take the plunge, you will reach some shore. But my knowledge fixes and holds me here: Stop this nonsense! Where will you go? … What about these huge mountains embedded in your being … the barren plains …? Will you abandon them? How will you take them along? If you do, how will you manage them in the absence of your own self?

What should I do? I can’t make up my mind. This or that? Can I do it or can’t I? And this is how a blind life plays out, blindly.

2

A

BLIND PERSON is one whose mind doesn’t work in the present. The poor fellow’s eyes are veiled with the curtain of the past, that’s why he can’t see anything. As he dozes off into the recesses of his past, who knows where he reaches.

Don’t cry, my dear!

Ma! – Ma – aa!

Don’t cry!

Ma – a …

Get up, Sharfu Mian! You are grown-up now; how can you fit in your late mother’s lap?

With Bhola’s loud voice, the sun rises over my dream but I continue to lie there motionless.

Ma – ma!

Sharfu! Sharfu! Bhola is shaking me.

I sit up, startled.

You were still sleeping?

These days I’m awake even when asleep, Bhola.

That’s why you look half asleep even when you’re awake. Come on, get up!

The other day, thank goodness Chowkidar Chacha stopped me at the gate, or I’d have followed Roni out in my somnolent state. My arms hung from my shoulders, swinging to and fro, anticipating a long journey, and my feet rose furtively on their own.

Where are you going, Sharfu?

The chowkidar’s voice woke me up.

Nowhere!

Bhola started laughing when he heard about this incident.

There is actually no one ahead of those who move out within their thoughts.

But they move out following someone, don’t they?

Following whom? Thoughts exist only in the mind.

Bhola had once been assigned the job of gardener in the home for the blind. He wasn’t able to handle the gardening, but who could match his talent for pulling words out by their roots and replanting them? That’s just it! The one who is inside me is actually Roni. Keep staring at her lovingly within yourself and savour those moments. If she runs away, follow her and keep looking for her right there … Roni left her home just a few days ago, but that girl – what’s her name? Really, she is with me now as merely a thought. Once upon a time, I thought I was blind only because I was in love with her. I was just about seventeen or eighteen and I lived in my village. That girl would land up at our house precisely at the hour when my bhabhi went out with my brother’s lunch and I was alone.

I thought you’d be afraid all by yourself, Sharfu.

Yes, Gudiya, very afraid. Oh yes, I remember, I used to call her Gudiya. If you hadn’t come, I would have flown to you.

How? Your heart has wings?

Yes, Gudiya, it doesn’t sit still for a minute. It is flapping around all the time.

Well, I also have wings, and very colourful ones, but what’s the use? If you could see … you would be very happy to see me fly!

Because of her love for flying, Gudiya eventually soared so high that her breath no longer filled the air around me, leaving me desolate. As long as Gudiya was there, my eyes played with the dark inkiness of her eyes and revelled in them, becoming darker and more alive; but as soon as she left, the playful scenes of darkness disappeared in a bleak white mist. Within the first year of her marriage, I heard, she gave birth to a blind child who looked exactly like me. You’ll laugh at me. But I believe that Gudiya’s blind child was born out of my unfulfilled desire, and that desire was so intensely mine that the blind child was in fact me. Sensing Gudiya’s love in my blood and not being able to see her must have made me painfully aware of my blindness for the first time, and I must have wept bitterly and Gudiya must have stuffed both her breasts into my mouth at the same time. Gudiya was my lover but she also felt like a mother. I don’t know whom I loved – the mother or the beloved. Those who are not blind may perhaps escape this dilemma. But the bonds of the blind are born out of feelings, not faces.

Sharfu! – Roni would say the same thing to me – From a distance, you are drawn towards me like a lover, and … when you are close to me, I hear a stifled murmur in the silent fluttering of your lips – Ma! Ma! As if you cannot tell whether you are my son or my lover; should you come closer to me or stop. Is this love, or … are you sinning?

I’d hang my head like an accused and stand rooted to the spot listening to Roni.

Say something, Sharfu! Your silence drives me crazy.

What could I say? As Bhola I drew her quietly towards me and as Bhola’s son I wanted to beg forgiveness for what I had done, but she stomped off in anger. Roni! Roni! Roni! Stop this needless rage, Gudiya. The rain beats down upon the old roof of my mind and raindrops drip right into my heart, and I don’t know where to go to escape them.

Go to sleep, son. Come, I’ll sing a sweet lullaby.

Ha-Ha. Here, Sharfu ki Ma, let me hold Sharfu for you. You must be tired – Would Bhola be Bhola if he didn’t say such things? – Arre yaar, when will you leave your mother’s lap? You weave these little round baskets and balance them so beautifully, why can’t you stand upright on your two feet?

Standing on one’s feet is useful only if one has to walk, Bhola.

But who prevents you from walking?

Then come, let’s go out somewhere. I feel stifled within myself nowadays.

Come, I have to go to the collector’s office for Baba’s work. Come with me.

Baba is the superintendent of our home for the blind. Both of us came out of the house happily on the pretext of doing Baba’s work. Losing myself in the crowd on the open street outside, I forgot the anguish of all my misdeeds. The only little worry was to reach the collector’s office as quickly as possible.

Bhola was pleased to see me so happy.

Think of your life in such a way, my friend – he explained to me – as if all you have to do is to reach the collector’s office … that’s all!

All right, I replied happily.

Walk with open palms.

Why? I asked casually.

When Bhola catches even a casual remark like this and lets it go, it is like a bird flapping its wings and flying off.

Even if we keep our fists closed, you fool, will the moments of the past stay with us?

But all this sounds good only in theory. Bhola has often told me he’s living all his earlier lives in this life itself.

One day he began to tell me:

My little sister loved me dearly, Sharfu, but she was always a little scared of me … am I a ghost, Rukko?

No, bhaiya … yes, bhaiya! Only your breath can be heard where you sit, you cannot be seen anywhere.

A blind man cannot see, Sharfu, but do you know he is not visible to those who don’t belong to him – and as for me, not even my closest kin recognize me. How would they? I dwell in my previous lives. My present life will begin in the next one. Yes,