Portrait in Words

By Mumtaz Hussain

Mumtaz Hussain's stories meet the definition of short stories because his most extended story is ten pages!

Behind the stories, contextually, two worlds clash - human differences, tragedies of classes, attachment to individuals, and dissatisfaction with the prevailing society. Amidst the grief and sorrow, the reader finds himse

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mumtaz Husain
• Release date: Oct 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798868917981

Mumtaz Hussain

Mumtaz Hussain is an artist, graphic designer, filmmaker, and writer. In 1979, Mumtaz accepted admission into the prestigious National College of Arts (NCA) in Lahore, Pakistan. While at NCA, Mumtaz decorated the palace of Sheikh Zaid bin Sultan, an architectural landmark in Karachi, Pakistan. In 1978, Mumtaz left for London to study European art forms. In 1988 Mumtaz came to New York to pursue graphic design at the School of Visual Art. Additionally, Mumtaz also studied filmmaking. He has also served as an art director for Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, and Simon & Schuster. Mumtaz directed 13 episodes of an informative talk show for channel 9 "Ask a Lawyer." His Urdu book of short stories, GOOL AINAK KA PECHAY, LAFZON MAIN TASVARIAN, PELI PATI CHUNA KUM, MUMTAZ HUSSAIN DIAN CHUWIAN KAHINIAN (GURMUKHI), and PORTRAIT IN WORDS (ENGLISH) His art film, Soul of Civilization, has been shown at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, the Queens Museum of Art and Stony Brook University, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and the University of Connecticut. Other films include: This is my Pakistan for a Pakistani TV Channel GEO; Inside You, based on Rumi's poetry; Push Button For, based on a Pakistani classic short story.Butterfly Screams. Based on 9/11 His first feature film, Art=(Love) 2, received a Merit Award at The Lucerne International Film Festival, Switzerland; Best Cinematography at The Jaipur International Film Festival, India; Platinum Reel Award at The Nevada Film Festival, U.S.A.; Gold Award at the Prestige Film Festival, U.S.A. The film was also officially selected at The Delhi International Film Festival, India; and The Vegas Cine Fest, U.S.A. It will be ready for theatrical release soon. His three plays The Barking Crow Legal Alien and Virus Bomb have been performed in New York. His script The Kind Executioner received a finalist award at the Hollywood Screenplay Contest Hollywood and his first award at the Jaipur International Film Festival. An MPhil thesis on his fiction work by a student at the Lahore College for Women University, Lahore, Pakistan.His paintings and films have been shown at numerous museums, universities, art galleries, and international film Festivals.

Book preview

Portrait in Words

Mumtaz Hussian

cover 5A.jpg

The Alphabet of the Image

Mumtaz Hussain’s short stories with paintings

Copyright © 2023

All Rights Reserved

Dedication

Dedicated to

Three women and three men.

My mom, Iqbal Begum,

my wife, Nosheen Mukhtar,

and my daughter, Heer Khan.

My father, Khan Nazar Mohammad khan,

my sons Danyal Khan, Arsalan Khan.

Contents

Dedication

Preface

Chapter 1 The Barking Crow

Chapter 2 When the Rain Shines through the Sunlight

Chapter 3  Her Resplendent Face

Chapter 4 Enigmatic Mumtaz

Chapter 5 Mona Lisa of Bones and Flesh

Chapter 6 The Death of Life

Chapter 7 His Master’s Voice

Chapter 8 Half Shut Eye Wisdom

Chapter 9 The Bride of God

Chapter 10 The Fragile Mountains and the Flowing Moonlight

Chapter 11 Adam's Rib

Chapter 12  Godly Bastard

Chapter 13 Poppy cultivated in Heaven

Chapter 14 Virus Bomb

About the Author

Preface

Mumtaz Hussain’s stories meet the definition of short stories because his most extended story is ten pages!

Behind the stories, contextually, two worlds clash - human differences, tragedies of classes, attachment to individuals, and dissatisfaction with the prevailing society. Amidst the grief and sorrow, the reader finds himself enmeshed in lives that unfold uniquely and unpredictably. This book contains fourteen stories, each with bitter social and political questions. It is not as if the issues he brings to the fore are new; it is the treatment that makes one sit up and take notice.

Like any good author, Mumtaz’s stories arise from his own perspective; he is as much the author as he is a witness. As an author, he must express; as a witness, he must bear the weight of his experiences. His narrative shifts between stark, raw realism and embedded mythology.

As a witness, his stance seems to reject traditional norms and social codes, but the truth is that he is merely writing from his vantage point as an observer. This collection of fiction is a circular journey - from reality to abstraction and from abstraction to reality. Welcome to a refreshing and seductive narrative, wholly stripped of social mores and clichés.             

Chapter 1

The Barking Crow

The Barking Crow

I was dying of thirst, and rain had been banished from the skies. The clouds were intoxicated elephants waving their trunks at me, shapes transforming into a steam vortex. I longed to ascend and enter them to quench my thirst, but when I opened my elongated beak and penetrated a gigantic black cloud, utter darkness engulfed me. I found myself flying in a dry ocean of sky but determined to proceed to the ground and fulfill my fate, I shriveled my wings, wrapping them around my body, and took a downward plunge. After that, I saw dense smoke rising from a mud house behind a grove of trees.

My beak burst with joy, clacking like a wedding ceremony had just ended. I shifted my torso, looking left and right, and flew toward the smoking mud house, where curry (Kofta) and rice (biryani) were made over large outdoor fires. There, a portly chef scooped water into a giant bucket. I spread my wings and stretched my legs, planning to grab hold of the bucket with my claws.

Hey, you uninvited clown! the chef bellowed, throwing his shoe at my face. The shoe flew over my beak with a loud zoon. The circumcision ceremony is a half-day away. You're here too early with your silly kayn kayn sounds.

One of the boys from the group yelled suddenly, Look at that white crow! he loaded a pebble into his slingshot. A white crow had never before been seen in this part of Pakistan.

I told myself that life is a sweeter drink, that I had better try my luck elsewhere, and escaped just as the pebble approached my skull. I opened my half-dead eyes in another flash and stood in a cattle barn with an abandoned water pitcher at my feet. I put my thirst-stricken beak to the rim of the pitcher, delighted that I might drink a few days’ water quotas in one quick gulp. I spread my wings once more, extended my legs, and braced the pitcher with my claws, assessing the risks on all sides and thanking god that the only threat in view was a buffalo lashing its tail from side to side. I extended my neck, then passed through the mouth of the pitcher and reached into its belly. I couldn’t touch water, so I pulled my neck out and angled my head to peek inside with just one eye. Sparkling water refracted sunlight.

I put some pressure on my brain. What should I do? Make use of my intelligence? Apply scientific formulas? Glancing around, I remembered the boy who’d loaded a pebble into his slingshot. His image took hold of me—I don’t know why—and my neck began jerking—stone, gravel, and pebble. A rock could be both a threat and my savior! The water level would rise if I dropped a pebble into the pitcher. My thirst might finally be quenched.

Excitement pulsed through my bird body. I wanted to hop like a penguin in a black suit and tie. I peered around the barn again, my hopes and desires driving me, but instead of pebbles, I found clay. That would soak up my water rather than raise the surface. I needed solid rocks.

I flew toward the sky, and after that, a gust of wind threw me god knows where, and I awoke in a beautiful town where enormous white stone columns floated alongside a marble staircase that led to a white granite throne. The glorious god Zeus sat on the throne in splendid pomp and show. Thin white and blue curtains draped around the columns and quivered in the breeze, and a harp made of turtle bones produced a melodious song. It was such a beautiful, white supernatural town. I longed to be part of it, to spend the rest of my life there, eating crumbs from children's hands and entertaining my relatives. In this heavenly world of white, I could blend so well that even the most beautiful peacock would feel inferior.

The god Zeus glanced down at me. You will shine like the sun in my kingdom! he declared. You will alert us to threatening weather and storms. You will inform us of any approaching bad luck. I grant you will learn the secrets of the visible and invisible world.

Joy enveloped me, and gratitude fortified my soul—I was to be Zeus’s messenger! —but the next day, Apollo summoned me to his chambers and announced that his cows were missing.

You, white crow with the high qualities! he intoned. Zeus asks, ‘Where is my herd?’

I faded in fear, bowed, and took a deep breath. Oh, god, Apollo, if you promise me safety, I will tell the truth—but I have big news, and my beak is small.

When Apollo promised to protect my life at last, I told him, "Your brother who is one day old.

It was the twelfth god of Olympus who spirited your herd away."

Apollo flew into a rage. Fire blazed from his mouth, and smoke blew out his ears. You lying bird! There are only eleven gods of Olympus; there is no twelfth! He said, I will teach you a lesson you will remember until Doomsday. I would wipe you off the face of the earth had I not promised you safety!

My body began to transform. My white beak and wings turned black. I said to myself, I want to move out of this world and escape this war of gods. Why are they punishing me? Why am I the victim of Apollo’s anger?

And at that moment, I spotted a pebble near a large marble column. I secured it in my beak and bent my tail to chant a song:

Crow, Oh Crow,

You reign to reign

In this imperfect universe

In crippled time…

You are the keeper of mysteries,

Hoarding the filth of the world in your wings.

Swim, float, fly through this sky to the skies beyond you,

Holding the scene in your claws

As you pass through this heaven to another.

One day you are in the court of Zeus.

You dissolve into each world, the black and white portrait...

One day you witness the murder of Habeel.

One day you journey across the killing-field of Karo Kashatar.

In your eyes, you carry combat, holy waltzes, to future epochs.

Thirst in your beak, hope in your eyes, and on your tongue,

You recite the epic of the many lives.

You are the chronicler of history,

The messenger of mystery...

But in the landscape of my life,

Don’t you have anything but stones to throw?

Crow, Oh, Crow!

I fled the heavens, returned to earth—to the barn and water pitcher—and threw my pebble into the depths. I angled my neck to see into the pitcher and strained to touch the water with my beak. Oh, dear! One pebble is not enough. I will have to get a hold of another stone. This time, though, I’ll find a larger one.

I flew toward the sky, wanting to hum, but my dry throat silenced me, and the wind threw me into another world—a beautiful land of lush green fields and trees loaded with fruits. A cool breeze rustled the leaves, and waterfalls cascaded from the mountains, producing the sounds of harps. Adam and Eve ate apples, their bodies covered with leaves, and I was pleased that I could finally quench my thirst in a stream of milk. Perhaps I should spend the rest of my life in this world!

Milk gushed through the rocks. Be patient, I advised myself. The fruit of patience is always sweet. I thanked god for this opportunity and plunged into the stream, but a spear zoomed past me before my beak could touch the milk. I immediately took flight, descended into a grove of trees, and perched on a branch—I couldn’t believe my eyes! Adam’s twins, Habeel (Abel) and Qabeel, (Cain)were battling each other.

Habeel’s (Abel) herd of sheep and goats was grazing in a nearby field, and Qabeel’s(Cain) fruit was scattered across the land—but why were the twins fighting? Was it possible that God was not satisfied with Habeel’s (Abel) sacrifice of fruits after receiving such a large flock of animals from Habeel (Abel)? Did jealously drive Qabeel (Cain) to challenge his brother to a fight? Or maybe there was a lack of love in Qabeel's (Cain) sacrifice. Or Habeel’s (Abel) wife was stunning, and Qabeel’s(Cain)  was plain? I knew their wives must be a