Chapter 12 | Godly Bastard (with audio)

Portrait in Words | Mumtaz Hussain

The Alphabet of the Image | Mumtaz Hussain’s short stories with paintings

White marble lions roared on both sides of the mansion’s gates belonging to Baqar Jalali, also known as Sheikh Sahib. They overpowered their concrete-stone roar. Army officers used those jeeps during their military exercises. But surprisingly, this time, the people coming out of them were not army officers or soldiers but civilians, wearing white Shalwar Qameez, traditional pants, and shirts, stiff with starch. Each one also wore a pair of oversized dark sunglasses.

They entered the dining room which has long narrow one. Like a train track, a long table was in the middle of the room. Every inch of space was covered with plates of various foods. The guests sat on both sides of the table. Four plates were placed before every guest. There was one big pot full of Gujranwala-style roasted quail. A second pot contained curry made of goats’ heads and hooves. Goat brains were missing from the curry, but goat tongues floated on top. The guests did not seem to mind the lack of brains but feasted happily on the tongues. Perhaps these special guests did not need to develop their brains, but much needed to exercise their tongues.

All the guests were important party members or officials of the new ruling political party of the country. The table was flanked by two enormous chairs, one at each end. In one of them sat Mr. Baqar Jalali, also known as Sheikh Sahib, the owner, host, member of the last regime, and friend of the new one. He was wearing the same white typical politician’s dress as his guests with the same dark sunglasses, projecting the same image of power as the marble lions guarding his gate. The president of his newly-adopted political party was facing him in the other giant chair. The president tried to convince Mr. Baqar Jalali not to leave the party, but the elderly Sheikh had decided that his age presented too significant a hurdle to continuing his job. Baqar Jalali was very thankful and obliged to the new party because as soon as they gained power, all his loans were forgiven, and all the corruption charges against him brought during the old regime were dismissed by the new one.

Just as a corrupt cleric might use verses of the Quran for his purposes, The rays of light from the chandeliers hanging above them are deflected at different angles as they bounce off the concave lenses, distorting truth and justice, And a corrupt politician might manipulate the court, these men use dark glasses to hide the truth in their eyes, covering their real intentions. 

Sheikh Sahib expressed his thanks to the party. “I built enough factories through the kindness of the government that will provide for my family for ten generations to come. I am living a very comfortable life and have no hunger for politics or thirst for power. Nowadays, politics is a dangerous game; it’s not how it used to be. During my time, the politicians were like trappers who cast their nets to trap voters like innocent pigeons. Those nets were replaced by guns, which injured pigeons so that the deer hunter politician can easily reach the wounded pigeon and cut their throats, making them halal” (Muslims cut live animals’ throats to make them ritually fit to consume)

Sheikh Sahib felt pity, making a sound by clicking his tongue against his front teeth “che.. che… che….” Now politics is impossible. Guns have become Kalashnikovs. The pigeons are no longer injured. They are blasted to pieces.”

Sheikh Sahib took a deep breath. “The poor pigeon’s body pieces stuck on the walls, and it’s tough to find the throat to cut. So the clerics found a way to make the pigeons halal. As they were loading the Kalashnikovs, they read the appropriate Quran verses over the bullets.” 

Sheikh Sahib wiped his brow and continued. “So I beg you, please forgive me. My love affair with politics is over now. “

Real power, which you and everyone desire, is here.” He holds up a small bottle. “America filled this small bottle with power and handed it over to us.” 

“What’s that?” all the politicians screamed as one. Sheikh Sahib held out a small blue pill. “Everything is in it, the greatest power everyone loves to have. To possess this power, politicians made elaborate speeches like rich and heavy cream-buttered curry boiling in big cauldrons during the election campaign, tents covered with colorful flags. The roaring signs along the highways make Baqak Jalali like a lion surrounded by his slogan, ‘Lion-hearted Baqar Jalali is the right choice for your vote.’ All our speedy efforts, battles, friendships, everything is nothing more than an attempt to impress women. There’s a saying, ‘There’s always a woman behind every successful leader.’ But after getting into power, they forgot the woman who supported them chased many women. So what if power, women or wealth, value is if you don’t have sexual power.” Sheik Sahib rolled his sleeves up excitedly and recited a line of poetry. 

“Liquor itself does not possess the power to intoxicate,

If it did, the bottle would dance by itself.”  

Oh, leaders of my nation, you are the protectors. If you don’t have the power within you, then no gold, red, black, or white, the blond label will make you high.” Sheikh Sahib slowed down speaking and took a sip of water. “The world has been changed. This is an era of tremendous scientific progress. In the past, self-taught physicians used pulverized metals like mercury, silver, or gold kushta to increase sexual power.

Suddenly Sheikh Sahib recalled a foreboding incident. “Once, a political leader from Sri Lanka had a date with a beautiful girl named Sri Ready. While temporarily struck by her beauty, he accidentally took an extra dose of aphrodisiac. Stricken with palsy, his face became paralyzed, and he could not speak. The beautiful Sri already awaited and watched his crooked face, then left. His speech was admiration, and he said. “Please pass my nomination card to any stunning actress like Musart Shaheen; she is a politician too; they deserve the most because there’s no blue pill available for women in this country.” 

The politicians became deflated and piled back into their tanks like jeeps with disappointment. 

However, four housemaids were touched by Sheikh Sahib’s speech, which they overheard from the kitchen. One of the maids said, “He is a great leader. See how he values women’s rights over his position and success?” A second maid was added. “He is right,” to which a third maid asked, “How’s that?” the second maid answered, “In the past, he grabbed and groped women.” The fourth maid cut her off. “What you say is true. As soon as he takes a blue pill, he violently attacks me.” Now Sheikh Sahib rejected elderly female workers instead of a very young girl, 13 years of age. 

He was very kind to one girl because his younger daughter was slightly older than her. Everyone thought he spent time with her because he missed his daughter, but twelve years of age combined with his blue tablet is like driving an Italian red sports car on a silk road. You have to press the accelerator with full force. The name of this young maid was Fardous. As soon as Sheikh Sahib looked at her, the blood in his veins ran like a sports car. 

One day, Fardous brought him a glass of milk. Sheikh Sahib asked for a blue tablet she had taken from the cabinet. Sheikh Sahib swallowed it with the milk and asked her to return in half an hour. Half an hour was enough time for it to work. He asked her to press his thighs and then a little higher. She complied and pressed a bit higher. Then, they started pressing each other every day. 

Sheikh Sahib was kind-hearted and generous to Fardous. He gave her money so that she and her family could eat adequately, including beef and other meat they rarely previously enjoyed. She and Sheikh Sahib continued to press their thighs. One day, she got pregnant. When Sheikh Sahib looked at her swollen belly, he ignored it. When Fardious’ belly was noticeable, his children became angry at Sheikh Sahib. They gave her a little bit of money and let her go. Her mother was distraught and consulted a midwife, but it was too late to have an abortion. Her parents were too old, but they accepted the situation. However, her sister-in-law shouted that this unholy child does not stay in their house. The blooming flower of her youth was shriveled. Her days playing with dolls were not over yet, but God gave her a real live doll. It doesn’t matter what people say; a mother’s feelings for her child are always different. Father or no father, a child is part of a woman’s body. She was pleased about this God-given gift. She always called him ALLAH DITTA (God’s gift), but everyone else called him ALLAH DITTA HARAMDA (Godly bastard). That innocent God given crawled stumbled, growing on the smoldering fire of hatred.  

One day, Fardious’s sister-in-law put her son’s food in the dog’s bowl. She could not tolerate this insult. They had serious quarrels. Her sister-in-law broke the bowl by saying the dog and the unholy child bastards. There’s no difference between them, but while the dog stays outside, the bastard boy crawls on her chest. Her brother backed his wife. Everyone counseled her to give the child to the orphanage house. Fardous eventually accepted this tremendous burden of sorrow and admitted her child to an orphan house. The disgusted medal of an unwed father will always haunt him. In the orphan house, other children’s fathers were not in this world. Allah Ditta’s (God’s gift) father was alive, but the sacred surah of the Quran did not wash his name. His father’s name was blank in the municipal committee’s register box. 

Meanwhile, the boy studied wholeheartedly at the orphanage house and was very good at sports. In his seventh year, he learned the Quran by heart. His mother visited him after Friday prayers and fed him home-cooked food and sometimes his favorite dessert, sweet vermicelli, which satisfied him. On ‘Eid al-Adha in particular, she brought him meatballs cooked with meat donated by her neighbor. She once told him apologetically, “I work a whole month as a maid but cannot make your school uniform every six months because you are growing fast. And I cannot afford to buy them due to the medical expenses of your grandparents.” Allah Ditta (God’s gift) comforted her. God listens to him, so a rich person donated a goat to the orphan house the same year. Allah Ditta (God’s gift) was very content that God listened to him. Preparation for Eid al-Adha started. They put a henna tattoo on the goat’s forehead. They put a green chiffon dupatta (scarf) around its neck. Allah Ditta (God’s gift) always took him for a one-hour walk around the grounds. He helped the kitchen maid in the kitchen because she was preparing meatballs on this Eid al-Adha.

Finally, the day arrived. Everyone was longing for it. It was Eid al-Ada. The children performed their prayers at school. Most children left to visit their relatives, and only a few stayed with Allah Datta. They waited for the butcher, who was dreadfully late. The children took the sacrificial animal under a tree. Everyone said goodbye to the goat by touching him. The butcher was in a great hurry. He pulled both left legs and made the goat fall terribly. Then, he pulled a large knife from his knapsack and checked the sharpness by touching the knife’s edge with his thumb. He pulled out a stone from his knapsack and wet it, then rubbed the knife against the stone until it was sharp. He pulled the goat’s neck skin and repeated the Islamic creed of saying bismillah al-Rahman al-Rahim Allah o Akbar Allah o Akbar Allah o Akbar. He slayed the goat in a HALAL (KOSHER) way.

Time flew, and four years passed like the blink of an eye. Allah Ditta was an up-and-coming child. He always helped the kitchen maids in cooking, such as chopping onions and stirring lentil soup. He was perfect at his education. His mother was overjoyed with his success. When she relayed his success to her brother and his wife, she always got the same offensive response, “Once a bastard, always a bastard”

One day a group of long-bearded people with turbans visited the orphan house. They had a long meeting with the principal of the orphan house, demanding that all illegitimate children shift to their special schools to learn religion and education. It happened immediately. When Fardious learned of this, she was distressed and had a severe quarrel with the Principal. He gave them the new school address, so she sought to see her son as soon as possible. She was happy to learn that her son’s new school was closer to her house. There she visited him at least once a week.

She brought him new sneakers and a charcoal gray outfit on one visit. He loved the sneakers because he was fond of sports and wore them immediately. He kissed her before running to class in his new madrasa (religious school). One by one, she followed his footsteps and marveled at how fast he grew. She followed his footprints until they disappeared on the cement floor of the Madrassa. 

Once inside, she found this Madrassa quite bizarre. People wore peculiar long cloaks and huge turbans as if copying Arabs clerics. In her town, people like this were rare, but they. They were all alike here. This worried her. One day, God learned of her distress. Intuitively, she started walking to the new school. 

He was not present at the madrassa. The school cleric told her something odd her son had feminine habits. She could not believe that her child was a milksop but wondered if there was any other school for emasculated children besides this. As soon as she stepped out of the madrasa, she found Allah Ditta’s sneaker prints. She followed them and saw in the distance that he was standing in front of the girl’s school.         

She cried out, “My son!” As soon as he heard his mother’s voice, a bomb exploded. Allah Ditta was wearing a suicide jacket which he had exploded. She screamed. The jacket blew him into smithereens. As she ran towards him, his head rolled towards her feet, stopping a few feet away as if they were searching for paradise at his mother’s feet. His mother started in wonder at her son’s head. Overflowing blood from his neck was the Islamic creed saying bismillah al-Rahman al-Rahim Allah o Akbar Allah o Akbar Allah o Akbar. Her Trembling lips uttered his name. Allah Ditta is HALAL (KOSHER) now.

Portrait in Words | Mumtaz Hussain

The Alphabet of the Image |
Mumtaz Hussain’s short stories with paintings

• 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

See:

• Historic Win for Pakistani-American at International Impact Book Awards (April 13, 2024)
• Pakistani Mumtaz Hussain Bags 2024 International Impact Book Award (April 23, 2024)

Portrait in Words is available on Amazon’s Audible, narrated by Scott LeCote (4 hrs and 36 mins). Order here.