Chapter 13 | Poppy Cultivated in Heaven (with audio)

Portrait in Words | Mumtaz Hussain

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

Paenda Khan was sitting in a poppy field, gazing over the plants. The young pods were not ripe yet, but purple, white and onion-colored flowers were coming out, trembling in the breeze reminding him of Palwasha waving her red scarf in the air. Paenda Khan began to move to and fro, imitating the movement of the invisible scarf. The air was intoxicating and hallucinogenic, and the young man was ecstatic. In his fantasy, he clasped Palwasha’s hand and ran with her over the mountain that bore its stone chest beyond the field of waving poppies. They stopped to talk heart-to-heart under a giant banyan tree with its wrinkled trunk. 

He was lost in his magnificent thoughts when a deep, roaring voice brought him back to the ordinary world. “I make my living out of this field!” It was Dhamaka Khan, the field owner; I worship this land! Don’t disrespect this place! Go hang around someone else’s field if you need to take a leak.” Paenda Khan gathered himself up and said, “Oh no, Uncle,” using the traditional term of deference towards the older man who was not family. “I was flying to that mountain in my mind. I respect your field like I respect my own woman.” “Fine!” Uncle Dhamaka Khan boomed. Paenda stood, brushed off his pants, and waved goodbye. He ran towards the mountain, thinking, “Another asshole acting like my real uncle and not letting me talk to Palwasha. Nobody lets me be with Palwasha, even in my dreams!” The image of the girl lingered in his poppy-stoned nerves. “It’s stupid to worship in a poppy field anyway,” he told himself. “Go to a mosque like everyone else. But instead of chanting Allah, Allah, let me chant Palwasha, Palwasha.” 

He crossed the valley, climbed up the mountain, and sat under the canopy of a lofty tree. He took out a pocket-size transistor and started switching the stations. The indicator darted in a circle. He stopped it on one particular digit, and music poured out. It was Sabri Quwal singing, Ma kasho ayo Madina chalian “(Oh drunkard, let’s go to Madina, come on, let’s go to Madina.)”, Paenda loved this song and marveled at the idea of a drunkard being led to a place of Muslim worship. However, Sabri Qawwal did not get to finish his song because another male voice boomed out: “Don’t you know, it’s illegal to play the radio on the mountain?” Paenda recognized the voice of Sarmast Khan with dismay and thought, “Oh, no. Not another “uncle” telling me what to do.” Surmast Khan went on talking. “This is not private property like Dhamaka Khan’s poppy field. These mountains are public places. Here goats and sheep graze, and our sisters and mothers pick up the dry branches for cooking.” Paenda replied patiently, “Uncle Khan, I am not listening to a vulgar popular song. This is a going-to-Madina-on-pilgrimage song.” ” My son, playing any music on the mountain is banned. We must respect the law. Just put this transistor close to your ear and play it very low. It’s not fitting for our sisters and mothers to listen to provocative music. Remember, music is always provocative and keeps you away from God.” “Ok. Uncle.” Paenda Khan lowered the volume and put the radio up to his ear. He wanted to summon Palwasha to his sensual thoughts, but the religious words of the song were interfering. He was perplexed. Is what I am doing a sin? What’s going on today? Everyone is giving me a hard time! Uncle Dhamaka tells me his poppy field is sacred. Uncle Sarmast doesn’t even want to hear a religious song on the mountain, and now the words of the tune I love keep me from imagining the girl I desire!” He chanted “Tauba Tauba” (God forgive me). He changed the station, but it was Friday, and every station played religious songs. He listened to: “Ya Jo halka halka saror ha, wo teri nazar ka qasoor ha “(I love this intoxication because it’s from your mystical eyes.).” His mind once more was losing its hegemony over his body. He started dreaming after Palwasha again. He stretched his legs, put his arms behind his head, and summoned Palwasha. Even though the eyes in the song belong to a deity, these words suited his mood. He sang along with the transistor. While singing, he envisioned himself on horseback, Palwasha behind him, with her arms around his waist, flying in slow motion like in the movie Yousaf Khan Sheer Bano. Painda Khan dreamed of being Yousaf Khan running off with Palwasha as Sheer Bano. As soon as he arrived home, he locked his door, took off Palwasha’s head scarf, and put his face close to her cheek. He was surprised to find her skin had a strange animal odor. He opened his eyes and saw a sheep with a runny nose sniffing his face. He flung his shoe at the poor creature, yelling. “Everybody is jealous of Palwasha and my love. “His mind returned to the intriguing idea of that first song about going to Madina. He walked back to Dhamaka Khan’s field and saw him sitting and staring at the poppies. He watched the buds for them to change into the pale color that shows the opium ready to be gathered, Paenda asked Dhamaka Khan. What’s the meaning of the word makash? Does it mean a man who drinks alcohol?” Dhamaka khan replied, “Yes, you are right. One who drinks alcohol is a makush (drunkard).” But uncle Dhamaka, Paenda argued, this song says,” drink liquor and go to Madina.” Drinking liquor is a pagan act.” Yes, you are right.” Dhanmka answered liquor is Haram (forbidden). It’s like fornication. I understand that drinking is not permitted because intoxication makes you befuddled. How about this poppy that you are growing? Is it not Haram?” “No, son, it’s not Haram. I will explain. Foreigners make liquor. Like it’s the stomach furnace burning bread chemicals, and making liquor. This liquor makes you arrogant. Adam eats this grain; it turns him into an egotistic. That’s why he was kicked out of Paradise. When you eat wheat, you become greedy and try to possess others’ land the same way the English like to colonize. When you drink, you desire women, not your women. Alcohol causes you to do Haram acts.” “But Uncle, this poppy does the same,” “No, son, this poppy is God’s crop. This bud comes out of God’s land, and Haram’s hands make that liquor by the English. It turns your head upside down, and you don’t respect your mom and sister. Look at this, son, this white milk coming out of the bud to be converted into black opium. This devil Englishman, I don’t know what he mixes with it to turn it into a white powder and destroy the human race. Who made this white powder? Who invented these machines? We can’t even manufacture a tiny needle. This mechanism, these syringes, is the devil Englishman’s invention. Look at this bud when it’s turning yellow, and we make it desiccated in the sunshine. When the skin starts peeling and we mix it with tree gum, it turns out to be red tea. It will treat your mother and sister’s headache, fever and flu. This is the fruit of the holy spirit, delivered by God to humankind” Painda Khan pressed the transistor close to his ear and started walking and singing along with the words, “The reason I am getting intoxicated it’s your eyes fault; I will blame your eyes oh Palwasha, your eyes oh Palwasha, this is your eyes fault.” He reached home: he lived alone. A drone attack killed his parents. He has no family, and is all alone in this world, always lost in his imaginary thoughts of his inamorata. His imagination created an exquisite feminine incarnation. He takes her along wherever he goes. Reaching home, he put a small cauldron full of rice on the fireplace and filled his plate with warm rice. This rice was taken home from the Tamash Khan daughter’s wedding ceremony. He offered the rice to Palwasha while he was sitting on the terrace, and she was sitting beside the fireplace. He asked her to sit next to him and share the same plate. Palwasha was shy and reluctant to sit beside him, explaining, “My place is right here at the fireplace.” She got up and gathered a few grains of rice in her fingers and made a small morsel fed Painda. Palwasha advised him, “Why don’t you lease a small piece of land and start cultivating your poppy fields? When poppies are ready to harvest, ask my father for my hand. Once you have made money from those crops, buy a visa to work in the Middle Eastern states on the next crop. We will save all the money and buy our fields. Palwasha’s idea touched him. These thoughts kept him up the whole night. He reached Dhamaka’s home early in the morning. “Uncle Khan, I need your advice. My parents have long since passed away. My house has a seven-foot-high wall, and it’s attached to the main gate. Inside the four walls, there’s a large hall; in the far corner, there’s a fireplace, and in front of the fireplace, there’s a hearth, where men sit and enjoy their food. I sit there as well. But that fireplace is vacant. I must find a Begum (wife), as you know, uncle. Since my mom died, no female will own this house.” Dhamaka Khan listened to his story patiently and said, “My son, remember, a house is run by women, and you need money to find a woman. When the barber comes tomorrow, if you have a little money put a tip of two hundred rupees on his palm. He goes from home to home to cut and shave people’s hair. When he runs a razor close to their necks, this is the right time to discuss your marriage. They will listen at this point most attentively with the razor at their neck, and your lucky star will outshine the blade of a razor. But you have to arrange two hundred rupees. I can’t afford to eat, and you ask for a barber’s money. You know this lower-class barber is a wise ass. He will show me someone’s daughter’s picture, and I will find myself married to her mother. Dhamaka Khan answered again. Look! Son, I am an old man and cannot do this farming anymore. If you arrange to get some money, I will lease you my land on a contract basis. You are a healthy young man; you have the energy to grow poppy crops, make money for yourself, and pay me the loan lease money. It would help if you got married and had some children. You will live happily and die happily. Bring someone into your life who will take care of your funeral. Painda made a humble and earnest supplication. “Lend me your land without paying lease money in advance. I will work very hard and pay you back. I don’t have the money to fill my stomach even with poison.” Dhamka Khan exploded, “You don’t have money to sow poppy seeds, and you don’t plow. What will grow? Your dumb head instead of poppy buds. Listen! I have an idea. Ask Sharbat Khan. He is alone, just like you. You both lease my land.” Painda responded immediately. Where is he? Dhamaka replied, “The same place in the mosque, where he worships all day long; he eats an offering there and sleeps on the prayer mat. 

Painda Khan went to the mosque, looked for him and found him. He counted the beads after the prayer since Painda asked him to come out of the mosque. “What are you doing here? Just folding the mosque mats. Build your own home and find a corner for a mosque, a special place for your prayers”. Sharbat Khan chuckled, “I would move heaven and earth to find my home. My home was destroyed. My parents were victims of the grand war; I am a proud son of Phatan who prays to God, unlike the sons of meek Muslims who do not pray; I always beseech God and work hard to get a true home in heaven. No home is better than Paradise,” Painda replied peevishly, “you will go to heaven when you die. Now in your hell-like life, try to make it Heaven. We will work on the poppy fields, making our home on a shoestring. “How will you make your home on a shoestring when you don’t have even one rupee to buy a string to tie your loose pants. Where will you get money to lease land to grow poppies?” Sharbat Khan made a mean face. Abruptly a thought occurred to him, and he stood up. ”Come with me. We will talk to Dalar Khan Afridi. He is a big cheese in the frontier area; he has three bustling arms factories. He makes the best Mauser. He puts a fake German stamp on his gun, and they look more accurate than the actuals. His guests drink cold punch in delicate glasses made in France. This potent drink makes you drown in a heavenly sweet beverage lake. This punch is made out of pure white sugar and rose water. 

His guests sit on sofas imported from Italy. He is very well known for giving to charity. The present government bleeds money from him. He greatly influences most political parties’ decisions; they don’t make any move without conferring with him. Both Painda Khan and Sharbat Khan ask for help from him. The very next day, both appeared in his factory. They found out the workers were not local; they were from all corners of the country. They were not there out of the goodness of their heart. They were all criminals and wanted murder or robbery cases. They took refuge with Dalar Khan Afradi and were forced to work there for very low or no wages. 

Dalar Khan listened to their anecdote very carefully. He promised to lend them the money on one condition. “If you don’t pay me back, you will do any job I chose, legal or otherwise; if not, you will be dead in the water and disappear without a trace.” 

Both of them were very blissful. Finally, they could begin their life journey. Painda Khan had faith that the girl of his dreams was about to hold his hand as soon as the poppy seeds turned into buds. Painda Khan offered Sharbat Khan a temporary place at home, and Sharbat Khan accepted his offer.

Dhamaka Khan leased his land to them for the next season, and with his recommendation, they arranged for the water supply. He gave them the poppy seeds from his warehouse. Both carefully set up the flower beds precisely one foot apart. They were losing the soil using a small rake with their hands. It was their first job, so they were burning the midnight oil. Whenever they found time to hit the sack, Painda Khan would listen to his transistor, and Sharbat Khan would never miss his daily prayer ritual before dozing off. They would discuss their dreams. Sharbat Khan always rejected meeting beautiful Palwasha, his dream girl. Who speaks his language, with brunette curly hair, anywhere on earth? “This is a temporary world, on doom day. There will be a dreadful storm; these houses, these fields, these mountains, all the factories that belong to Dalar Khan Afradi, his French glasses, and Italian sofas will be sent to the sky like snowflakes, swirling around like a cotton ball. Everything will be destroyed, and you and your Palwasha will cease to exist. There will be many magnificent real castles in Paradise for the believers who pray to God five times a day. There will be many more nymphs, even better than your unholy Palwasha. You dumb off, chanting about one Palwasha. There will be thousands of nymphs waiting for me.” 

Painda always ends his tête-à-tête by dropping his hat, “No woman is more exquisite than my Palwasha. She is an extraordinary person. Your nymphs! Anyone can win by going on a pilgrimage. Haji Samander Khan performed ten pilgrimages; he will add two more and take all of yours. Look, she will be sitting right there.” He pointed toward the fireplace. “She will always put the food on the hearth, no matter what, whether I buy a pink outfit for her or not.” Painda made his long story short. “Cross the bridge when you come to it. Find that long ladder that will reach beyond the sky. Unearth your nymphs, then. Please don’t deceive me. It’s not a Dhamaka Khan’s field, where you plow all day without using your head.”

They guarded their field day and night; no one was allowed to enter. They respect this field like their own mother. The field nourishes the poppy seed like a mother bears a child in her womb. Out of the goodness of their hearts, poppy plants were popping out of the seeds. The same plants bloomed in pink and purple and very different colors, like an onion. They were pleased when they both watched the first bud burst out of the plant’s stem. They were stoned down by the intoxicating breeze whenever they passed through the field. The qawali playing from Painda Khan’s transistor, Ya jo halka halka saror ha, wo teri nazar ka qasoor ha “(I love this intoxication because it’s from your mystical eyes)” transports him to another world. He started to count the leaves of the plants and inspect them with admiration, as if Palwasha were wearing a pink, white, purple, and pink outfit, standing shyly in front of him.

Sharbat Khan always expresses his gratitude to God. These buds are like nymphs landing from Nirvana. He drools when he imagines nymphs with lusty saliva dripping from his mouth. One day he was intoxicated by the poppy’s breeze, and he went to the mosque to inquire about the nymphs. He asked the priest what nymphs look like. The Priest’s description matches the vivid picture in Sharbat’s imagination. “Your nymph’s neck will resemble a long-necked glass goblet. Whenever you offer her a glass of molasses, you can watch the molasses passing through her veins as her skin is so transparent. A when she is out of her dress. You can’t envisage her beauty. No ear ever heard of that superior beauty, nor did any brain think of beauty like hers. Her big eyes are one of a kind. She is the goddess of shyness and modesty. She will be yours and not even glance at anyone else.”Sharbat Khan cut the priest off, saying.” If she gazes at anyone else, I will cut down that man with a sickle-like I slash the poppies.” The Priest interrupted, “OH no, not all. She is very poised, pure, and chaste.” 

Just before the buds change color from green to yellow, that’s the specific time they are full of milk. They need a cut, and milk will seep out. Both men were very enthusiastic to reap their endeavors. Sharbat Khan took a piece of reed six inches long, marked it into four equal parts, and stuck in a broken razor in one-quarter of the blade in each section; with this reed, they cut at a 60-degree angle on the ripe bud. The milk seeped out of the four equal cuts on the bud. They were so excited they could not sleep the whole night. They walked back and forth, carrying a tool from the can to scrape the milk off the bud. They got up early in the morning and rushed to the field with sleepy red eyes. Suddenly, their eyes opened wide. They saw that leaked white milk had turned into black opium on the bud. They carefully scraped off the opium with the tin scraper and made a small dough ball. They hurried to Dhamaka Khan. “Look at this, Dhamaka Khan. This is our first-hand grenade. For us, it’s an atom bomb, an atom bomb.” Dhamaka Khan scrutinized the opium and advised them.

“If you sell it now, you will not get good rates. Please wait a little longer and let it dry. But don’t worry; I am in this trade and know the market well. I have a good relationship with the commission agents; one of them is very honest. If you sell by yourself, you will be wasting your time. You must pay full attention to your field. Collect as much opium dough as you can.” They agreed to Dhamaka Khan’s advice. He invited them for lunch at his house for the first time. They were eating lunch when they heard a loud blast. Dhamka Khan got up and checked the blast had not hit his house. That blast happened in a field somewhere far away. Painda Khan was concerned about his field. Painda and Sharbat rushed to their field, and they stopped in their tracks in shock. The shelling of the warplanes had destroyed the whole field. Buds were lying like human heads. Silently they stood staring at each other, thinking different thoughts. Sharbat Khan knew in his heart that life is a hell on earth; he vowed to make this world an inferno and to find his Paradise in the afterlife.

On the other hand, Painda Khan saw this incident as a test. If he botched up the first time. He would do better in his next test, and maybe this way, he would finally succeed.  

 Possibly Dhamaka Khan would understand their catastrophe, but it would be tough to make Dalar Khan Afradi empathize. Painda and Sharbat decided to contact Dalar Khan and explain the situation. He gave them a long lecture. “My factories produce arms and ammunition, and you don’t have any experience. I give zakat (Muslims’ practice of taxation and redistribution) from my profit. The zakat goes to the Mujahidin, who fights for the glory of God. Both of you will work for the Mujahidin for two months. That will be your compensation equal to my zakat to them. Sharbat Khan loved the idea of working for them, but Painda Khan was hesitant to work for them. But he had no choice; an ocean on his back and a lake in front of him. Taking the lesser of two evils, he jumped into the lake.

They joined the terrorist group and finished their six weeks of training. The first operation was to capture the traitors and punish them. It was their test and a lesson as well. If you do the same, you will be punished like them. Two traitors were tied to a tree of one man, one on each side. First, Sharbat Khan was ordered to slash his throat. He regarded his neck like the opium bud. He made the pleasure of the cut on his throat as he did on the bud. Blood seeped out like milk was leaking from the bud. Painda Khan’s job was to punish the second one. He wavered. He looked at the bleeding throat of the first man. Painda fainted and collapsed.

Sharbat Khan snatched the dagger from Painda’s hand, cursing him as a coward and punishing the second man. He wiped the blood of the dagger on the dying man’s shirt, proudly yelling at him, “You fraidy cat, son of a chicken.” One by one, everyone spat on Painda, kicked him and danced around, and clapped. Everyone hugged Sharab Khan, and the commander kissed Sharbat’s hand and commended him. “The doors of Paradise are wide open for you.” Sharbat Khan shouted out loud. ”I embrace death, and it will grant me the license to enter Paradise.” Painda Khan mumbled, “I love my life and will make this life heaven.”

One night Painda Khan arrived at Dhamaka Khan’s house undercover. He whimpered, “I will not live this vicious life where the important lesson is to kill people savagely. Please get me out of this Hell.” Dhamaka Khan was a very kind-hearted man. He arranged a false identification card for him. Painda disguised himself, becoming clean-shaven and wearing pants and a shirt like an urban person. Dhamaka Khan gave him his brother’s address in Karachi and told him. : “Go, disappear in this big city. Nobody will be able to find you in the crowd of the human ocean.”

One day the commander of the terrorist group summoned Sharbat Khan. The commander was very complimentary to him. He said. “Your time has come, and you are very close to reaching your destination. You are very fortunate and blessed. There were several others in line ahead of you. But God is very benevolent to you. He opened all the doors of Paradise for you. Many nymphs are waiting for such a brave person as you. Get ready. Tomorrow you are going on a mission. Remember, as many people as you kill, that many nymphs will be granted to you.” He handed Sharbat a suicide vest filled with explosives and advised him, “Tomorrow afternoon at midnight, brother Mir Khan will take you to the Karachi stock exchange.”

Painda Khan gathered his belongings and secured his identification card in his pocket. He climbed up on the roof of Pacha Khan Goods Forwarding Company’s truck and sat on it.

Sharbat Khan disguised himself as a banker; Brother Meer Khan gave him a ride on his bike and let him off in front of the Karachi stock exchange. He entered the building with confidence. Numbers on the plasma screens were changing haphazardly. But there was no sign of fear on his face.

Painda Khan reached Karachi, got off the truck, and asked a Pathan man for directions to Pathan Clooney (Both Painda and the man belonged to the Pathan cast). Taking all kinds of different routes by public transportation and on foot, he found the address of Dhamaka Khan’s brother. He knocked on his door.

On the Karachi Stock Exchange wall, the clock’s second hand moved to noon. Dhamka Khan was standing precisely in the middle of the Hall. People were running from one desk to another like they were sprinting to catch a train. He pulled the cord on his suicide vest. There was a considerable expulsion, and all of the workers in the building missed the train of their lives.

As soon as Painda Khan arrived at Dhamaka Khan’s Brother’s home, he knocked at the door. There was an explosion. But this explosion happened in his mind. He was dumbfounded. The girl of his dreams was standing in front of him. She was beautiful like Pulwasha. She said, “You have arrived. I have been waiting for you for so long. Panda Khan’s lips had been frozen, but his heart was speaking, “Yes, Pulwasha, I am here.” She was precisely like Pulwasha, same face, the same light complexion, and big dark eyes. But her nose was slightly smaller than Pulwashas’s. She ushered him inside the house. Dhamaka Khan’s brother introduced her daughter to him. But her name was difficult for him to pronounce, so he called her Palwasha if I called her Pulwasha. 

After the suicide explosion, the angels landed at Karachi Stock Exchange, and assembled all the scattered bits and pieces of Sharabat Khan’s body, restoring him to life. A horse stood in front of the burnt building with his fluttering wings. 

The horse was fastened to a dazzling golden chariot encrusted with diamonds and gems. The angels asked Sharbat Khan to ride on this glittering buggy, to which he said yes, and with him, the chariot flew toward the sky. The horse stopped before a giant golden gate but refused to enter. He turned to Sharbat Khan and said, “Only blessed people like you will be permitted to enter this Heaven’s gate. My wings would burn if I tried to enter.” But a moment later, the gate slowly opened, and beautiful angels welcomed Sharbat Khan. They asked him to make any wish, to which Sharbat Khan answered quickly, “I need four nymphs.” Angels pointed to a bed of velvet in a private chamber. There stood four long-necked nymphs who exactly resembled the description the priest gave. Their glow illuminated the room. Indeed, no human mind could ever imagine just how exquisite they were. Indeed, no eyes ever saw this beauty before. Vivid bodies appeared through sheer dresses. Sharbat Khan could not wait, and in the heat of the moment, he rudely ordered, “Take off your clothes! “The nymphs obeyed. They removed their dresses and untied Kalashnikovs from their spines. They sprayed on Sharbat Khan. They said, “While everyone found hell in hell, the contrast of hell within Paradise would leave it utterly ashamed.”

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.