Chapter 8 | Half Shut Eye Wisdom (with audio)

Portrait in Words | Mumtaz Hussain

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

Roshan pulled out the hidden layers of his cane, lengthening it longer. He addressed the stick. “I value your hidden powers.” Then he took a handkerchief from his pocket and started to clean the table tennis-like ball at the end of the cane as if he were rubbing his eyeballs after a sound sleep. Roshan began to think… Do I fall asleep? How does rest work? And why must my eyes be closed? It shouldn’t make a difference if they are open or closed.

Life is like a dream. One continuous dream that never ends. My life in this dream is an everlasting pleasure. He inquired again as he handled the eyeball end of the cane. “Oh, splendor, the light of my eyes, please surprise me with the magic of your luminosity.” He proceeded to twirl the cane left and right. As he crossed the road and approached the bus stop. A woman’s voice entered his ears. He heard a woman. Ask someone, “Sir, where is the drugstore?” Roshan answered, enraptured. “Madam, you are standing exactly before a drugstore.” The lady was surprised. “Can you see?” Roshan touched the ball of his cane and stretched his nose slightly. “Madam, I told you the location of the drugstore. Only if I’m wrong do you have the right to complain. “She then bashfully went in. And Roshan walked away from her with a slight smile.

After a short while, the bus arrived. As soon as Roshan entered from the front, he accused the driver of being fifteen minutes late. “Yes, Roshan, today the roads are crowded with heavy traffic. And the bus is too full for you to sit.” Roshan smiled and replied, “Don’t give up your seat because I don’t know how to drive.” All the passengers laughed, and four people stood to offer their seats to the blind gentleman, but he refused.

Roshan was about to push Kamal’s doorbell, but Kamal stopped him and Roshan said, “Dear, why do you damage my eardrum with the unpleasant sound of this bell?” Roshan said, “If you don’t like the sound, why don’t you change the bell? Listen to all those people with the power of listening, which is the same as the power of seeing. Those are great blessings,” and he entered his home with a cackle.

Roshan was about to sit on the sofa when Kamal asked, “Don’t you want to have tea?” Roshan stood up and said, “You refuse to serve tea.” Roshan repeated his words, “Don’t you want to have tea?” Kamal became self-conscious. “I’m sorry, sir. Would you care for tea? I have to watch my mouth.” Kamal chuckled and said, “My dear… Precaution will save your life a lot of tribulation. Let’s talk about something interesting. “Kamal asked, “How many children asked you the time today?” Roshan amazed the children by telling them the correct time by looking toward the sun. They would check their watches to verify. “Today, I enjoyed directing a lady to the pharmacy that was right in front of him. Though embarrassed, she must have thought what a shame it is when the blind lead people with sight.” Kamal responded, “People don’t judge an aroma by the smell. Although they are gateways, my eyes are sealed. But a princess in my nostril guards the palace of my brain. Now tell me about your health. How is your medical report? “Kamal replied, not wanting to talk

 “My medical report is not good, but I don’t want to take notes on your philosophical lecture on life. Now, let’s start our work.”

 “We are approaching the third quarter of the novel, and since your publisher is making a fuss should finish promptly. Please inform the publisher of words that collecting compound interest is not kosher in the business of words. In the commerce of fiction, a blind heart walks while holding the soul’s finger. Let them walk gracefully. When the heart is blind, emotions are directed by the soul.”

We shouldn’t waste any more time. Kamal grasped a pen and notepad while Roshan started to dictate. “Why don’t we shriek today? Or experience thirst for starvation. Or find liberation (musical or symphonic) from the sound of dripping water from a faucet. Or count the waves (Let’s count the waves) crashing from the ocean? We should converse or argue with Faiz’s soul. Or find God in a stone and lecture him with the theories of Lenin and Marx.” Kamal said, “Or why don’t we count the stars?” Roshan responded, “Counting stars is a common phrase I’d rather not use.”

Roshan dropped his head and explained, “Yes, please write this… Ask Kalashnikov. When a bullet converts a human skull into pieces, how much pleasure do you experience? Let’s ask the blood which colors you embrace. Why don’t we make blood white?” Roshan explained again that this is a common phrase, that blood should be colorless and that all humans have the same color of blood. 

If you have never experienced colors before, how can you distinguish them or use them in expressions? Roshan’s forehead became creased. “I sense colors. The five senses cannot possess God. The five senses cannot judge God. It is Muslim thought that God is totality and above the five senses. So today, you glance at Maqsit Nadeem’s poetry.” Kamal was again embarrassed and spoke in a bewildering way. “Put away this reading and listening business. Start speaking so that I can write.” Roshan said, “On one condition. If you don’t drop an anchor in the flowing ocean of my thoughts.” Kamal muttered, “Yes, I promise.”

Roshan was about to assemble his thoughts. Kamal stopped talking because of a sudden, unbearable stomach ache. His silence made Roshan aware of his pain. Kamal said, “I always try to convert this bad luck that is cancer into Urdu poetry. Pain is like the separation of lovers.” He tries to convert his cancer pain into a lover’s separation, but this is only poetry. His pain is much worse. This misfortune only looks good in poetry. Gastric cancer is like a stunning white blond acting mercilessly toward Indian people. My tolerance is out of reach when this stomach cancer scrapes my abdomen. He then takes four tablets from a medicine bottle. 

The next day, Roshan received the news of Kamal ending up in the emergency room. He was fighting the war of his life against the venomous serpents of cancer. Roshan pulled the three hidden layers and made a longer cane, which he threw onto the ground. “You are a staff of Moses and should convert into a dragon to gulp down Kamal’s dangerous cancerous snakes.” But the poisonous snake of cancer was so powerful that it worked promptly. After opening Kamal’s abdomen, the doctors closed it since the cancer had proliferated. He was a guest for a few hours in this world. He made his last request to donate his eyes to his friend by saying, “This spark of my eyes will light the extinguished candles of my friend’s eyes. The gift of eyes was not a reparation to his lost friend. 

At least, he can write and hopefully complete the unfinished novel. My eyes will turn out to help him write his imagination onto paper.

Roshan’s eye surgery was successful. After a lifelong wait, the time has arrived that he will be able to see. After removing the bandages, he wished to visit his friend, who no longer existed. According to his desire, Kamal’s life-sized portrait was positioned in front of him. The doctor untied the bandage and warned Roshan not to open his eyes when only two cotton pads remained. “Lift your eyelids slowly, and a sharp light will sting.” He opened his eyes, and everything was hazy. He couldn’t see anything, so he closed his eyes. As Kamal’s image entered his mind, his imagination excited him with his smell, voice, and touch. He was his jolly attractive friend with a good spirit. The doctor’s speech brought him back to reality. He asked him to open his eyes slowly. Roshan tried hard to force his eyelids. His vision was clear. He shrieked as soon as he saw Kamal’s picture. Everything was different from what he imagined, including the room, bed, table, and clock. 

From what he knew, images reflected downward inside his cornea, reversing the image on the mind’s topsy-turvy picture. Everything was deceptive, from the victorious smile of doctors to confirmative shadows that passed in front of the eyeball. Every image, which he created directly from his brain when he was blind, was honest and close to his heart. The sound of commiserating people and piercing flashes of a camera light… filled him with unpleasantness. He could see the whole lot, but he was not delighted. Regardless of seeing everything, he felt sightless. The doctor comprehended his barriers and formed an opinion. He told Roshan that it would take time to adjust. He experienced 40 springs of his life without sight. Life is different with bright eyes open. He can recommend a psychologist to help him become normalized. Roshan mentioned that his life was not complicated when blind, but now just the sight of people gave him agony. He found that everything was beautiful in his blind heaven. He started to take classes on how to read and write along with psychotherapy and became fast at writing.

In next to no time, he became conscious. He was determined to bring an end to his uncompleted novel. When he resumed writing, he couldn’t drop a line into it. The doors to his thoughts were shut. The trade for two bright eyes on his face for his intellect was not good after all. The purpose of his life was to become a creative writer; without accomplishing this objective, life would be worthless. He lost his whole treasure of imagination and got only two tiny pearls. He was agitated as he stepped out of the house. He saw children playing with marbles. Roshan looked at the marbles with resentment. The children clutched the marbles with two fingers and pulled back the third, making a slingshot and shooting the marble to the ground.  The unique sound was so cheery that Roshan started to play with them. At the end of the competition, he triumphed over two marbles. He likened them to his eyeballs. As he held them up between the sun and his eyes, rays appeared before him. His eyes were aching.

He kept the two marbles in his pocket and encircled them with his fingers, just as he used to touch his cane. One day, while taking a leisurely walk, he passed an empty old movie theater. A blind beggar was standing next to the theater. He held one hand on a long cane with bells tied to one end. The other hand was bent like a begging elm tree with a bowl. He enjoyed the dialogue of the film by listening to the actors. He held his hand out, and Roshan placed two marbles in his palm. The beggar caressed them. Roshan asked, “Do you see through these marble eyeballs?” The blind beggar replied, “Yes, the whole universe. Why don’t you narrate a story?” 

He started, “The ultimate truth is an interior light. The body does not exist without light. This life is a paper boat with a pigeon as its sailor. The world is a land of mortality and will obliterate. Go ahead and step out to find yourself and the course of wisdom.” Roshan, very delighted, shrieked with passion. “I discovered my lost companion. We must change our names. You recite, and I will write. From now on, your name is Roshan, and I am Kamal.”

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.