Najma

A Short Story

Peerzada Muzamil

"A stone knocked me down unconscious, and slowly and slowly, I bled to death..."

I had always felt that my love affair would not remain draped for ever, knew that they know about it and lash me. But they'd stone me to death, I hardly gave it a thought, it didn't matter whatsoever. You see, I was as intrepid as a lone bear on hunt, any consternation hardly bothered me and nothing prompted to change the course of my mad heart. But, you see, had I known I would be killed, I would have been more cautious and clandestine. How does it matter now, I am dead anyway, but allow me to  tell you, every night, I would melt away in her arms, making love to her. Every night she would clasp me into her arms and rejuvenate my soul; her moist lips would inebriate mine and till dawn we would make love to each other and stare into each other’s eyes.  I never knew why I loved Najma, but I knew I did and did so with exuberant intensity. Probably my unhappy and wretched married life compelled me to find a solace outside of this bond and Najma, a pristine soul, was an absolute succor – a Hoor for me. Yes the Hoor as described in our holy book: wide eyed and high breasted virgin.  Hurrayah, my wife, some how came to know about my divine escapades with Najma and it got real hard as she would often fight and sometimes the fights would get uglier as the shit of the pig. I noticed Yasir, my brother in law, a couple of times, eavesdropping at our bickering and running away silently, like a fluttering ghost. He never liked me and I never liked his sister. I hated both of them though, fiercely, down to my bones. I somehow knew that Yasir would someday inform the mullah about my relations with the unmarried girl, which of course that bastard did.

On one very hot Friday afternoon I had just returned from the congregational prayers and while I was napping, I heard the raucous knocks at my door. Hurrayah, on the spur of the moment rushed towards the door flung it open and a violent throng of people rushed inside shouting my name. I saw Yasir was leading them and dragging his sister forcibly and going away.  I sweated and trembled. They dragged me out and took me to the nearby field, where generally funerals used to be held. I saw a large crowd, men, and women, children, babbling, and peering into the pit which was dug in the middle of them. I was able to overhear from the mildly inarticulate voices of the public that Najma  had succumbed to death while receiving 100 lashes on her body. It broke my heart and and couldn't resist crying. My hands and feet were tied and I was pushed into the pit, and buried upto my waist, which was dug in the center of the crowd which stood in a hefty circle. Struggling to breath and unable to move, I could see the public glowering at me with contempt, disgust and anger. Though I could not stop thinking about Najma – how ruthless could these brutes be?  lash at the body of my fragile love. The sun, with all its might, was pressing its heat directly against me and I sweated more.

Jamaal,  a distant cousin of Hurrayah and my colleague, was the first person to throw the stone at me which hit me on the left shoulder. I was hurt in the heart too.  I would not dare to recount what the subsequent barrage of stones did to me –  shattered my teeth , severed my brow, broke my jaws and my nose too. My mouth was filled with blood and I could sniff the sweet smell of warm and sticky blood  oozing out from everywhere. My vision though blurred, I could see faint and glimmering caricatures of the people and hear nothing but subdued cries echoing all over inside my head with a sharp din. A stone knocked me down unconscious, and slowly and slowly, I bled to death. I could have chosen to embrace this gruesome death with the mightiest of fortitude, but the thoughts of Najma wouldn’t allow me to hold on to the courage, I was broken.

As time went by, I was buried, without a funeral and now lying in my grave with a dreadful stench, I rue fitfully. Couldn't I live again and love her secretly? My nails and hair will fall, my skin will attenuate into dust, and my viscera will rot, and my bones will weather too. Awfully, there would be no sign of me in the graveyard at all save the tombstone, that marks this pit, which will fade away into clay after a matter of years too. You see, I’d be annihilated, but my being won't cease. I’d exist in my grave till eternity like the way I’m living now: a grim and restive death, all alone. At times I do not feel alone at all because some people keep passing by, some look at my grave and some stay, if only for a while. Few days earlier, Hurrayah visited my grave and I did not like it. It aroused inside me the craving to kill her --  drag her down into my grave, break her teeth, fracture her skull and ribs till she’ll shriek outlandishly, and strangulate her till she dies and then I would not refrain from dismembering her corpse and burn those pieces into ashes.

You see the hatred for her is still alive in my soul, for she was the reason of my separation from Najma. She got us exposed, tortured and killed. She, though everyone, thinks that we are banished into an eternal hellfire. But theye're wrong, here I am, as you can see, I am not burning in any inferno. I’ll go to the heaven, straightaway, with Najma, because we are not the iniquitous heretics, we are the martyrs of love. I’ll again make love to Najma on the banks of the rivers of honey and under the shades of broad leafed fruit trees; I’ll once again kiss her forlorn lips till with gust and emotion, in the palaces with golden kiosks. We will consummate the purest of unions, once again, in the lap of heaven. I’ll keep loving her, forever and beyond, and  she will clasp me into her arms forever. And, the verity is, there would be no one to Stone or Lash us.