Beating all logic

Two Graves

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

Four miles out of Karachi, on the sea shore, there is a small isle; it is famous as “the isle of two graves”. There are just two graves on this little isle. These two graves are twenty paces apart. The weird part is this that there is nothing else on this isle. Leave alone men or animal, there is neither any kind of insect, nor any other form of life on this isle. This is unfortunate. After years of investigation it still remains a mystery and no one knows how these two graves got to be there; and if they did not get there than who made them there. And if they were made there, where did the makers disappear. This has remained a mystery as I have not yet opened up my mouth to tell the truth. Today, I disclose the mystery as today no one can stop me; my wife is gone to her relatives today.

Three or four years back, when I was still in my in the detective department, the murderer was running away after murdering someone and I was following him. Suddenly, the murderer slipped into a house and disappeared, leaving me in a confusion. But then, I also slipped into another house. The house in which the murderer went was his own and the house in which I went was someone else’s. I showed my badge and was given tea, “How long would you hide?” I thought in a low voice in my mind so that the murderer could not hear me. He did not hear. After hiding in his house for a week, when he came out, I followed him with a loaded revolver in my possession.

The murderer bought a newspaper from a stall; I bought a newspaper from another stall because if I had bought one from the same stall, the murderer would have understood that I was following him. I had not wasted my time in the department. The murderer started whistling lightly and went towards Shahi Bazar. Exactly twenty paces behind, I started following him whistling lightly. He bought or brought a pair of socks and some handkerchiefs from a shop. I was twenty paces behind and therefore am not sure whether he bought these or brought these. From Shahi Bazar, he moved through Qila and went on to the Station Road. I don’t understand why the department trains us to stay twenty paces behind. Because of this training I could not buy the socks or the handkerchiefs for myself. On the station, the murderer bought an Inter class ticket and sat in it. I did the same but sat twenty seats behind him, however, I found myself in the next coupe as the first one had only sixteen seats. Train started to move and my heart started to beat faster. This was the first time that I was following a murderer who had killed ten people. He was alone and so was I. I touched the revolver in my pocket and warm blood rushed through my whole body. Even the revolver in my pocket felt warm now.

Till we reached Karachi, the murderer kept sitting in his seat and I kept sitting in mine. If I had gotten down and the train had moved away, who would have captured the murderer - dead or alive? He had a twenty thousand rupees reward on his head. I perspired at the thought. 

The murderer got down at the Saddar Station and started walking on the pavement towards Kaimari. This was his mistake. If he had gotten down at the City Station, Kaimari would have been nearer.

{Let me share with you that when this murderer killed ten people, he telephoned our chief and laughed an evil loud laugh, saying, “ You and your department cannot do anything about me and I intend to murder eleven people.” That is when my chief called me and said, “Police and the detective department does not have a quicker and braver officer than you, what do you say?” I said, “Yes” and that was my mistake. Now I was missing my children. I won’t say I was missing my wife, as within our clan it is inappropriate to speak about ones wife.}

While walking, the murderer turned towards Jhuna Market. I stayed twenty paces behind him but turned in the same direction, hitting a wall, headlong. I rushed towards the murderer and caught up with him. This was his cleverness as he may have guessed that I was following him. He ate in a hotel, but I stayed outside as the hotel did not have twenty seats. I don’t know what he ate. Meanwhile, it turned pitch dark. In this pitch dark of night, where a hand cannot see a moustache, on a deserted road, I followed the footsteps of the murderer; exactly twenty paces behind him. 

Suddenly I thought of something and shivered from head to toe. What if the murderer was intentionally walking twenty paces ahead of me in this pitch dark night, in which a hand could not see a moustache? I started to sweat. The sweat ran down the nape of my neck. I took out a handkerchief and wiped the swept off my neck. I put my hand in my pocket and curled my fingers around the revolver. Allah above me and this revolver on the earth were my only two guardians. 

Now I was not worried at all. I kept walking. Suddenly everything went quiet. Very quiet! Where did the sound go? I panicked. Where did the murderer’s footsteps go? I got totally confused. I started shivering. In my confusion, I held the revolver and forced myself to look in the dark. Suddenly there was a spark, so I lied down flat on my stomach. This strategy of lying down with the spark is also taught by our department so that a bullet should not hit us on our mouth or on our body. A standing man is an easy target. Now I watched with concentration and saw that the murderer was standing and the spark was from a lighter that he used to light a cigarette. That is exactly why his footsteps could not be heard anymore and so I got up. If instead of holding the revolver and forcing my mind, I had forced the revolver and held my mind, this tale would have been told by the murderer instead of me. Allah is Kind and Merciful. I lighted a cigarette and inhaled deeply.  

At Netty Jetty, the murderer bought a small boat and rowed it towards the open sea. At first I just kept staring, but later, I also bought a small boat and started following him. My heart was beating very fast as it was really difficult to stay twenty paces behind, because to measure the paces in the water, I would have had to get down in the water, and I would have drowned. I strengthened my heart. At our department we are always ready to die, but at a distance of twenty paces only.

We entered wide open sea and the murderer’s boat started to bob up and down in it. When my boat came twenty paces behind his, it also started to bob up and down in the rough sea. I did not lose heart. In our department, special emphasize is given on not losing heart. Out of nowhere there appeared ground before us. The murderer tied his boat on the beach, lighted a cigarette and kept starring at me. I pretended not to notice him and getting off my boat at exactly twenty paces away from him, I turned my face the other way and started whistling. I did this because I did not want him to know that I was following him. This trick was also taught to us at our department. 

Slowly the murderer started approaching me. My back was toward him, but we detectives have sharp ears. I kept whistling and started walking away from the murderer. The murderer fastened his pace and so did I. Suddenly he started running, so I also did the same. How could he be allowed to reach me? Our chief had instructed us to stay twenty paces behind the culprit at all times. While running, for a moment I thought that as per rule, he should be in front and I should be following him. But this was not a time to argue with the murderer.

I kept running and made a complete round of the isle. Now I realized that the murderer had not an inch since he got off the boat. He was standing at the same spot where I had last seen him. My confusion that he was chasing me was my imagination. So I lit up another cigarette and turned my back towards him. I heard him move towards me. This was my illusory imagination. We have been trained about such illusory imaginations at the department, so that we don’t fall victim to it. 

Suddenly, the murderer stabbed an inch and a half wide knife in my back and kept pushing it into my back till it could enter no more. Then he took it out and stabbed me repeatedly. This was not an illusion or imagination. I shouted a loud cry and died immediately. This was the murderer’s eleventh murder.

The murderer dug a deep grave and buried me in it. He covered me with a big load of mud and made a proper grave mound out of it and said appropriate prayers for me. Afterwards, he sat on my grave and had had a cigarette.

This was a golden opportunity for me, and our department's chief had instructed us that never let a golden opportunity go to waste. I sneaked out of my grave, put the nozzle of my revolver on the back of his nape and fired six shots, one after the other. His last words were. “I would get even with you and your chief.” I dug another grave at exactly twenty paces away from my own grave, buried the murderer, entered my own grave and went back to an eternal sleep.

This is the mystery of the two graves that are at a distance of twenty paces from one another and are at the isle where no men or animal live; neither is there any kind of insect, nor any other form of life on this isle.

PS: This is a hilariously illogical story and a true reflection of Abdul Haleem Brohi's humourous side. 

Another very short story

A New Grave

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

There was a sharp turn on the road. I glanced over the meter. The car was going at about the speed of 80 km per hr. I looked ahead and suddenly saw two huge, bright lights approaching at a fast speed. Within a moment, these two lights ran over me and entered my eyes and my car’s engine, pushing the steering wheel towards me, was all over me. My thoughts slipped. But then … I got out of the car and stood by it. It was a huge truck which had crushed the car and had pushed the remains of it, off the edge of the road.

Next, the people started gathering and shouting. And I started to move back. When I reached my mother’s grave, I realized that it was a miracle to stay alive after such a horrible accident. And then I saw my mother. She was standing near a new grave and was looking at me. This grave was not there before. My mother started smiling and I understood that this new grave was mine. 

PS. I was taught logic by Abdul Haleem Brohi as he was a master of Aristotle's work. But he defied it completely in his own work. 

A very short story

My Place

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

After I bought the land, to build a house, I had no money; and so I thought that my death is distant. Later, I got some money and decided to build the house, and so I thought, now my death is approaching.

When the land was dug for laying the foundation of the house, I started feeling as if my grave is being dug. Then the foundation was laid and the walls started going up.

I have always believed that when a person nears his death, he starts making a place for him to live in, and he dies when his place is ready. I have a thousand such examples and I myself…

The roof was laid and the walls were plastered. Then, the floor was also laid, and the windows and doors were in place. So, after the place was ready, a big get-together was arranged in which my wife started crying while taking the guests around the house. And then, my children also started to cry and so did the guests. No one spoke with me, no one welcomed me. And then I remembered that when a place is ready, the owner dies, and now my place was ready.  

PS: Abdul Haleem Brohi believed in this and gave us many examples of such incidents. He built his own place in the Citizen's Society, opposite Rajputana Hospital, but he did not have enough money to finish the work. Though he lived there for some years, he was never happy there. He sold it at the earliest chance he got.

Subedaree

Subedaree

Written by

Abdul Haleem Brohi

The habits of us Sindhi Subedar would take us straight to heaven. One habit is this that whichever Subedar has a railway station in his jurisdiction, at the time of trains arrival he would stand firmly in front of the ladies compartment and stare at that compartment nonstop; twirling his moustache. He would only let go of the sight of ladies compartment and leave his moustache alone, after the train starts to vanish from his sight. And the other habit is this that the Subedar who does not have a railway station in his jurisdiction would sit outside his police station after sunset, on a chair, and stare at the women who walk by. He would ask his special sycophant Sepoy, “Who is she?”, “Who was she?”

There is no railway station in the jurisdiction of Hyderabad’s Cantonment police station. So, I was sitting on a chair, facing the front alley, staring in the space. That is when I noticed that from that alley the Bohri boy was coming out; the one who was a bicycle thief and who had managed to upset the whole of Saddar by his robberies. This Bohri boy was around twenty to twenty-two years of age and the whole of Saddar knew that this boy steals the bicycles and sells them. He was never imprisoned as he was never caught with the loot. Seeing him coming, I started thinking about his slyness and my helplessness. Everyone knew that he steals bicycles from Saddar but he was such a bastard that he would always walk in front of the police station, give me a smile, wish me salaam and move on. So seeing him coming from that distance, I reflected on his shrewdness and my inability to do anything about it.

Those meherbaan readers, who have seen Cantonment police station, must have also seen Meherbaan Hotel; just opposite the police station slightly ahead. This Meherbaan Hotel belonged to an Iranian named Sheherzad who was in a habit of saying ‘meherbaan’. His speech mostly comprised “Yes meherbaan”, “No meherbaan”. While taking bill, he would say “Meherbaan, here are your two rupees change.” “Salaam meherbaan, take money meherbaan.” This earned him a new name of Sheherzad Meherbaan and his cafe that was initially Café Britannia acquired the new name of Meherbaan Hotel. Finally the meherbaan owner changed the name of the cafe to Meherbaan Hotel. But I am speaking of the days when the cafe was still called Café Britannia and the students from Kaaree Moree College used to leave their bicycles outside the hotel and sit inside to have tea and chat with one another. The main door of the hotel is on the Saddar Bazaar Road but two smaller ones are on the road on which the police station is.

While seeing that boy in the alley approaching me, I reflected on his shrewdness and my helplessness, but then suddenly, I caught sight of the two side doors of the Meherbaan Hotel on my side of the road.  Resting against these doors were from four to six bicycles of the college students who were used to having tea there and were mostly sons of high ranking officers.

As an abrupt urge to pee, came an urgent and abrupt thought to my mind. I saw that the Bohri boy was still a little distance away in the alley and was strolling casually and slowly towards where I was sitting. From this alley, one cannot see the doors of the Meherbaan Hotel. But after three to four minutes, when the boy would have come out of the alley, after wishing me salaam he would have turned toward the hotels doors and passed close to the students’ bicycles. I immediately signaled a Sepoy to come closer and told him to sneak up to the hotel and bring one bicycle in such a way that no one sitting inside the hotel should know. That Sepoy walked his normal pace towards the hotel and grabbed one Relay bicycle by the handle and turned casually, bringing the bicycle to me without students noticing anything. Meanwhile, that Bohri boy came out of the alley, wished me salaam and walked on, but I called him, “come here”. Bohro smiled and came to my side, and at the same moment that Sepoy came to me holding the bicycle by its handle. I pointed towards the bicycle and told the Bohri to take that bicycle and fly over to Heerabad and get me a carton of cigarettes from a particular shop and get back in two minutes.  Bohro said, “Yes sir.” Swung his leg over the bicycle and peddled it fast towards his destination but as soon as he reached the doors of Meherbaan Hotel, from where the bicycle was taken, my Sepoy started shouting, “Catch him, catch him, he is taking a bicycle away.” Sepoy ran to the place, but before him the college students sitting in the hotel were all out. Suddenly, one of them cried, “Oh, this is my bike!” Bohri boy got so confused that he started babbling, “I was going to get cigarettes for Subedar Sahib.”  But the students’ slaps and punches had his face swollen.

And then, there was the judicial enquiry and there were about four or five college students, who were the children of the respectable and high ranking officers’, and were the eye witnesses as they had seen the defendant with the stolen bicycle and caught him themselves.  So, that Bohri boy was sent to the prison for full three years' term and I sat every evening in front of the police station and kept to my routine of eyeing women who passed my way and asking my sycophant Sepoys “Who is she?”, “Who was she?”.

PS. This story could very well be true as Abdul Haleem Brohi grew up visiting Thanna's and in company of Subedars and Sepoys because of his father's job. Cantonment Thaana was very close to where he lived all his life and such anecdotes were often shared on the dinning table. 

Sherlock Holmes Jy Kkanne

World Famous Detective

The Story of Sherlock Holmes 

- as told by his friend Dr. Watson

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

Birth: In the world of detectives, Sherlock Holmes holds a unique place. No detective as great as him was ever born before him, nor would another one be born after him; neither would anyone else try to give birth to his kind, because Sherlock Holmes has been such a pain to his parents.

Sharp Eyes: Sherlock Holmes had sharp eyes. In a gaze, he could assess the whole situation. Just a look at the pants and he could tell whether a man is wearing an underwear beneath or not. Once he looked at me and said “Oh Watson, is everything ok today? Why have you forgotten to wear underwear under your pants today?” Amazed, I asked, “How could you tell that I am not wearing underwear under my pants?” “Because, today you have forgotten to wear pants as well” he explained.

His Books: Sherlock wrote a book by the name of ‘How to Catch Thieves’. That book became very famous. Two lac copies of the book were sold whereas there were only two thousand policemen in the whole country. Later it became known that not just the policemen and the detectives but all the thieves also bought the book. I don’t know about the policemen and the detectives, but the thieves changed their ways of thievery. Awards and badges etc. that Sherlock earned because of the book were taken back by the government. When Sherlock published his second book ‘How Thieves should Defend themselves from Police’, then the police changed its ways of catching thieves; consequently, thousands of thieves were caught. Awards and badges that the government had taken back from Sherlock were returned to him. As the time went by and the thieves started coming out of the prison, Sherlock’s awards and badges went on disappearing.

His Fame: Sherlock is a master of the detection. Sherlock once solved a murder mystery in two minutes and left the whole police force in bewilderment. Sherlock just said that “Wherever there is a murder, you should cent percent believe that the cook is the murderer because in most murder stories the murderers are the cooks.” The police caught the cook and he was proven to be the murderer. After the cook was hanged, it became known that the cook had nothing to do with the murder. By that time it was too late and Sherlock had become very famous as a great detective. The policemen were exasperated and knew that they had been had but that was it.

Once Sherlock said, “Where there is a cook, there is a cent percent chance of a murder.” Thousands of people sent their cooks packing.

Lord Egreo’s Case: One day Sherlock told me that “Lord Egreo is murdered in very strange circumstances. The police do not know who the murderer is, and now they seek my help. Let’s go and send the cook to the gallows.” When we got there, we came to know that Lord Egreo had no cook. Sherlock got confused and started looking for a matchbox to light his pipe. After eight or ten days' hard labor it was found that all of Lord Egreo’s neighbors had cooks. After that, it was easy sailing. Sherlock wrote the names of all the cooks on chits of paper and put the chits in a hat. He closed his eyes and pulled out one chit. The cook whose name was on that chit of paper was handed over to the police.

The Murder Mystery of a Billionaire named William McDonald: In this case, all the neighborhood cooks willingly came to Sherlock.

Countess Rozina Raspberry’s killing: The day it was published in the newspapers that Countess Rozina Raspberry’s case would be investigated by the world famous detective Sherlock Holmes, all the cooks from the neighborhood of the countess Rozina Raspberry house brought to Sherlock their own names written on separate chits of papers. One cook even brought a tall hat and all the cooks put the chits of their names in that hat. With the consensus of all, one of the cooks closed his eyes and pulled out a chit. With the consensus of all the cooks, they hanged the cook whose name was on that chit of paper and only afterwards did Sherlock say that, “To hang a culprit is a policemen’s job.”

The case of the robbery of Lady Curzen’s necklace:  It was not a joke to find Lady Curzen’s necklace. Sherlock just said this much “I wish, instead of the robbery of Lady Curzen’s necklace, it was she who had been murdered.”

His intelligence: Once he saw a cook and said, “His master is not safe, and if I get to solve the case after the master’s murder, then this cook is also not safe.”

Marriage: Many people think that there is a huge mystery behind Sherlock’s being a bachelor. I also found his being a bachelor an amazing mystery. But then one day Sherlock himself solved this mystery for me. That day he said, “Watson, you are my friend. Today I shall tell you why I stayed a bachelor. The reason for my being a bachelor is this that I never got married.”

Something about myself: I am married and look wistfully at the dogs that do not have collars around their necks. If the collar is removed from my neck, I would also jump and dance. My name is Watson. By profession I am a doctor; hence, my full name is Doctor Watson.

PS 1: If you really want to enjoy Abdul Haleem Brohi at his best, read his work in Sindhi. In the translation, the joy of using typical Sindhi words such as ‘theeng tuppa” and “Uddai Watson”, is lost. However, I would keep on translating his articles, trying to stay as close to his written language, as I am capable of. 

PS 2: I have used Abdul Haleem Brohi's Roman Script to write the name of this story in Sindhi. 

Holi

A translation of ‘Holi’

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

It was the day of Holi on March 10, 2009 and I was missing my childhood. When we used to fill colored water into pumps that were used to fill air in cycles’ wheels and would play with the children of the washerman, gardener, sweeper and guard in the bungalow's compound, throwing color on each other till late at night. I remember the names Babu, Bansi, Ganga, Bharyo and Radha, who were the washerman’s children, but I do not remember the names of the other children. These memories are from when I was 7 or 8 years old; Pakistan was about to be created; Baba was an inspector in Ranchhore Line in Karachi; and Grant and Martin lived in the 2 bungalows behind the one that was given to us. They were probably sergeants. A Hindu inspector lived in the bungalow next to ours. Martin had a son whose name was Charles; we used to call him Charlie and we used to call Grant’s son Grant too. Years have passed but those colorful days still haunt me today.

Today I ask, if one is able to celebrate Basant and fly kites in the Punjab and Quetta, even though Basant has nothing to do with religion or doctrine, then why should anyone object to Holi being celebrated with the same freedom in Sindh? Holi is also a completely cultural or traditional festival, just like Basant. Those whose minds are defected or full of nonsense make up reasons or create justification in every festival or event; such people have a thousand reasons and excuses why Basant should be celebrated. I also have one excuse for Holi being celebrated and that excuse is as solid as iron; and that excuse is this that Holi is a part of the cultural heritage of Hindustan.

To make stories and create tales is a child’s play and this art is used by some pretend gentry and conjuring wise men to fit into religious tradition; they are insisting that these tales are part of our religious traditions.

They say that Hindustan has no religion. They say that Hindustan is a secular country, which means that everyone may follow or not follow any religion they choose, and everyone may adopt any culture they choose. It is a basic reality that Hindustan was Dravidian and instead of abstract concepts such as religion and doctrine, Dravidians had tangible cultural elements, which were embedded deeply in all traditions of Hindustan. These traditions were collectively called Dharma, and they are still called so today.

Human nature is such that it first gains an understanding of the concrete, and later, much later, an understanding of the abstract. Man first understood ‘two goats and four sheep’ but much later did he understand what ‘four’ and ‘two’ were. Dravidic Hindustan had tangible cultural traditions; but at that time there was no question of these people having an understanding of the abstract concepts of religion and doctrine that came too many years later. Holi too is a tradition of Dravidian Hindustan, which everyone can celebrate. If flying kites does not break one's roza (fast), so doesn't throwing color on each other. If flying kites and cutting each others' kites is allowed, then so should be throwing color on one's self and others be allowed. Whatever the people of Hindustan have is what is theirs; and these rituals, tradition, and culture when protected and followed is what they call Dharma.

The inhabitants of Hindustan never understood the religion of the Muslims. They assumed that what the Muslims called their 'religion' was actually their culture. This is the reason why the people of Hindustan allowed Muslim rulers to rule over the land for many years. If the people of Hindustan also had a religion like the Christians and Jews did, then there would have been wars between Hindustan and Afghanistan just like the crusades. Hinduism is Dharma. It is a collection of customs and traditions, ways and manners; which no religion or doctrine should have any issue with.

You cannot argue with me, nor can you be stubborn with me; because I have performed umrah, I have performed hajj, I am Muslim, I am the son of Muslims and I have read some, if not all, namaz. And then, I have also read the translation of the Quran, and I have understood it. And I know that many of those who pray namaz five times a day and fast religiously have not even once read the meaning of the Quran. So I ask you, why are you after all these beautiful, colorful days that are not even mentioned in your religion? In which book of which religion does it say that flying kites or playing with colors will shake the foundations of your religious beliefs and you will remain Muslim?

Holi has begun to be celebrated all over the world; there are wonderful events and functions in Europe and America. Why should we not light diya and light fireworks on the occasion of Diwali? Leave alone the other provinces, but why in Sindh have they separated Muslims and Hindus and left us so thirsty? Who are these people, who have so twisted the arm of our heritage?

'Halal' and 'haraam' are words from our religion, but where in which book does it say to not eat food cooked by the hands of a Hindu? The thing is that I am very upset; I have fire inside me against such and other injustices. Did Mahmud Ghaznavi, who made 17 attempts in Kathiawar on Dwarka Mundur, came only to destroy idols and spread Islam? Coming to Dwarka from Afghanistan is not the same as going to Badin from Maatli that Mahmud sahab would come 17 times. He has been given the title of 'Butshakan' (idol destroyer) only by historians have no brains, no intelligence, no understanding and no common sense. The Old Campus of Sindh University in Hyderabad is built entirely on the trust property of Hindus; it used to have a girls' school and the rest was empty grounds. Some professors and officers went after Vice Chancellor I.I Qazi until the grounds were divided and distributed among the professors and officers. The people residing in these areas are merely squatters, not owners. Flattering historians write that I. I Qazi and his professors and officers have done great work for education in Sindh. They are all lying; not a single one of them is telling the truth. If not us, our children will one day have to read in their Sindhi school books that I.I Qazi was the Mahmud Ghaznavi of the province of Sindh, who took over and distributed the land which belonged to a Hindu girls' school.

Translated from Sindhi by my daughter Kinza Shaikh.

PS 1: This piece is about what we learned from our father. He was our mentor who told us to seek beyond the obvious. He was dead against indoctrination and so each of his child and their children have carried freedom of thought that is unnerving for many.

And this is the legacy of Abdul Haleem Brohi!

Time and Times

A translation of 'Zamano ain Zamana

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

I have become useless, and the time is to be blamed.

Our times were wrong; all were keen for philosophy and to become genius. Some read Khalil Gibran, while some read Aristotle, Plato and Socrates. One group had taken it upon themselves to memorize the Oxford English Dictionary verbatim. Of the same group, I later saw some of the same students after their university days; eating paan and using highly daunting words of Urdu while creating poetry. That time was such; then I got abandoned; to be alone in those times and to live alone was dangerous for ones sanity. I did not belong to any group, had no companion, no friend. Because I was a student of Philosophy, I had a label of a philosopher tagged on me; though I never seriously studied Aristotle, Plato or Socrates, etc.

During that time, the second dangerous thing that emerged was an appearance of Russian writings and novels. They were slowly taking over a lot of space and as I was away from this change, I observed surroundings with surprise and low self-esteem. This time was totally and completely wrong! A whole bulk of humankind was dependent on poets and writers and that in itself was a waste of humankind at a large scale. 

The times after that gave roots to the philosophy of Marx. This philosophy had nothing to do with Aristotle, Plato or Aristotle’s logic. It was a basic viewpoint of economics. I used to see all this from a distance, without understanding much of it, and used to get annoyed because right or wrong, I used to like Aristotle’s logic.

Within that one time, there were times which used to have a negative effect on my self-esteem. As a consequence of Pakistan’s creation, the lots that gathered in Hyderabad collages consumed the children of the government officer’s children studying there; I was abandoned. I did not get a Masters Degree but it was not my fault. I did not work on a respectable post but it was not my fault. I was intimidated and terrorized. During that time in my life, all the times fixed within, were lucky for those who were socially persuasive and struggled for betterment. I was beaten behind.  

There should not be any problem in acknowledging the facts. The times and the torments of the times and their doings have made me abnormal. The job that I did in Sindh University was a circus. The law that I practiced was also a circus. Time and doings of times have handicapped me; incapable of taking pride in my home or my children. It is a sewer that I have been swimming in. If I am praised place now, my eyes fill up with tears. Everything is wrong. Everything in totality is wrong. Only Hasan Ali Abdurahman Grant/Award is right, as it came from the right direction, and from the right people. I believe my times are changing. Time is now waking out of its deep slumber.

Through these times, within these times, there stayed a bad and long time which was out of control of my heart.  Everything was about my heart. And today I know that it was the most cursed of all times. Whatever I wrote had its roots in these times; buried in these times. If you wish to be cursed, just fall in true love. Weird thing is this that I was never a characterless man; I was only a foolish and an ass of a man.

In those times, I asked an astrologer about my kismet (fate). He said that “it is closed”. I could not understand what he meant because I did not know astrology. Today, when I know astrology, I understand that the astrologer meant that my naseeb (fate) is closed. The other astrologer was my father, who told me that I am very budnaseeb (ill-fated). Baba, not being a fortuneteller, was quite a fortuneteller; all because of bad times and ill-fate.

If I divide my life in time segments, as I have done here, then it would be a mistake. Whole life is one long time, which ends in old age. During this old age, one forgets how to laugh, and in preparation of this very small journey, faces going grim!

PS 1: No one else can do justice to what Abdul Haleem Brohi wrote. His sincerity gets to me even while translating a simple piece like this. As 28th July approaches, I cannot but miss him more and more. If my translation is weak someplaces it is for the simple reason that I knew him and his father, and saw him suffer all his life.
I cannot be objective in my translation, no matter how hard I try!
PS 2: Original writing in Sindhi is to a thing of beauty.

From Here and There

A translation of Hittaan Huttaan

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

“One, who does not have strength has ample ideas, and the one who has strength, has very few questions.” These are the words of Japanese wisdom.

“I am not young enough to know everything.” Are the words of, J. M. Berry.

The king said, “I will ask you a question, you answer.”

Vizier said, “Ask the question.”

The king said, “I asked the question”

Vizier said, “I answered.”

The king said, “I did not ask anything.”

Vizier said, “I did not give an answer.”

 (Note: Don’t let this small thing go amiss, there is wisdom in it, understanding in it and thought in it, for those who have intellect and for those who can read and write beyond Sindhi. I have translated this tale from a small booklet.)

“If you have to ask what Jazz is, you will never know.” (Louis Armstrong)

A child being a child, said in front of the court, “Oh, the king is not wearing any clothes!” (We read this story when young. But we have still not comprehended that the rulers of this world have shamelessly shed their clothes and are walking around without any! Or maybe we are not as courageous as that child. With verbosity we tell big lies, carry out chicanery, , make false promises, and it is the same as being naked itself, or isn’t it?)

There is this small book called ‘Zen’. This whole text is attached to this book.

For tens of centuries we kept seeking in the deep forests and today we sit next to this pond and laugh our hearts out!

This beautiful butterfly rests peacefully on a small mound of earth, whereas man is unable to sit still on the mess he creates.

“I’m astounded by people who want to ‘know’ the universe when it’s hard enough to find your way around Chinatown.” (Woody Allen)

“If you are free of yourself then what else do you need?” (Einstein)

“Shut your mouth and speak out a word!”

“No one has a mouth big enough to say everything.”

“Can you swim in water? If not than straw is better than you. Can you fly in the air? If not than birds are better than you.”

“Computers are useless. They can only give answers.” Pablo Picasso

“When a common man gets information, he becomes intelligent. When an intelligent man gets information, he becomes a common person.” (Note: in this translation, I have made a great mess, sorry)

“People discuss, nature works.”

“She is liked, because she is likable.” (?)

“If you reduce plenty and make it one, then what would you do of reducing one?” (?)

“We wonder about the interpretations of dreams but we don’t wonder about what we dream while awake.”

“I have nothing to say and I am saying it and it is poetry.” (John Cage)

“Teacher shall open the door but you shall enter yourself.” (?)

“Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.” (Basho)

“In case a poor man comes to your door, what would you give him?” “Nothing. They don’t need anything from one another.” (Zen Mondo)

“To talk and to be silent – both are injustice to one another.” (?)

What is the color of the air?” (?)

“Hand is more important than an eye.” (?)

Comparing what you like with what you don’t like, this is a mental illness. (?)

Hindustan was named Hindustan when Alexander came. What was the name of Hindustan before that? And, in Hindustan, the first to come were the Hindu or the Muslims? Who made Muslims out of Hindus? Or was it so that Hindus were Muslims before the Muslims came? Was there Mahabharata? If Afghanistan was not a part of Mahabharata, what was its name before Afghanistan? Those who became Muslims just yesterday are now making people laugh at themselves.

PS 1: I have taken this article from 'Haleem Likhio', published, courtesy of Noor Junejo. In the translation, I tried to stay as to the text in the book.

I believe that this is his collection of personal and famous bits of philosophical musings that he enjoyed. 

PS 2: The brackets and question marks are all part of his article. 

SEEDS-2

Preface

The Mess of the Scripts

Development or deterioration of a language is not an issue; it is the number of the letters restricted to twenty six in English alphabet since about two centuries that is an issue as it disables English from owning the huge number of phonetics / pronunciations that come up in and around English since the English stepped out of England to colonize the world. The inability of a script to accommodate and do justice to the phonetics of the words of other languages has caused confusion in deciphering the history of mankind. It has done damage to the straight flow of historical facts, and has resulted in as many interpretations of facts as the available straight jackets of the scripts. Presently we are concerned with English and French, as there are the scripts that would matter for a long time to come.

What the linguists know as alphabet of a script is inadequate for the phonetics, the alphabet is to be enlarged to encompass all the phonetics, Library of Congress USA, like many other organizations, has its own code denomination of different phonetics, which requires the readers to have the code on his tips. How many English read people have that code on their [finger] tips? Almost zero percent! To know that code is to study scripts. This blockade of reading phonetics must be removed to break the monopoly of the academicians and teachers of the languages. There shouldn’t be any codes or systems of denoting different phonetics through different signs on the letters. That system is too complicated for typists and computer operators, besides having nothing to do with laymen like I.

An annexure given in the end of this book, includes in the English alphabet as many phonetics as I possibly could collect, using only the existing 26 English alphabets, and without any special technique of working on computers. These phonetic are in simple plain English letters available on every keyboard of computers and ages old typewriters. Till now, mine is the last word on this issue; the monopoly of the expert academicians must be broken. The fraudulent scholarly imposition must be undone.

A long way back, I had a chance meeting with a person from the Library of Congress USA. I listened to her insistence that there was no need for a new script or an extension or enlargement of the present 26 alphabets a working code of the Library of Congress was already doing the needful. She was too conceited about have the ‘Library of Congress code’ on her [finger] tips to heed to my suggestion of “an addition of some new alphabets’ to make the English language wholesome’; an attitude that called on me to give up English and take to that code instead!

PS. This text is published as found in the booklet published by Abdul Halim Brohi.  

SEEDS

Series – One

This book will be read – or ignored – as one of C.J. Jung’s.

SEEDS that I wrote and published as a vomit, was my failure at English formatting and computer techniques which, due to reasons indescribable, I had to put up with; deleted words reappeared, corrected proofs appeared non-proofed, grammar and composition went awry; pieces appeared and reappeared at unwarranted places as I wouldn’t know how to have ‘save and copy’ off; in short, it was a mess, but not without ‘gems’. The publication of Seeds, among other things, was a hit-back to the malice and callousness of the people with the jaws of a shark, the ones whose tongue lashed at me as of the viper. I had done no wrong. I merely lived my life, but they interposed and imposed their lives for one of the ideals I had to live. It was they or me, and I opted to have me rather than them. Brother Jum*oo said, “Right or wrong, go ahead! All others be damned!” and that made me see my Maker, the Unknown one who has all the strings of the fates of us on his fingers, I am not His puppet; none is. And we are not mortals; if we were, the Maker wouldn’t be a good maker. This edition of SEEDS, as an aftermath of   the relief from nausea after the vomit, is my effort to redo SEEDS in paper format, without proof-mistakes, corrected, improved in version, and in a better form.

Hulem Brohe

Note from the blogger: 

This is the beginning of one of Abdul Haleem Brohi's 'not so appreciated' work. Disliked mainly because of his interpretation of the events of his own life. He trusted me with it in 2005. It was typed and saved on floppy discs, much in use at that time. He made me promise that I would have it published in case of his inability to do so. With a very heavy heart and some doubt in my mind, I took the responsibility. Mainly, because he was not the one to be convinced of anything other than what he had decided. 

He had his heart surgery after this. Right after reviving some of his health, he set up his mind to go ahead with the task, and that too with the support of Jum*oo (Abdul Aleem Brohi), his younger brother.  

After going through a rough patch in my own life, and coming to terms with my father's inability to take up a fight with the world anymore after leaving the world in 2010, I am putting extracts of his work on this blog. This, I am doing with the support of my youngest sister Rabia Brohi. 

Our only reason for taking up this task is to do something for our father, who taught us philosophy, psychology, and most importantly humor, that gave us ability to see the lighter side of life in dark times. 

For the love of Baba

PS. This text is published as found in the booklet he published.

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson in Sindh – II-b

Dial S for Sherlock

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

… continued from the previous post.

The Law Enforcing Species

“We are doing what we are supposed to be doing,” said the official in charge of the species. We get over orders from up there and we execute them. We go at it with a zeal and enthusiasm. No Mr. Holmes, our work is not appreciated by the Ts and Ds. We go elsewhere to get a pat on the back. No Mr. Holmes, I cannot part with that kind of information. If I did, I will have nowhere to go to get a pat on my back. Good day, Mr. Holmes, and good day Mr. er?”

“Watson,” I said, He smiled and I swooned away out of the Restricted Area, for the time being known as Sindh. “That was not the proper person to get swooned away from, Watson,” Sherlock said later.

Aboard Flight to London

“Watson,” Sherlock said, I looked around, and waited for any other Watson that might be aboard, to respond, there was none, so I said, “Yes?”

“Take a look at the land!”

Sherlock said, “The land that promises and delivers! The land that promises Here and delivers There! The land that no one would stay on if there were a way to get away from! The land that reminds us of how lucky we Britishers are to have got away in time! The land that reminds me of how lucky I would have been, but for Mrs. Holmes! The land that reminds me of Mrs. Holmes as if she were not my wife! I am coming, dear, I am coming! Now hark, Watson, and listen to me explain the intricacies of detection and logic for the benefit of your readers. Is it not wonderful, Watson, how henpecked and pampered we get by the wives we hate!”

Sherlock Explains the Hunches

“ I was already aware that the World Terrorists and Dacoits Association is an international organisation with its headquarters somewhere in Sindh. And I already knew that for its aims, objects, and modus operandi, it drew heavily on those of the Professional Women’s Association. And I knew that all that the two Associations differ in is the modus Vivendi to settle the way the ladies want the men to dress.”

“And I had a hunch that, but for that difference, the Professional Women’s Association would not have set up the World Terrorists and Dacoits Association as a separate body. But I had my doubts as I could not trust my hunches including you because of your moustache which reminds me of you-know-whom.”

“One look at the President of the Women’s Association confirmed the validity of the hunch that the World Terrorists and Dacoits Association was merely a front for the Professional women’s Association. Now all that I needed was some proof, some concrete evidence! And of that I had none!”

“Deductive Logic was of no avail in this matter of venomous persecution. Nor was Inductive Logic, Syllogistic ladders neither came down nor went up. They just flew at tangents leaving me aghast looking at those poor should, Ts and Ds!”

“It was astrology I had to call upon. I consulted an ephemeris and erected horoscopes of all the Ts and Ds that were on the run from the law enforcing species. I discovered that all of them had their Saturn in Aquarius, that was something to go on with the hunches, with a little jam and butter on the side.”

“Now every astrologer worth a nickel in his pocket knows that Saturn is the planet of old age, sorrow, grief, repentance, and persecution, and is programmed to stay in Aquarius till well into 1993. I found myself up against a wall as I did not know what to do further.”

“I informed the President of the Ts and Ds that I had traced the venomous persecution to the presence of Saturn in the house of Aquarius, and he accordingly asked for the number of the house, name of the street, etc, and the zip number. Now I was up against another wall, albeit human, and therefore dangerous. Don’t tell Mrs. Holmes, but I really got scared!”

“Suddenly I remembered my mother-in-law! And suddenly everything was crystal clear to me! The mothers-in-law of the poor miserable Ts and Ds! The venomous persecution could only have been done by the mothers-in-law. Immediately contacted the mothers-in-laws of the Ts and Ds and discovered them to be as innocent as the babes in the wood, though I wondered what the hell the babes were up to in the woods!”

“My only hope of getting mothers-in-laws in the crime evaporated, I cried and wept and prayed to God to forget my body and strengthen my soul as in this Islamic State of Pakistan body is as useless as a distant relative on wife’s side.”

“Needless to say in this Islamic State of Pakistan, god heard me and I found myself in the presence fo the mothers-in-law of the law enforcing species whom I discovered as of the most amicable nature that comes as accompanied baggage. “

“Full the brim of their large hearts for love, affection, and goodwill for their own dear sons-in-law, I wished mine was like them!”

“Suddenly a dark thought crossed my mind that something was amiss! The venomous persecution traditionally attributed to mothers-in-laws! Where was that! That was when I realized that I had been duped by both sets of the mother-in-law, of them poor Ts and Ds and of them species also!”

“I went to look up the President of the Professional women’s association just for the fun of it, and got fortified in my conviction that the Association of the Ts and Ds was just a front, thanks to her looking like a fort!”

“The fort reminded me of the mothers-in-laws of both the warring sets, that is, of the Ts and Ds on the one hand, and of the law enforcing species on the other, and I sat down to draw horoscopes of all of them mothers-in-law including mine one too.”

“And lo! There that were, both sets of mothers-in-law with mine too! Sitting besides Saturn in the house of Aquarius and counseling Saturn to strike and hit both the sets of sons-in-law including me too! I needed no further proof, and I informed the President of the Terrorists and Dacoits accordingly, who accordingly ordered his yeomen to open fire on Saturn and rob the house of Aquarius of whatever it housed.”

The law enforcing species, having come to know of the real facts, dispatched a rocket into space to scan the house of Aquarius and blast Saturn out of the sky, with special instruction to salvage as many mothers-in law as possible as the worked would not be fun without them, whereupon I voiced my dissent, It  is all on the tape, and anyone interested can listen to the dissent at the NASA.”

PS 1: I have reproduced this article as I found it in my father's belongings. This was written and published in some newspaper in early nineties. But I have no source to confirm this. My sole purpose of reproducing it here is to preserve it in electronic form as my father would have wanted it.

PS 2: No change has been made to the original text, hence a missing word. The continuation would be posted soon.

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson in Sindh – II -a

Dial S for Sherlock

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

The Land

Sherlock said: “Pray hold my little finger if you don’t want to lose yourself to get yourself to get lost. I am not clear to myself, but I hope you get me. People here have a habit of getting lost and later discovered as murdered! I don’t know what pleasure they get out of it! I for one would prefer to be the one who does the murdering!”

“ In this Islamic State of Pakistan you are not supposed to be seen in the company of a woman other than your wife as four wives is considered enough of fire-works for a man to cope with. But enough is enough, and be content with that."

The Association

The building was known as the Association. The President of the WTDA was a jolly good fellow which no one in the Association could deny in his presence, and was armed to the teeth of other. Modest and docile while at home where he kept to his room to avoid getting grounded under the feet of his wife, he gave it all out in full blast at the Association.

“I don’t get these law enforcing species, Mr. Holmes.” He said violently, “They are after me and my likes. Do I look that ugly? Do I look that bad? They are after my blood as if they have to settle a score with me! What score is there to be settled, Mr. Holmes? This is what you will have to find out for us poor Ts and Ds, Ts for terrorists and Ds for Dacoits, What have we poor Ds and Ts done to be hunted like this?”

“This Association is the only place where we Ts and Ds gather to get solace, and the law enforcing species are bent upon breaking this Association! You, Mr. Holmes, will have to find out why this is being done to us, how they intend to go about it and, finally, when do they intend to do it. The three questions are the ones that every scientist asks himself when he gets about doing some research. Thai is what Einstein did and discovered a whole set of new dimensions now freely available at affordable prices in Baara Bazaars of Rawalpindi and Peshawar!”

“The law enforcing species are not doing the job they ought to be doing. They know in this Islamic State no man is to be seen in the company of a woman other than his wife, but they are not arresting me or my wife, for that! Merely because myself and my wife have been living together for thirty years and have become parents of a few dozen children does not prove that we have been married. Where is the Nikahnama!”

“Millions and millions of people are living in this very city without a Nikahnama affixed on their doors, and the law enforcing species take all of them for married couples only because they have been living like married couples! And only because they have littered their houses with their begotten children! What the hell! Not a single person from any of the law enforcing species has knocked on our door to ask for Nikhanama. … has a Islamic State! And you call it an Islamic State! How dare you call it a Islamic State? And that also in my presence!”

“I will see what I can do,” Sherlock said, “And I have already located the mischief that Saturn is up to in Aquarius which happens to be your third house, that is, the house of your near and dear ones, provided you are Sagittarius, which I doubt as the Sagittarians are supposed to be mild mannered, humble, docile, and as a rule are endowed with a tendency to keep mum even in the most adverse situations.”

“You should see me in my house, Mr. Holmes,” Said the President, “you will discover a perfect Sagittarius in me in my house specially when my mother-in-law is also around.”

The Residential Area

“Yes Watson,” Sherlock said, pointing at the rows and rows of the houses, “None of these has a Nikahnama displayed on their doors. The Islamic State of Pakistan takes it for granted that couples living in the houses must be married only because the neighbors or relatives have known them to be so married! Having` a few children, however grown up , and living together for say thirty or forty years does not prove a couple married unless there is a Nikahnama displayed on the door.

“The President of the WTDA has correctly pointed out a flaw in the working of the law enforcing species. Why, Watson, I myself have never been questioned on that count in London! Every neighbor takes myself and Mrs. Holmes as a married couple only because they think they know us for a married couple since centuries! And you call London an Islamic City! How dare you? And that too in my presence!”

The other Association

The building was known as the Association, and the President of Professional Women’s Association strangely though, was a woman.

“No, Mr. Holmes,” said the President who, strangely though, had a woman’s voice, “And by no, Mr. Holmes, I mean yes. My worthy mother taught me to counter every man with a no and to shift to yes through a perhaps and a probably. I have heard of the other Association, but only heard, not understood. That is the way we women are made, God being a male and all that male chauvinism which we hear and talk about but fail to understand as that is the way God made us, God being a male and all that male chauvinism. We have worries of our own to bother about.”

“My husband is a Leo with Capricorn rising. With Jupiter in Virgo, his second house, he is getting all the money that he can collect with his hands from my handbag. He is my twelfth house as I am Virgo with my salary rising every year. We have nothing to do with that other Association of Ts and Ds. Good day, Mr. Holmes, and good day, Mr. er?”

“Watson.” I said. She smiled and I swooned away out of the building.

“Imagine, Watson,” Sherlock said, “The husband she was talking about belongs to her twelfth house! When a woman speaks of a second house or a third one, I start wondering about Mrs. Holmes. Astrology accommodates every person, woman as well as man, with twelve houses, and every house presupposes a husband and a wife, I wonder who are the eleven others! Please remind me of that in London so that I may investigate what may turn out to be the greatest adventure of my career as a sleuth. We will call that case the Mysterious Eleven Others of Mrs. Holmes.” 

... to be continued 

PS 1: I have reproduced this article as I found it in my father's belongings. This was written and published in some newspaper in early nineties. But I have no source to confirm this. My sole purpose of reproducing it here is to preserve it in electronic form as my father would have wanted it.

PS 2: No change has been made to the original text, hence a missing word. The continuation would be posted soon.

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson in Pakistan - 1

Blunder at first sight

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

The Phone

Sherlock Holmes and myself were discussing the eccentricities of women which they called their jobs, and were laughing our hearts out when the telephone rang. "It must be my wife," Sherlock said, suddenly alert now, "Or her mother?" And then burst into a laughter that went to the highest pitch every time the instrument renewed its ring. I had to laugh along as I was supposed to be Dr. Watson, his sidekick, or his conman, or whatever you have decided to take me for. Suddenly the phone stopped ringing and Sherlock stopped laughing.

"Are you sure, Watson." Sherlock said, reading my thoughts, "That I stopped laughing because the phone stopped ringing? Couldn't it be the other way round? Eh?"

"What would be the other way round, Sherlock?" I asked, and looked in the mirror on the wall. I saw that I had asked wonderingly. 

The Theory

"The other way would be that the phone stopped ringing when I stopped laughing," Sherlock explained, "that is, what is known in the annals of psychology as the James-Lange Theory. James was an Englishman and Lange was a Frenchman, and they had the English Channel and their wives between them to remind them of their nationalities. They gave quite a few examples in support of their theory. For instance, they said, it is wrong to believe that I see a snake, become afraid, and run. The real order of the happening, according to them, would be that I see my wife, run, and then become afraid. They left their mothers-in-law out for some personal reasons."
"And what about the snakes?" I asked, and saw in the mirror that I had asked innocently.
"Would you be afraid of a snake if your wife was in front of you? And which of the two would you kill first?" Sherlock almost shouted at me, and I saw myself quail in the mirror.
"The two fellows meant wife when they said snake," Sherlock said triumphantly, "It was a matter of disguise for them. Only the poor fellows could not say so. They said it was wrong to assume that you get a slap, become angry, and slap back. The real order according to them would be that you get a slap, slap back, and then you get angry."
"No in-laws involved in that slapping business!" I asked confusedly and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked real confused.
"None, and obviously for some personal reasons," Sherlock said, "But the in-laws took the hint and got the theory discarded as a bad hypothesis. I subscribe to that theory, and I do believe that the phone stopped ringing because I stopped laughing,"
It was incredible, so I said, "Is it not incredible, Sherlock!" I looked incredible in the mirror.
"Is it?" Sherlock said and coughed a laugh, ___ and sure as Fundamentalism, the phone coughed a ring and went dead. Sherlock coughed another laugh and the phone coughed another ring! Sherlock gave out two short laughs, paused, and shrieked a laugh, and lo! the phone also gave two short rings, paused, and gave out a shrieking ring! Sherlock then snorted a curt laugh, and the phone snorted a curt ring! Sherlock grunted, and lo! the phone also gave a grunt! Sherlock nodded, so did the phone! Sherlock gave out a long drawn yawn, and so did the phone!
I looked at myself in the mirror and did not like the foolish look that my countenance had sported to suit the occasion, I decided to rebuke my countenance later at leisure.

Blunder At First Sight

"It is all a matter of viewpoint, Watson," Sherlock said, "I would be right if I say that the phone rings after I laugh, and I would be equally right if I say that I laugh after the phone rings. The concepts of Simultaneity and Instantaneity have no bearing on the Cause-Effect relationship that is the phenomenon we take for noumenon. That reduces the epistemological concept of love-at-first-sight to an absurdity where you invariably locate a mother-in-law pulling the strings of your eyelids from behind the curtain, is it not a surprisingly beautiful world, with the dirty tricks assigned to mothers-in-law?"

Suddenly Sherlock became grim, and his face contorted, "I have blundered in my reasoning, Watson." he said, suffering a remorse, "It could not have been my wife, Nor her mother either, Both ladies of the highest social contacts being equally dead and buried to the delight or relief, I forget which, of those contacts. "A worried look gathered on his countenance and he looked at the phone the way a wife looks at her husband on his pay day. That is, expectantly. 

The Scribe Speaks

I may inform my readers that the events narrated by this scribe here relate to the later period, that is the post-burial period, of the adventures of my friend as he had buried his wife and mother-in-law by then and, due to the ensuing peace and harmony in life yet unrelished by him, had acquired a perfection in the art of detection.

I may also add that while instructing me to be a little more careful in chronicling the post-burial adventures, he had also said, "I wonder if the ladies were really dead when we buried them posthaste! Pray contact the caretaker, get them exhumed, and try to talk to them. If they respond, bury them posthaste! That will get the caretaker some exercise that he needs badly."

I may also inform my readers that his pre-burial adventures were more adventurous than the ones of the post-burial period. "in the pre-burial adventures," he had confided to me, "I had nothing to lose by my life. And in the post-burial period I stand to lsoe my peace of mind as well."

That was then the phone rang impromptu, and Sherlock grabbed the receiver off the hook the way a wife grabs the pay off the husband along with his ears. the phone stopped ringing the way a husband would stop ringing.

The Phone Again

"Yes?" Sherlock said in the mouth-piece, "Yes, I am Sherlock Holmes. Who? The Prime Minister? Of what country? Is that a country? Where is it? In the kitchen? Is it that small a country! I asked the whereabouts of the country, not of the PM or AM. And you call that country? Hello! Hello!"

Sherlock banged the receiver on the cradle and looked at me disgustedly. 

"The phone went limp and dead," Sherlock said bitterly, "A sure sign that the call came from Pakistan, the Fundamentalistan! The only country where the phone goes limp before going dead! We indeed are lucky to have English Channel between us and Europe. Otherwise they by now would have conquered British Isles and would not have known whom to bet on, Hekmatyar or Gulbadin! And they call betting un-Islamic.

"But about that theory, Sherlock?" I asked.

The Theory Explodes

"That James-Lange Theory?" Sherlock said, "That theory, and for that matter any theory, does not apply to a telephone call from Pakistan. The phone was going awry and hectic because Pakistan was trying to contact us. That also explodes the myth of the innocence of mothers-in-law, though how does it do so is beyond me. It is always refreshing to mention mothers-in-law before taking on the next paragraph in what boasts to be a murder story. It lends a touch of macaberesque to the story. Bare mention of a mother-in-law followed by a sudden boooo with a tongue stuck out in mother-in-law fashion has often made sons-in-law bolt through windows and get splashed as mashed potatoes with lots of ketchup on the roads ten floor below."

The Assignment

"And what is the assignment given to your?" I asked.

"The Prime Minister is worried about the way Sindh Chief Minister has been behaving lately," Sherlock said, "And the word lately has all the significance. The Chief Minister is behaving exactly like his predecessor, which would be alright if the predecessor were not dead. He even looks and smells like his predecessor. 

Not like when the predecessor was alive, but like when the predecessor is dead! That is what worries the Prime Minister, That would worry me too if I had to shake hands with him every time I touched Karachi Airport.

I would rather run away then embrace him and get all shook up Elvis Presley style! that reminds me. Did you get the duo exhumed? What did they say?"

"They said they will get even with you and your sidekick," I said,

"Did they say when?" He asked. 

""No," I said, " They are secretive as ever, I buried them posthaste."

"Hmmmmmm!" Sherlock said. "Hmmmmmm" Sherlock said to make the first Hmmmmmm meaningful.

Aboard a Plane to Karachi

Sherlock said: "The Prime Minister of Pakistan was speaking from the kitchen cabinet that he has got installed in his kitchen through the Chairman CDA who happens to be recently placed on the post. The post is staked elsewhere, not in the kitchen. There will have to be a bathroom cabinet of the Prime Minister to accommodate Nawabzada Nasrullah Khan for political stability of the country."

"Who is he?" I asked brilliantly, and looked at a hostess for appreciation.

"He is a Nawabzada." Sherlock said, looking at the hostess, "And that should be enough for you if it has been enough for him!" The hostess smiled at him and the plane swooned.

Sinthd! O' Sinthd!

"Of all the possible Provinces," Sherlock said philosophically, Sinthd was the best that God could create hopelessly. That is what Leibniz thought, wrote, and preached thoughtlessly. And that should be enough for you and Sinthdees. And here we are in Sindthd! The land of Shahs and Sayeds! The land of Muzaffar Hussain Shah if you are with the ruling junta, and the land of Qaim Ali Shah if you are with the opposition! The land of G. M. Syed if you are at the extreme! The land of Ghous Ali Shah if you are at the other extreme! The land of Ghulam Mustafa Shah, R. A. Shah, and Panah Ali Shah, the literate ones! But enough is enough, With zero point something of the total population, they adorn seventy-five percent of the seats in Sinthd Assembly! And fifty percent of the share of Sinthd in National Assembly! Blesses is the land that is blessed by them! How cute of them!

PS 1: I have reproduced this article as I found it in my father's belongings. This was written sometime in early nineties but I have not found a source to confirm the date yet. My sole purpose of reproducing it here is to preserve it in electronic form as he would have wanted it.

PS 2: No change has been made to the original text and the next part would be posted soon.