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    Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
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    1. #1
      *ChiRi ki Dukki*
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      awww sorry to disappoint you kids but i donno any raja-rani or pariyooN wali stories http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/frown.gif

      Here is the story i promised....*Khol Do* by S'aadat Hasan Manto.

      ----------

      A special train starting from amritsar at two in the afternoon reached Mughalpura after a nightmarish journey lasting eight hours, marked by shrieks, bloodshed, loot and assault. On the way hundereds of the passengers were butchered, thousands wounded and many more cast adrift from the main herd, in an attempt to save their lives and were heard of no more. The lucky ones who reached safety through this holocaust thanked God for his benevolence and scattered away, finding shelter whenever they could.

      In the morning when Sirajuddin opened his eyes as he lay on the cold ground of the refugee camp and looked around, he found himself surrounded by a surging sea of men, women and children. His power of thinking, which had already become numb, was further blunted by the chaos around him. He sat there staring at the sombre, dust-laden sky.

      The camp was in turmoil, shrieks and cries rending it from end to end. But old Sirajuddin seemed to have become deaf to the noise around him; he heard nothing. One would think that he was lost in deep thought. But that was not it. He was feeling utterly bewildered and kept sucking his lower lip as if whole being had got concentrated in it here. As he looked at the sky his eyes ricocheted against the sun and its glare shot through his body, keeping him fully awake. And then a picture, hazy and gruesome, racked his mind. Loot, arson, running feet, the railway station, bullets, the darkness of the night--and Sakeena.

      Sirajuddin suddenly rose to his feet and looked around in a frenzy of madness, his restless, troubled eyes piercing through the milling crowd. For three hours he kept plodding through the entire length of the camp and back, shouting, 'Sakeena, Sakeena!' But he could find no trace of his young daughter, his only child. Everything around him was in state of flux, for everyone like him was frantically searching for someone-- a mother, a wife, a child, a father.

      At last, utterly exhausted, Sirajuddin sat down by the side of his camp and tried to recall when and at what point of the journey Sakeena had strayed away from him. While thinking of his daughter his mind got entangled in the body of sakeena's mother whose entrails had spilled out of her stomach and whom he had seen dying before his eyes. 'Don't worry about me, ' the dying woman had said. 'Look after Sakeena. Take her to some safe place.' But where was Sakeena?
      He remembered seeing Sakeena walk by his side Then they had started running. As they ran they discarded their shoes so that they could run faster. Sakeena's dupatta had slipped from her shoulders and fallen on the ground. When he stopped to pick it up she cried, 'Abba, leave it alone!' But he had stopped to pick up the dupatta and in the meantime Sakeena had disappeared from sight. Sirajuddin's hand strayed to the bulging pocket of his musty coat and he started looking vacantly into space. When had he lost Sakeena? Sirajuddin's tired brain refused to think in spite of his coaxing it. Had she come with him to the station? Did she get into the train? All that he remembered was that the rioters had entered his compartment and he had fainted. Scores of questions kept churning themselves in the old man's mind without producing a single answer.

      Of course, he was in need of sympathy. But so were others who were milling around him in the camp. Six days later when he felt more composed in his mind he met some people who he thought were in a position to help him, Then he chanced upon a group of eight men who had a lorry at their disposal. And a gun too. He described Sakeena to them. 'Fair, very beautiful. She has not taken after me but her mother. Age about seventeen. Big eyes, jet black hair, a black spot on her left cheek. She's my only child. You must find her. May God bless you.'

      These good young people assured the old man of their full help. 'If your daughter is alive we shall ransack heaven and earth and not rest till we have restored her to you,' they said. 'She will be with you in a matter of days.'
      True to their word, these young men made a serious effort to trace the lost girl. At the risk of their lives, they even ventured as far as Amritsar. In the process they succeeded in retrieving many stranded women and children and taking them to safety. But no Sakeena. Ten days had passed and still they had not been able to find Sakeena. It looked like a hopeless task.

      One day they were proceeding towards Amritsar in their lorry when they happened to see a girl near Cheharta. She was walking along the road. Hearing the sound of the lorry she seemed to have panicked and blindly dashed off into the fields.

      The young men stopped the lorry and chased her. The girl was running like a frightened deer and kept her distance from them. But the young men were in fine fettle and in high spirits. They did not give up the chase and at last caught her in the field. The girl was indeed beautiful and there was a black spot on her right cheek. 'You've nothing to fear,' one of the young men said. 'Is your name Sakeena?'

      The girl's face suddenly lost its color and she stood mute before them. But when the young men assured her that they were out to help her she reluctantly accepted the fact that her name was Sakeena and that Sirajuddin was her father.

      The young men did their best to pull her out of her gloom. They tried to revive her spirits, gave her food to eat and milk to drink. Then they hoisted her onto the lorry. One of the young men gave her his coat for she didn't even have her dupatta and not being in the habit of going about bare-bosomed, she was trying to cover herself with her hands which was only adding to her embarrassment.

      Many days passed. Sirajuddin still had no news of Sakeena. All day long he would tire his feet out walking about from one camp to another and from one government office to the next. Then he would pray long into the night, seeking God's blessings for those well-meaning young men who had gone out in search of Sakeena at great risk to their lives, assuring him that if she was alive they would trace her out and bring her back to him.

      One day Sirajuddin happened to see those young men in the camp. They were sitting in the lorry, laughing and chatting among themselves. Although weary and physically exhausted, strength mysteriously surged back into Sirajuddin's body and he ran up to the lorry. They were about to start the lorry.
      'Son, what about my daughter?' he asked one of them. 'Have you been able to trace my daughter, Sakeena?'
      'We'll know,' they all said in unison. 'We'll soon know about her.' And they drove off.

      Sirajuddin once more fervently prayed to God for their success. Their assurance had given him great mental relief. A few days later Sirajuddin was sitting in his xamp, watching the setting sun, when he noticed some commotion at some distance. Then he saw four men carrying somebody. On enquiry he found that a young girl had been found lying unconscious near the rail track and they had brought her to the camp. Sirajuddin suddenly remembered his daughter, Sakeena and he followed the four men like an automaton.

      They left the girl at the hospital and went away. But Sirajuddin lingered near the hospital. Still living with the horrors that his eyes had witnessed, he stood leaning against a wooden pole outside the hospital gate and then walked in.
      There was nobody in the room. Only a body lay darkly outlined on a stretcher. Sirajuddin warily proceeded towards the stretcher with hesitant steps. Suddenly the room lit up and he saw a girl lying on the stretcher. 'Sakeena!' Sirajuddin suddenly cried. There was a black spot on her pale face.

      'Yes, what do you want?' the doctor who had just come into the room and turned on the light, asked Sirajuddin.
      'I........I'm her father,' Sirajuddin stammered.
      The doctor looked at the girl lying on the stretcher, felt her pulse and then turned to Sirajuddin. 'Do you mind throwing open the window?' he said. 'Yes, open it!'

      As the doctor uttered these words, Sakeena's lifeless body suddenly stirred and her hands limply travelled to her shalwar. She loosened up its cord and pushed down her shalwar exposing her naked thighs to view.

      Old Sirajuddin cried with joy, 'She's alive! My daughter is alive!' The doctor trembled from head to foot and sweat broke out on his body.

      --------

    2. #2
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      Naik, aisay nahi, zabani parH kar sunaeiN.

    3. #3
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      translation waisay bura naheen but woh maza naheen aata.

      Btw, where is that Thanda gosht which u had promised much earlier? hein.

    4. #4
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      main tu raja, rani ki kahain parnay keh liyeh aye teh, http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/frown.gif khair this will ave to do, http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/smile.gif

      ------------------
      Shisha Hou Ja Dil Hou Akhir Toot Jata Hain

    5. #5
      Sher-e-Punjab
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      Pretty good translation Naik.

      I once read a story and I think it was an Urdu one although I read Punjabi translation. Long time ago.

      In that story while trying to escape to the safe side a refugee couple with 3 kids tries to board a slowly running truck. The wife climbs the truck then the guy drops the other two kids into the truck. When he is about to run back and grab the third child the truck all of a sudden starts moving faster. Wife looking back from the truck noticed that if the husband runs back to pick up the child and save him/her from the rioters who were closing on and then tries to board the truck, he will fail and get caught and killed along with the child. Grasping the situation quickly she commands her husband " come on quickly and board the truck. Leave the girl. If you are saved we will make more"

      It is really tragic and sad. Very very sad. It bothers me to the soul that it all happened on a land that I love so much.

    6. #6
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      I haven't read Monto in details, some of his stories are great, loved 'Mozail', the language used and presentation really adds to the story. Anayat Ullah (MaiN kisi ki beti nahiN) writes on similar topics but language and presentation style is different.

      Anyway, thanks for sharing http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/smile.gif


      [This message has been edited by sabah (edited April 10, 2001).]

    7. #7
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      Thanks for that Naik.

      It seems a bit tame from what I was expecting. And why do I get the feeling that these well meaning young men will turn out to be something else? Oh well. Let's wait for part II http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/smile.gif

    8. #8
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      quote
      awww sorry to disappoint you kids but i donno any raja-rani or pariyooN wali stories

      http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/crying.gif :teary:

      Ok this time to main yeh aokhi story parh laita hoon, per next time promise it will be raja rani kahani. Theek hai

    9. #9
      *ChiRi ki Dukki*
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      Roman, aap ko meiN story na kuch aur sunaaooN...

      Khan-sahib, Afreen afreen gal ki pic tou digest nai hoti aap se aur chalay heiN thanDa goshT parhnay
      wesay i have story typed in urdu but i think if i post it here, ppl'll go nuts....

      Chann ji, i dinn do the trnslation...i just typed it. And you are right, its very sad indeed....all of the stories about partition are equally good /shocking....and with punching lines like "khol du" and "we'll make more" writers do know how to hit on readers emotions http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/frown.gif

      You gotta read the story "Ya Khudda" by Qudrat Ullah Shuhaab which is a true story of this girl who reaches pakland safely but forced to turn in to a prostitute in a refugee camp in Karachi....*sigh*
      *War is not kind!*

      Sabah, Is Anayut-ullah the same guy who used to write in risala *Hikayut*, SP ki diary?
      ...and yea Mozail is good one....i like his female characters and the way he use them to give lie to the conventional notion that a libertine is always a bad person, incapable of luv, loyality, honesty and blah blah blah

      Xtreme, you are welcome!

      and part II??? *crying*

      Sofi,

      Ch. Laldin, ok theek hei....badlooN ki shehzaadi chalay gi??

    10. #10
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      aiklarki wrtoe >>>>Khan-sahib, Afreen afreen gal ki pic tou digest nai hoti aap se aur chalay heiN thanDa goshT parhnay
      wesay i have story typed in urdu but i think if i post it here, ppl'll go nuts....


      OK, bh'yee, I don't know about ThanDa Gosht but how could u compare a Saadat Hasan Manto's piece of work with some "bored to death" person who has nothing better to do and send nangi putangi pics and call them Aafreen Aafreen.

      If u have it saved in Urdu format and don't want to post it here then can send it to my email address mumbo75@excite.co.uk , please.


    11. #11
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      bilkul chale gi, balke dore gi, balke goome gi http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/rotato.gif

    12. #12
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      Originally posted by NaikLarki:


      ....You gotta read the story "Ya Khudda" by Qudrat Ullah Shuhaab which is a true story of this girl who reaches pakland safely but forced to turn in to a prostitute in a refugee camp in Karachi....*sigh*
      *War is not kind!*........
      One other morale you can deduce from these stories is the importance of Independence that how difficult times they have gone through to get this country which we, few if not all, love to hate.

    13. #13
      the genius
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      This story is just as sickening as the first time when I read it. But you must agree it slaps you in the face...doesn't it?
      Life is only a dream.

    14. #14
      ~Dream Quasher~

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      I am still waiting for the part II ... please!

      Pretty Please??!!
      I know that you believe that you understood what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.
      - Robert McCloskey

    15. #15
      *ChiRi ki Dukki*
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      >>>>>>>But you must agree it slaps you in the face

      and isn't this very reason, we love to hate him so much

      And baccho, what 2nd part you are talking about...this is the complete story :-P


      Ch. LaL Din, eik tha badshah (hamara tumhara Khudda badshah). Baadshah ki eik Beti thi jo baadshah ke badlooN wale mehl meiN rehti thi....iss liay log usko badlooN ki shehzaadi kehtay thay. eik din wo badlooN se khel rahi thi ke doooor des ka eik shehzada rasta bhaTak ker udhar aa gya....donooN ne eid doosray ko dekha aur phir donooN ko muhabbat ho gayee...donooN baadshah ke paas ge aur baadshah ne un ki shaadi ker di...aur wo hansi khushi apne mehl meiN rehnay lagay....bus...

    16. #16
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      Originally posted by NaikLarki:
      .......
      Ch. LaL Din, eik tha badshah (hamara tumhara Khudda badshah). Baadshah ki eik Beti thi jo baadshah ke badlooN wale mehl meiN rehti thi....iss liay log usko badlooN ki shehzaadi kehtay thay. eik din wo badlooN se khel rahi thi ke doooor des ka eik shehzada rasta bhaTak ker udhar aa gya....donooN ne eid doosray ko dekha aur phir donooN ko muhabbat ho gayee...donooN baadshah ke paas ge aur baadshah ne un ki shaadi ker di...aur wo hansi khushi apne mehl meiN rehnay lagay....bus...
      http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/pretty.gif

      ho hi naheen sakta, where is that dad who comes with ganDasa and says "aae shaadi nahi ho sakdi"

    17. #17
      *ChiRi ki Dukki*
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      Khan Sahib, fairy-tales meiN bi zalim samaaj hota hei?
      http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/frown.gif

    18. #18
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      Naiklarki, mujhay kiya pata mein to khan sahib hoon. Yeah, fairy tale likhnay walay shaer hotay hain shaer, aur shaer jungle ka badshah hota hai. phir shaer ki marzi chahay anDay day kay bachay. hum kaun hotay hain kay woh zalim samaj fairy tale mein dalain kay ghoRay gadhay ki kahani http://www3.pak.org/gupshup/smilies/smile.gif

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