Devil’s Fruit: Ramazan Special

Today was the last fast. It was very much time for iftar. The students coming for studying the Holy Koran were seated in the large courtyard of the Nuri Mosque, organized in rows on the washed redbrick floor. The wait for sunset was becoming more difficult. The pure waves of green light bursting from the minarets of the mosque were making the atmosphere pious. The tired birds returning to their nests were very happy.
Looking at the various eatables adorning the trays, the fasting children seated on clean mats began to long for them. Maulvi Hashmat’s mouth too began to water upon looking at all the sorts and kinds of foods. He quickly tried to swallow the spit and moving his dry tongue over the lips began to mumble by repeating, Fa be ayyih aalahi rabbikuma tukazzibaan

‘Which of the Lord’s bounties will you deny.’ Then muttered.

O Allah! You are so generous. How many bounties you have granted us? After saying this he extended his hands to make a prayer and began looking at the sky with affection.

Pakodas, samosas and jalebis placed in a large brass platter and chaat and dahi badas in another were spreading their appetizing aromas in the air. Suddenly a man holding a child was seen entering inside through the main entrance of the mosque.

‘Come come bhai Abdul Rahman.’ Maulvi Hashmat invited him cheerfully. Abdul Rahman worked as a labourer and would often do trifling repair work in the mosque without payment. His baby son Abdul Ghafoor accompanied him as well, who kept coming to the mosque sometimes to read a portion of the Koran.

‘No maulvi sahib! I am in a hurry at this time. I have to have the niyaz offerings cooked. His mother too has gone for work there. Please make Abdul Ghafoor have his iftar and give him a lesson too. I will come take him away later.’

Abdul Rahman said in a respectful tone and before saying farewell to depart, handed maulvi sahib a bag.

‘What is this bhai?’ Maulvi sahib asked.

‘Fruit. Very special, fresh, my nephew brought from Swat just today so I thought to present it to a pious, fasting person like you, then maybe Allah may do me some favour. Do pray for my family’s welfare maulvi sahib.’ After Abdul Rahman’s departure when Maulvi Hashmat opened the bag to peek inside, ‘Subhan Allah’ escaped spontaneously from his mouth.

What a delightful fragrance was emerging. Looking at the juicy, coloured, tasty, puffed up pears kept inside they seemed to be glittering like precious jewels.

‘Wah Allah ji. What a pure fruit of paradise have You awarded me today in the blessed month of Ramazan. Thousands of thanks to You.’ 

Mauvi sahib scanned the children seated with patience, then his glance stuck upon Abdul Ghafoor. Such a lovely child he was. He observed him minutely. Fair-skinned, puffed up face, innocent eyes. He seemed as if he has suddenly reached his childhood. In childhood he himself used to be somewhat like this. Lovely, cute and cuddly… all the neighbours would not tire lifting him in their lap, clawing his cheeks to crush them.

When amma and abba sent him to the mosque to read a section of the Koran, the elder maulvi sahib would also show the former excessive affection. He would play with his red hennaed beard. Sometimes he would tickle his fat stomach so he too would not refrain from touching him in response; he would grope him well, make him senseless by kissing him excessively. When little Hashmat would become somewhat senseless, he would make him run away with a slap on his hips and said,

‘Get away from here, rascal.’ A strange glitter would come on his face while saying this.

One day in this very manner during playful talk and horseplay, the elder maulvi sahib loosened his large turban and taking one or two toffees from it, stuffed them into the mouth of the little student. When he devoured them, he lifted a large bag filled with fruits kept near him and began to peek into it. Some devotee of his had given this gift just in the morning. He peeled a plump fresh banana with great care and began to thrust it gradually into Hashmat’s mouth. Hashmat smiled spontaneously so he too burst into laughter and said. ‘Eat, eat rascal. This is the fruit of the tree of paradise. One of the bounties of Allah. A lot of fruit trees in the gardens of paradise will be found from which the believers and Allah’s friends will pick away the fruit.’

Hashmat extended his hand to ask for one more banana so he slapped his head and said. ‘O hungry glutton…how many more fruits will you eat? You have a stomach or a well, the accursed one does not fill.’ 

Saying this maulvi sahib began to tickle him. ‘Give me just one more na.’ Maulvi sahib stared at him and said.

‘Impatients like you do not get the reward. Patience has its reward. Listen carefully. It is written in the Holy Book that the flames of a terrible fire blaze and ignite in the lower depths of hell.  A lot of infernal trees grow and bear fruit from the energy of this fire. These bitter, thorny, pungent, foul-smelling trees will be found ready to quench the hunger of the sinners on the Day of Judgement. Their fruits hang and stretch forward like the tiny heads of devils. They have been standing in wait for the visitors since long.’        

Hashmat insisted again so maulvi sahib picked the bag, cautiously ascended the bed and sprang to suspend the bag to the rod of the fan attached to the ceiling. The fan was switched off but when Hashmat scanned above it appeared circular to him. The bag filled with bananas, apples, peaches and grapes forever became engraved upon Hashmat’s mind.

The siren for iftar rang, so Maulvi Hashmat was startled and emerged out of the city of childhood memories. Children and elders all became satisfied drinking the cold sweet sherbet and filled their stomachs with the bounties of Allah. After the fulfillment of Maghrib prayer, the mosque became somewhat quiet. Maulvi Hashmat thought why not rest for some time before the Isha prayer. His disposition had not yet recuperated fully from the weakness of the fast. Taking the bag of pears with him, he left for the upper room with the purpose of resting and going there lay down on the bed. A few moments had passed into his snoring yet when a sound collided with his sense of hearing. He quickly opened his eyes. Though there was a somewhat semi-darkness in the room but still he very much saw little Abdul Ghafoor standing in a corner, crying.

‘Arre, what happened? You didn’t go home?’ He cajoled him with affection.

‘Abu hasn’t come yet to take me’. The innocent child said amid hiccups.

‘Okay. If he hasn’t come yet, never mind. He will come. You come here lie with me.’

Hashmat dragged him near himself and began making space for him on the bed. Abdul Ghafoor lay with maulvi sahib so he too felt a sense of security. He closed his eyes cowering and began attempting to sleep.

When Maulvi Hashmat found the little, beautiful body fragrant with fleshy innocence so close to him, he felt as if the latter too was a juicy, ripe and fresh pear. How tender and satisfying was the feeling of being near him. The maulvi spontaneously began gradually fondling his whole body and he felt a somewhat strange energy filling in his body. His whole body stiffened as if somebody had fit into it and he was becoming somewhat helpless and powerless before it. Becoming out of control and senseless, he wished to sink his teeth into that juicy pear immediately. But with composure he first touched, groped, felt him and then after imbibing the juice, began eating the pulp with enjoyment. Uff what a tasty fruit it was. He very much gobbled him up whole like gluttons. Simultaneously his tongue kept uttering these words too…

‘Rascal, oppressor, you had come to spoil my faith. Yes?’ A smile began dancing upon his lips and he tore the pear to pieces. Diminishing screams and wheezing sounds began to emerge from Abdul Ghafoor’s throat so Maulvi Hashmat putting a hand over his windpipe pressed it forcefully. The sounds were now beginning to be subdued and then became totally silent at one point. The storm ceased. The scratched, torn, lifeless body, had now become meaningless. Maulvi sahib had felt drowsy but then suddenly sounds emerged of someone ascending the stairs so he rose hurriedly and locked the door. Perhaps the servant was calling him for the azan for Isha.  

‘You proceed, I will come just after performing ablution.’ Maulvi sahib comforted him by calling out and sent him back. He began to think now what to do. He quickly emptied the large bag with pears. Then stuffed the little pear into the pillow-cover and tying a knot to the bag tied it with the rod of the fan. At least there could be no prospect of this place coming into someone’s view on an urgent basis.

Then he gave the azan in comfort and peace and also led the congregational prayer. The sacred month of Ramazan had concluded. After the Isha prayer, a search for Abdul Ghafoor was instituted. His mother and father madly set out to find him everywhere. Other worshippers too searched everywhere in the mosque and nearby houses. Eventually he was found. When the police handcuffed Maulvi Hashmat he seemed peaceful. He recorded his statement without any regret or feeling of guilt.

‘Look janab, the holy month of Ramazan is over. The devil is now free. You very much know how powerful and rebellious he is. What is the ability of a weak person like me before his power. The reality is that I myself could not understand that what has happened. I had lost my senses. Try to understand.’

A new fruit among the fruits hanging upon the infernal trees growing in hell began to shake forcefully.

(Translated from Urdu by Raza Naeem)

Translator’s note: Neelum Ahmad Bashir is one of Pakistan's senior-most female and feminist Urdu and Punjabi writers. Last month she was awarded the ‘Tamgha-i-Imtiaz’, one of Pakistan's highest civilian honours, for her lifelong services to literature. Her latest book, a collection of her entire Urdu short-stories has also recently been published here in Lahore with the title of ‘Neelahaten’ (Bluenesses) (Sang-e-Meel Publications, Lahore, 2022). It includes Bashir’s latest short-story collection ‘Piya Milan’ (Lovers’ Tryst); one of its harrowing short-stories is titled ‘Zaqoom’, which is an infernal tree (mentioned in the Koran), the fruit of which is supposed to resemble the heads of devils and terrible serpents, cactus, euphorbia antiquorum. etc. The story is set during the fasting month of Ramazan, and it is really about the contradiction of words and actions of foolish and insensitive individuals in their greed for paradise without knowing the spirit of the faith.


(The writer is a Pakistani researcher and translator based in Lahore, and is also the President of the Lahore-based Progressive Writers’ Association. He is presently translating Neelum Ahmad Bashir’s short-story collection ‘Piya Milan’ into English. He tweets @raza_naeem1979 and can be emailed at razanaeem@hotmail.com)