Title and the Untitled

TITLE AND THE UNTITLED
(A Short Story)

Khaja Nizamuddin

(Translated by)
Rafat Farzana

They were four. They were rapt in sketching with their fingers, on the sand, some strange type of lines. I, though myself an artist and had been a judge for children’s drawing competitions many times, remained clueless and could not guess what was being drawn.

I have judged children’s drawings. The best-ever titles have been pollution, communal riots, communal harmony. Under pollution, children commonly draw factories and vehicles. Smoke is shown coming out of factories and motors and proved polluting the clean and green atmosphere. Rivers are shown filth-filled. Under title communal harmony, some three symbols are drawn, moon with a star inside it, symbol of OM and a Cross. They are put together and people with beard and vermillion mark on their forehead are shown hugging each other. The Quran the Bible and the Geetha are shown resting in the same rack, people are shown coming out of church, mosque and temple. Under communal riots, man with vermillion is shown holding a trishul tinted with blood and a bearded man holding a sword with blood stains. Some houses are shown burning and stomachs ripped opened some human heads are shown lying scattered here and there.

I was used to such drawings and these four children were drawing something different from what I know, something strange. I grew curious and stepped forward and thought of enquiring and guiding them to draw. Even before I could enquire I heard one among them spelling the words of her drawing. “This is road divider. These are worn out bags in which plastic bottles and milk packets are collected. This is a street dog, our companion, that welcomes us wagging its tail when ever we are from collecting old plastic material. It dines and sleeps with us.”

The second one said “This is a hotel. Here is the kitchen of the hotel. This is basin. This is the basin pot in which the used plates are cleaned and this is a soap and a scrubber.” “And who is the man kicking the boy? “The man is the owner of the hotel and this is me.” The next one started speaking, “This is the busiest road of the capital of our state. He is the police man who controls the traffic. The man, holding a staff is a blindman. I help him beg in the name of God.” “Is he your relative?” his friend asked him. “No,” he replied, “He pays me, half of what he earns a day.”

“This is a railway station,” the fourth one said. “Under the tree there is my father. Beside him is the broken bottle of wine. The healthy woman is my sister.” “And who is the man standing close to your sister?” his friend asks him. “I don’t know who he is,” He replied.

My knowledge of art and painting started sweating and I could not retrieve the titles for the untitled drawings.
*

‘Thou did’st create the night. I made the lamp
Thou did’st create clay. I made the cup
It’s I who made the glass out of stone
And turned a poison into an antidote.’
                                                            -IQBAL (CLD-50)