Pakistani Readers discussion

This story took place in the month of Ramadan. One would expect it to be a story of a religious cleric giving sermons in a mosque or a Sufi dervish roaming the streets in search of God. I am a storyteller but I cannot tell the stories of people in love with God, it is beyond my capability. Allow me to stick to small and worthless things and beings; their presence goes unnoticed and the only attention they get is in the form getting shunned. Do not expect to be entertained with this little story because it is the story of a crime so heinous that telling it sends a shiver down my spine. The story will give you heart palpitations and cold sweats or perhaps not. Perhaps, the brutal murder of an innocent creature is nothing when compared to the big political issues and world crisis. Perhaps to you it is an ordinary incident that does not require your attention or sympathy; you have better things to do. But I will tell this story because it needs to be told.
There was a calendar hanging on the wall of his dimly lighted room. There was a big picture of a red rose on the top part of the calendar. Below the picture, the word “June” was written in bold font. On the sidebar of the calendar, there was a small Islamic calendar, with the name of the months written in Arabic. It was on the sidebar because people took a peek at it in months. Keeping track of Islamic month was not needed. So the Islamic calendar just stayed on the sidebar in the corner of calendar where internationally accepted Gregorian calendar dominated. It served its purpose and showed that it was the month of Ramadan. Semester had ended and he had to return home. He was not particularly excited about spending time at home with family; he was fond of staying in college dormitory. But he had no choice.
The place that he had to call home was in slums of a big city. The city was so busy that no one had time to commiserate with the thousands of people stuck in a small slum area. He had to share a room with his brother and mother but fortunately he had his bed all to himself. As a natural escapist, he slept all day during vacations. He was poor and had been lucky enough to get a scholarship for college. Being at home made him depressed. Even waking up and looking around was a lethal task. There was a window on the wall next to his bed. He closed it because whenever he looked out, he saw the filth that he had been running from. He could see hawks and crows flying in the sky, he saw filthy ragged clothes hanging on the cloth lines, he saw half- naked dark skinned men staring out the windows. Those men were mostly looking down. He did not understand what those men saw in the streets. The narrow streets of this slum were overfilled with people, and garbage that women had thrown out at night. It was certainly not the sight anyone would enjoy except of those pea-brained men. He could also see some men who were staring in other people’s houses because the apartments were so close.
Unlike him, his brother enjoyed liked wandering around on those streets. During Ramadan, the dhaaba hotels stayed open late at night. Unemployed people saw it as an opportunity to set up food stalls on the streets. And his brother cherished eating street food that he considered unhygienic. One day, he saw his brother eating a burger that he had bought from one of those food stalls and said to him: “It is unhygienic. Have you ever seen the fingernails of those men who make all this stuff?”
“What, bhai? Unhy…einic,” His brother replied hesitatingly.
“It’s bad for your health.” He replied in a stern tone.
“No, bhai. It is delicious. Here, you should taste it. And I don’t have a sensitive stomach like you.” His brother said.
“Come on, let’s go down. I will show you how filthy it is.” He shook his head.
“Bhai, you want to go out?” His brother was flabbergasted.
“Yes.” He said.
“Let’s go.” His brother grinned.
And so they went out. His brother kept walking while he tiptoed trying to save his shoes from the filth on the streets. It seemed as if he was hopping. The streets were filled with all kinds of people; consumer, sellers, boys hanging out to pick on girls and beggars. His brother took him to the chana chaat stall.
“Do you want a plate, bhai?” His brother asked.
“No, now this is what I wanted to show you. See, he just dips the plate in that bucket of muddy water and then serves other customers in the same plate.” He was utterly disgusted.
“At least, he washes them.” His brother was dumbfounded.
He was furious. He opened his mouth to say something but then something captured his attention. It was the whining and barking of a little stray dog. A shopkeeper was beating him with a stick. Furiously, he walked towards the shopkeeper and said:” Stop! Stop it! Why are you beating a little dog?”
The oppressed and the oppressor, the bullied and the bully, the dog and the shopkeeper both were perplexed to hear this. It seemed as if the entire universe had stopped for a moment. Nobody had ever objected to a dog being beaten. “Why are you beating him?” he asked again.
The shopkeeper gathered himself and replied: “It is none of your business. If you care for this filthy animal, take him home. Now, get out of the way.” The shopkeeper raised his hand to hit he dog again but was stopped by him. The shopkeeper’s cheeks reddened with fury.
“Come on! Little guy,” He said to the dog.
His brother intervened and made a sound that the dog seemed to understand. “ch… ch…” The dog followed.
“Bhai, you shouldn’t have messed with that man. He thinks he owns this street.” His brother said to him.
“But he was beating this dog for no good reason. Poor dog was just sitting in front of his shop without making a noise.” He gasped.
“Well, you don’t get to beat anyone even if you have a reason. It is Ramadan. People think that if these dogs come anywhere near them, their wudu will go to waste. It is better to shoo away the dog then to let him repel customers.” His brother explained.
“Do not tell me you believe this illogical statement. A dog cannot break anyone’s wudu. To hell with their Wudu and Baraka, this is insane. This dog looks hungry, let’s buy him some muffins.” He said, pointing towards a bakery.
“Okay,”
They bought that dog muffins and the dog kept wagging his tail cheerfully. He decided to name him and after a long discussion, Vicky was the name that he chose for the dog. ”Now you are a dog and a Christian, all the more reason to shoo you away.” He said mockingly. “Maybe, I should give you a local name like Shahrukh…” He kept talking and the dog kept staring at him in astonishment. The dog kept whining, barking and wagging his tail.
He went home and kept thinking about Vicky. How could an innocent dog that wagged his tail every time you smile at him be filthy? The filth was all around those people, they were living in the slums, in filth yet the only thing that disgusted them was a dog. How could anyone bring himself to beat a dog? How could any religion pick on an animal? Those questions made him restless. He decided to do research on the topic. He studied books on the topic. Every script that he read proved that no religion in the world had ever declared that dogs should be tormented or that their drool was haram and broke wudu. Nor were the dogs any kind of angel-repellent neither they reduced Baraka. “They beat dogs so that angels could visit the slums for Baraka. Hell with their stupidity!” He thought to himself.
Next day, he went out and bought Vicky some muffins. Vicky gobbled them up. He played with Vicky and Vicky followed him everywhere. Sleeping was an escape but Vicky was not. He enjoyed playing with this little dog and making him part of his world. They were both stuck in the slums but that did not mean they could not have some happy moments together. “This slum has its own charm, bhai” His brother had once said to him and for once he believed his brother. “Not everyone is born rich, beautiful and talented. We do not choose where we are born but we can always make the best of what is given to us.” He thought. He looked at Vicky and said: “Now, Vicky, my dear, you cannot pack your things and go live in a rich man’s condo. You do not get to lie on the white carpet or sleep in your own dog bed but you can enjoy these muffins and be a good boy!” He laughed at his own thought. Vicky wagged his tail as if he understood.
Vicky was a stubborn dog. He tried to train him to not sit near the shop of that cruel shopkeeper who had beaten him. But Vicky liked sitting there. It was his habit. It is hard for humans to break habit even though they have self-control. Expecting a dog with little or no self-control whatsoever to break a habit was just unfathomable. Two weeks passed and he went out every evening after Iftaar to see Vicky. Every time, he went to see him, he found him in exactly the same place.
One day, he went out and saw that the shopkeeper was hitting Vicky with a metal rod. He ran to save him. “What the hell are you doing, moron?” He yelled at the shopkeeper.
“Get out of the way or I will beat both of you to death!”
“Wait and listen to me. You are fasting and sinning at the same time. No God will ever forgive you for beating an innocent animal. He doesn’t bark or bite yet you beat him. Stop it. It’s a sin, I warn you!”
“It is not a sin to beat a dog. They are supposed to be beaten. Get out of the way!”
“You beat him because you think you have power over him. You want to fight, huh? Fight me!” He yelled and took the metal rod from his hand. He was furious but the shopkeeper was unable to see it; he was unaware of the wrath that he had drawn upon him. He made a fist, he clenched his jaws and then it all took place fast. A punch, a kick and a hard slap and the shopkeeper was down on the floor.
“I will show you who the boss is. Just wait!” The shopkeeper replied, breathing heavily and wiping the blood from his lips.
“Show me now!” He spit at him. But the shopkeeper was a scaredy-cat. He could not stand on his feet. This was one of the reason he tormented those who had no power over him.
“Come on! Vicky” He said. Vicky followed him to the bakery.
He felt ashamed at what he had done. He had never hit anyone in life but he had to make a decision. The shopkeeper gave him no choice. He was incapable of accepting injustice in any form. But it was everywhere. The people who had power always exploited others. Although it was not acceptable, it had become a part of human nature. While playing with Vicky, he thought of the times when he was a child. He was a sensitive child. Whenever his mother killed a cockroach or a lizard that had mistakenly entered their home, he closed his eyes. In childhood, it was possible to close his eyes and make the world disappear. But as he had grown up, things had changed. He had to see. It took everything in him to accept wrongdoings but at times, he roared like a lion to stop what he felt was utterly immoral. Seeing a dog getting beaten was one of the things that made him roar.
He fed Vicky some muffins and went home. He was feeling guilty that he could not take him home. He did not have any space in his home. He was going to leave in a month for college and there was no way his mother would take care of a stray dog. At home, his brother and mother were waiting for him.
“What did I do to bear a child like this?” His mother said sobbingly. His mother always blamed him for being wrong. It was one of the reasons that he did not like coming home.
“Why are you creating a drama, maa?” He replied agitatedly.
“You fought that man over a stray dog. You will go to your college but we have to stay here. What if he seeks revenge from your brother? He is all I have left. I beg you stop feeding that dog and quarrelling with people.” She said.
“Oh! He is a coward. He beats Vicky because he thinks he has power over him!” He replied and went to bed.

“Who is Vicky?”
“Never mind!” He shook his head and went to bed.
He kept tossing and turning in bed. He was restless. He kept thinking about Vicky. He was in a fight against himself. “I should have kept to myself. I should not have intruded. What will he do to Vicky?” He thought. And with this thought came a fear so severe that it became a phobia. He started sweating. All the thoughts jumbled up in his mind. He kept looking up at the ceiling, his eyes were wide open.
Next day, when he went to see Vicky, he was not there. Like a madman, he started running up and down the streets. This time he did not care for his shoes or jeans. On asking, a little boy told him that the shopkeeper had thrown acid on the poor dog, dragged him on the street and set him on fire. He looked at the bakery and went to the place where Vicky used to wait for him. He cried but no sound came out of him. His whole body kept shivering. He imagined Vicky being burned to death. He was frozen in that spot, in time and in space. No thought came to his mind. He was numb. A cry is a message to the skies. The angels who bless these people with Baraka saw him; they saw the brutal murder of a dog. It is never the dogs that repel angels; it’s the monster within people who overcome the angels in them.

WHAT I LIKED ABOUT THE STORY

I simply love the story. It makes me wonder why do people say that angles don't come in that house where there are dogs.

The message was beautifully said.

Well I was very entertained.

WHAT I DID NOT LIKE

There was not much that I did not like about the story, but it is a question and a thought that this story is borrowed from true event

RATING 8\10

I like the idea behind this. 7/10

Awesome. 9/10

Good story. Strong message. 6/10

"An artist uses an illusion to show the truth, while the politicians uses it to hide it."

V for vendetta

7/10
I liked the message conveyed through this story.

7/10

Here are the top three stories from the contest. These are average scores based on the ratings. Now some has more number of ratings than others. These are the top three

Kaath ki guriya : 9.25
Her friend and her foe : 8.3
Albert : 8.06

A poll will be created for the top three. So please vote so we can have a winner.
Authors please claim your stories if you will.

Yusra, i think that you have definitely noticed the same thing i noticed. But i ignored it. Although it could be said that the narrator was harsh himself first then he met vicky and changed himself. So in a way he sort of discovered his own kindness. And for the reaction he gave his mother and the shopkeeper was because of a very obvious reason, remember that i am speaking from experience, many people in our country, especially slums, aren't very open to discussions. All they understand is beating someone to teach him/her a lesson.

wow... being an animal lover especially an owner of a dog and cats I love this story. The message was a good one. I have seen it first hand how people treat dogs in the name of religion that they twist for their own advantage.

I would rate it an 7.5/10.

th story was a good attempt but it needed edition and could have been more detailed.

As far as the main theme is concerned the story is good. No one should be allowed brutality in any way. However no religion says to be cruel with animals.

7/10