The Prestige

He had not seen God. But with his own eyes, he had witnessed awe, dignity and power of his Sardar. To him, the ultimate authority rested with Sardar. He could not reason beyond. He could not think that a man like him ever become superior to rule over his body, mind, wishes and even honor. An unflinching belief occupied his mind; ‘Sardar was super natural entity, God’s minister on earth.’ At times his thoughts compared Sardar with himself; ‘Sardar was not a human, if Sardar was a man then he himself was a mean creature of God, much lower than that. He believed in righteousness of the purpose for which he had become a militant. Sardar had taught them: “It is against tribal customs to remain subservient to ‘others’. We must not lose our own tribal identity. Above all, it is not beneficial to stay part of another unit. The opposing ‘Army’ is like the British Army. Battling such a force is true Jihad.” (Islamic campaign waged against infidels) In the beginning of his soldier ship, he received some ammunition and food, but Sardar’s agents broke contact as winter severed due to snowfall. He lived at the mercy of the cold and abandoned mountains. However, even in this state of un-certainty and helplessness, he kept his empty rifle dearer to his life. In tribal traditions, the weapon was a symbol of man’s honor and dignity. On subjugation, if a tribal-man was given a choice by a conqueror to either give daughter’s hand or weapon, he would hand his daughter but not his weapon. Since two days, he had not eaten anything. He felt as if he had lost his way. He did not even know whether he was in his own country or neighboring. ‘Was he in his own province or another?’ He did not know either. Other tribes were against this armed resistance. Hunger brought strange thoughts to his mind; he wished an injured bird or animal may reach him to fill his tummy with its meat. Luck did not seem to be favoring him. Time passed, leaving him with no energy to even get out of his hide-out to look for something to eat. He was injured too and felt frozen with extreme cold. His body slowly lost its heat. At that moment, he felt men talking and closing to his cavern. At first, he took it as his illusion but later expecting an upcoming danger, he tried to grab his rifle. Suddenly, few soldiers appeared before him. His hands were withered having no force to resist. Amongst the strangers, one cautioned him in his mothertongue that he must not resist; soldiers had come to his help. The soldiers helped him to stand but in view of his ailing condition put him on a stretcher that they had brought with. They took him to their camp towards North West. The soldier who had interpreted before spoke again: “Soldiers are rescuing left over mutineers lest they die of cold or hunger. Regardless of what you did, you are our people. Army likes to help you. ”Many questions came to his mind; “Army is our enemy. Sardar had many times professed while handing us weapons. Why would army help us?” He gripped his rifle and pressed it closer to him. Despite his miserable state, he was not oblivious of sanctity of his weapon. The tribal custom of keeping weapon dearer to his life haunted him. However, he was astonished on soldiers’ behavior. They on subjugating him had not carried out ritual of ‘disarming the enemy first’. Meanwhile the interpreter spoke; “Sardar after declaring mutiny fled to neighboring state. He thought; his instigator-host on whose behest he declared armed resistance in own country, would reward him. But times have changed now. Neighboring country is not ready to welcome him. Finding nowhere to go and filled with utter shame, Sardar went into hide-out. But on behest of national leadership, has been brought home with veneration. Government has proclaimed ‘general-pardon for rebels. Present time is seeing government’s endeavors for returnees’ settlement and betterment. Ashamed of his past deeds, Sardar has chosen to live a life of seclusion. However, his two sons are taking part into active politics, raised to the law-making houses. His younger son just took oath of minister in a ‘Provincial Assembly’. A hurricane of astonishment and surprise blew his mind. But he did not know how to express his sentiment. Meanwhile, they reached the base camp. Major looked at him sympathetically. He (rebel) was dying of hunger and cold. He was injured and shivered with cold. Prolonged roaming in jungles and mountains had grown unruly hair over his head and face. In torn, dirty and soiled robes, his unwashed body produced an unbearable stench. It was difficult to decide what to give him first; first- aid, bathing, clothing or food. With great keenness, he ate hot Halwa (a traditional sweet dish made with semolina and sugar) from a large plate placed before him. Perhaps he had not tasted such delicious thing in his life. He was lost in the bliss of tastefulness. He wished to eat more but it finished. At that moment, the same Major along with a Captain and Subedar (junior commissioned officer) came to him. Major asked him the state of affairs. He eyed major with a thanksgiving look. He got lost in some deep thought for a while. Then he looked like having reached some important decision of his life. In a calm manner, he raised the symbol of honor, dignity and manliness; ‘the empty rifle’ in his hands. He placed it on Major’s palms and said in his mother-tongue; “take it.” He pointed towards the empty Halwa plate and spoke again; “give me more of that….”

Translated from Urdu short story (Ghairat) by Muhammad Ilyas

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