Pak Sarzameen Shadbaad………

The old, rusty metal door made a creaking sound when the hunched attendant with crooked teeth and clubbed, callous fingers with dirty nails, opened it with a push of his shoulder, he took a drag from the K2 cigarette hanging between his beetle nut stained lips, and exhaled. The smoke made strange shapes before disappearing in the thick air …… A lone, low wattage energy saver hung from the ceiling with a wire, the light it emitted made everything look ghastly. Not that there were many things worth seeing…………………….

The smell of tobacco got mixed with the strong notes of  rotting flesh, congealed blood and other body fluids………. already scattered in the nearly empty side room of the morgue. He whacked the half full jute sack he was carrying , on the floor, and dragged it towards the center of the room, before emptying the contents on the cemented platform with a cracked marble slab on top.

Bloody fingers, Sebastian Satyr

A mix of torn, burnt, detached, mutilated body parts came out ……….. There were fingers, toes, bits of heads that never bowed, pieces of hearts that never cared, mince of lean, mean, man meat, fragments of bones, and chunks of brains belonging to literati and morons, lengths of guts, well fed and famished, entwined and entangled, in perfect and complete harmony with each other. They showed complete solidarity, the heap was a perfect example, of the equality of human race ………. faith, unity and discipline ………… a glorified display, that how worthless and fragile, the master of this universe, created in best proportions, living in the land of the pure, is. A grotesque amalgamation of once gorgeous, statuesque figures.

Bhenchod, the attendant cursed when a hennaed hand, once beautiful with long fingers and painted nails, slipped down, he held it gingerly between his thumb and index finger and threw it back, after removing a ring from the sausage like finger. His job was to sort out the parts and match them to the bodies, as close as possible, of the victims, who lost their lives in a suicidal bomb attack, at a not so posh busy market that evening. The untouchable chohra, belonging to the lowest bottom of the under belly of the social system, casually scratched his balls and wrapped some used plastic bags on his hands, and started rummaging through the pile. Pak Sarzameen Shad baad…………… He hummed the national anthem and started to look for something interesting ……………………….

She reached home shivering, and turned on the TV, the breaking news was blaring from each and every news channel, the tickers were on, displaying the number of dead, claims of responsibility from various banned groups, messages from the government that they will tackle the war on terror with iron hands, promises of grants, Rs 50,000/- for the injured and 500,000/-, for the dead, a job for the next of kin here, and a dowry for a bereaved daughter there, medal of honor for the persons belonging to law enforcing agencies, losing lives in the line of the duty.

Oh!……… They forgot, that more than half of the security forces were deployed on protocol and protection duty that night, and fortunately, the death toll for them was nil, and Alhamdolillah the wedding ceremony they were guarding, where half of the ruling class gathered, was solemnized in peace, the food was good, liquor great, and there was talk of Russian blondes for special guests, the blast took place roughly few miles away from the huge farmhouse of the property tycoon, at exactly the same time, when the spectacular fireworks started.

He was busy sorting out the stuff, it was a dirty job, but someone had to do it, he concentrated, ignoring the stench, and separated the bits, carefully………….. He was aware that there was a small beauty parlor in the basement of the plaza that was blown away ………  where a bride was getting ready for her big day …………… Bechari ………… his sharp eyes spotted a delicate ear, with a small golden jhumka ………………..

Her head was spinning, she sat silently and thought about the place she visited earlier, bustling with people, she envied all of them, hated them all with a vengeance, all the couples, kids, happy, care free teenagers, hanging out with friends, she felt so lonely, then she thought about the young sales person at the pharmacy counter, who asked her for a prescription, when she asked for the meds she desperately needed …………………. And then a face appeared in her memory, on her way out she bumped into a young, blue eyed, bearded boy, Dekh kar chalo bibi, his voice was stern and heavily accented, and his gaze, frighteningly piercing and determined, he was wearing a jacket, strange for that time of the year and weather ……………

The jacket with 5 Kg RDX and C4, that blew off in the wrong place, and at the wrong time, the gateways to hell and heaven were opened simultaneously ………………… and many souls passed through…………… a young, blue eyed, bearded man got stuck in inferno for eternity  …………………………..

The religious scholars debated on talk shows weather suicidal attacks are Halal or Haram, every side had their own definition of shaheed and their own quota of Hoors  ……………………. The usual stuff ……………..

Nobody went to that market to buy death that day, but her ……………………….. she looked in her bag for the pills she bought ………………..

He carefully removed the earring from the lobe and rinsed it, the metal retained its sparkle, Luster of gold was stronger than the staining ability of blood. In the hope of finding the other piece he looked into the Bori again, and found a small plastic bag, containing lethal amount of sleeping tablets ………….. Disappointed, he put everything back in the sack, and tied it up, before dumping it in the huge waste bin in the courtyard of the “Sarkari Murdakhana” ……

Her pills were not in her purse, death played as her stubborn beloved, completely ignoring the pleas of the forever cursed lover, and showering attention to those, who never wanted or cared for it ………………. She was left alone, on the mercy of luck, to get screwed by life ………………….…. Again !!

The price of 10 gram gold was Rs 41,450/-, and one Kg Atta was sold for 48 Rupees, the finance minister assured that a huge decrease in the exchange rate of dollar against rupee was expected.

The total amount the grieving families received was less than the florist’s charges, at the fancy wedding, both paid by the tax money of the third class people of the third world country.

Human life, retained its position as the cheapest commodity in Sohni Dharti, for that year too ……………

Kishwar e Haseen…………… Shad Baad.


3rd January, 2014.


(Photo Credits : Sebastian Satyr)

Published in Tribune Blogs.


15 thoughts on “Pak Sarzameen Shadbaad………

  1. I have to tell u .. that i made horrible faces while reading this.. like “:s” ewwww type faces.. which means i felt it.. i felt the ewwness and the ohoonessss .. in me while reading this…
    it’s a shame.. Jaan ki koi qeemat nhi hy.. os k liye b jo apni khud ki lena chahay… aur os k liye b jo kisi aur ki lena chahay.. on Pak ser zameen, you see the true meaning of “Life being taken for granted” at all levels..
    I makes me Sick and Sad.. and then they say.. k pata nhi mulk k naujawanoun ko bahhir janay mai kya charm nazar ata hy … !!!


  2. “Oh Teri ” I uttered when she bumped into that blue eyed. Life is merciless, and equally merciful. Sad n happy at the same time. The land of the pure is not bad but WE Yes we are.
    Good work dear as media can report facts n figures but over looks the million of stories hidden in that sack, going to morgue. Sad indeed…. Very sad.


  3. OMFG! WHAT WAS THAT!! I had to read, reread and then reread several times to get the hang of this fucking fantastic piece of writing.. And I couldn’t but say “Fuck!” at the enormous ENERGY and WORK that has gone into writing each and every single piece of sentence that there is to read! That’s a fucking fantastic piece of writing!!!


  4. You are blessed with the power of describing a scene so well, that it gives a mental picture to your reader. And you blend it so well with satire on our values that we claim of upholding in the garb of nationalism or religion.


  5. Thank you all for your comments, This piece is very close to my heart, it is a humble tribute to the homeland by a deranged daughter, who refused to trade her identity, I wrote it with all the love I have for my country……..
    After I wrote it, I couldn’t upload it for a day, I was scared, but I knew it was GOOD!, and I literally begged people to read it. I am extremely thankful to those who have taken out time to read and comment on this.



  6. You couldn’t upload it for a day – I can totally understand that! Such intense pieces take a heavy emotional toll on their creator.

    Its also good to know that you are not the secular kind; those who’d laugh at the idea of Pakistani nationalism or the idea of a State religion in Pakistan. Unlike me. 🙂

    More strength to your pen, lady.


  7. Howdy! I know this is sort of off-topic however I had
    to ask. Does building a well-established website like yours take a large amount of work?
    I am brand new to running a blog but I do write in my diary on a daily basis.
    I’d like to start a blog so I can share my experience and thoughts online.
    Please let me know if you have any kind of ideas or tips for brand new aspiring bloggers.
    Appreciate it!


    • Heyy …

      Thank you and welcome to my Blog, I have just one advise for you, “Write” …… 🙂 with time you will get the hang of it. Experiment with different themes and interact with other blogs, if your content is good people will read.

      Happy Blogging 🙂


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