By Z.G.Muhammad
Reading novelist Naseem Hijazi, during our days in school was a craze. His novels Khaak aur Khoon, Akhari Chattan and Muhammad Bin Qasim, passed hands as secretly as top secret documents. It was our belief; these novels that touched our hearts and stirred our minds were banned. We nursed a strong fear, if spotted by snoops and sleuths reading these novels we would be expelled from the school and even jailed. Fearing boys who we believed could not stomach secrets we carried these novels in our school bags deeply embedded under notebooks at its bottom.
In the fifties and sixties, fiction reading had become part of the culture in our part of city. Majority, young and old loved reading the Urdu novels. Novels by lesser known novelists were also read passionately. Nonetheless, Naseem Hijazi reigned supreme; he ruled hearts and minds of a whole generation of youth. Today decades later, I believe it were these novels that introduced me to the glorious history of Islam and its fabulous culture. The heroic stories of Muslim generals strengthened our resolves of fighting for the right cause.
Books of Naseem Hijazi carried out, what I would like to call as coup d’état of classical epics like Jang Nama, Rustum Suhrab Nama, Sam Nama. This genre of literature had been most popular with generation ahead of us. For the popularity of these working that had become warp and woof of our folk literature including traditional marriage songs. Novel reading was widespread with youngsters. However, some elders were also passionate readers of novels. More than Naseem Hijazı, it was controversial author Ghulam Jeelani Barq who in our part of the city those days dominated literary discourses of elders. Hot discussion over his books among friends of my uncle even echoed in our sitting room. His books Do Quran, Do Islam, Aik Islam and Mun Ki Duniya continued for on a shelf of our sitting room. Ghulam Mohi-ud-Din Naqash, green turbaned, necktie wearing” Dervish”,a friend of my uncle often brought some or other controversial point in his books under discussion. Once, I also tried to go through his book Do Quran but after going through a couple of pages, I was convinced that it was not my cup of tea and after that I never touched them. However, I continued reading novels enthusiastically and seriously. On many an occasions, I started believing I could also become a story writer. So did some of my friends.
To translate our wishes into reality, we started looking for someone who could guide us. There was no top notch writer in our locality; at least, I did not know one. There however, were a couple of boring poetasters who mastered art of parodying some film songs; they often made their presence felt with their spoofs on a barber shop in our mohalla. The area was not all barren; some senior boys from our locality had started writing short stories in the prominent Urdu dailies, the Daily Aftab and the Daily Hamdard.
On seeing short stories and columns of some boys- including who were my shop front buddies published in newspapers, I also started dreaming of becoming a writer as good as Abdul Haleem Sharar, Sadiq Hussain Sardhunwi and Naseem Hijazi. I started dreaming of writing hard hitting stories. “Compared to many of friends, was not that good in Urdu vocabulary. I was averse to lacing essays with worn out couplets and borrowed Persian words. My handwriting was not also as good as that of my brother Muhammad Yusuf and my ‘shop front’ friend Muhammad Ashraf
Gupkari. They wrote as good as master calligraphist Ghulam Nabil Mahajan.
One fine morning, mustering courage, I inked my ideas and wrote a short story. I titled it as Roushvat Layna Paap Nahi Some days later, it was published in the then most popular newspaper the Daily Aftab. Those days, the newspaper under the by line also carried address of the authors. On the roundabout, that was our usual haunt in the mornings other than my friends, many office goers in our locality instead of buying newspapers read them in Sultana Hair Cutting Saloon, a big barbers shop in our Mohalla. These officers, mostly assistants, head assistants and office superintendents never before noticed me in the barbers shop or amongst my friends at the roundabout. On the day, when my story had published most of them sitting in the barbers shop enquired from me, if I had written this story.
Two of the office goers, who had read the story on next day asked me: “If I was Communist and leftist? “It is a progressive theme- a good story- keep it up’, both retorted.
Communist are simply infidels, this aphorism had been drilled into our minds repeatedly at school by theology teachers.
Three communists of Mohalla, who were also friends of my uncle were almost outcastes. I did not understand leftist, to me left meant left side or left arm. I had not also heard word progressive before. These two neighbours, I had often seen squatting inside the shop of a political activist; a known communist. In 1964, he was ostracized and socially boycotted after the Democratic National Conference, had become a unit of the All India Congress Party. Sheikh Mohammad had given a clarion to people to socially boycott all those who joined the Congress Party. The movement
of social boycott against those joining the Congress in a few days became an unprecedented phenomenon.I told them, I have no idea to what genera my short story belongs to, I have simply scribed my idea. They suggested me to read Prem Chand, Krishan Chander, Khawja Ahmad Abbas, Rajinder Singh Bedi and Sadaat Hassan Mantoo and so. Next day on barbers shop they presented my copy of Gorky’s mother and some glossy magazines. But, I had already read Gorky’s mother.I and my friends had liked it as we liked Naseem Hajazi’s books.
Z.G.Muhammad is a noted writer and columnist