Painting by Michael Huang
In every city and town, it was made public that whoever is begging for alms would be arrested, and the arresting had already taken place. People started rejoicing that an ancient curse had gone away. Kabir saw this, and he started crying. People asked: “Ay weaver, why are you crying?” Kabir, still crying, said: “Clothes are made of two things, horizontal and vertical threads. Arresting the poor is the horizontal thread, which has started, but where is feeding the poor, the vertical thread?”
One man with degrees in M.A., L.L.B. was allotted two hundred handlooms. Having seen this, Kabir cried. The man asked: “Hay son of a weaver, why are you crying? Have I wrongfully taken your title because of this?”
Kabir, while sobbing, replied: “Your law makes you lie down these handlooms, and once quote is met sell the threads for profit. What is the benefit of tinkering with the handloom for free…But this tinkering is a weaver’s only life.”
Someone was making big and small envelopes from printed book pages. Kabir was passing by. He picked up three envelopes, read the printed words on them, and then he cried. The envelope-making guy asked with surprise: “Mr. Kabir, why are you crying?”
Kabir answered: “Bhagat Surdas’ poetry is printed on these papers. By turning them into envelopes, you have done a disgrace to these books.”
Stunned, the envelope-making guy said: “The one whose name is Surdas can never be a Hindu holy man.”
Kabir started crying lamentably.
On top of a tall building, there was a beautiful Lakshmi statute. After a few people converted this building into their office, they covered the statute with a piece of coarse jute cloth. Kabir saw this and his tears were streaming down. The office’s workers consoled him and asked: “This statute is not allowed in our religion.”
Looking at the piece of coarse jute cloth with his moist eyes, Kabir said: “Tarnishing a beautiful thing is also not allowed in any religion.”
The office’s workers began laughing. Kabir started crying devastatingly.
A general was making a speech in front of marshaled soldiers: “Do not worry about food. Crops have been destroyed, but do not worry…Our soldiers will fight against the enemies with empty stomachs.”
Two lakhs soldiers raised the slogans of “Zindabad.”
Kabir started crying loudly. The general became very angry and shouted at him: “Hay boy, tell me why you are crying?”
Kabir said in a sobbing tone: “My brave general…Who will fight against hunger?”
Two lakhs soldiers raised the slogans of “Kabir Murdabad.”
“Brother, grow beard, trim mustache, and wear religiously appropriate trousers…Sisters, braid your hair, do not wear makeup, and cover yourselves with a burqa!” A man was screaming in the bazaar. Kabir saw this and his eyes became moist.
The screaming guy screamed even louder and asked: “Kabir, why are you crying?”
Kabir controlled his tears from streaming down and said: “You have no brother or sister, and why did you dye your beard? Is white beard not good?”
The screaming guy began insulting Kabir. Tears started dropping from Kabir’s eyes.
An intellectual debate was taking place.
“Literature is for literature’s sake.”
“Absolutely nonsense, literature is for the sake of life.”
“That era has gone…Literature is another name for propaganda.”
“Go to hell…”
“Go to hell with your Stalin…”
“Go to hell with your revisionist and sickly Flauberts and Baudelaire.”
Kabir started crying. People who had been debating stopped and looked toward him. One of them asked him: “There must be something in your subconsciousness that has been hurt?”
Another said: “These tears are results of a bourgeois attack.”
Kabir began crying louder. The debaters were fed up and asked Kabir annoyingly: “Sir, tell us why you are crying?”
Kabir said: “I cried because you think that literature is for the sake of literature or for the sake of life.”
The debaters started laughing, and one of them said: “He is a proletariat clown.”
Another said: “No, he is a bourgeois imposter.”
Kabir started crying harder.
A law was imposed that ordered all prostitutes in the city to get married within one month and live a secluded life. Kabir passed by a redlight district and having seen the prostitutes’ anxiety-ridden faces he started crying. One Maulvi asked him: “Maulana, why are you crying?”
Kabir answered: “Honorable teacher, how can these prostitutes find husbands?”
Without understanding Kabir’s words, the Maulvi laughed. Kabir started shedding more and more tears.
A man was addressing a crowd of ten or twelve thousand people: “Brothers, the most serious problem for us is the problem of the reclaimed women who were abducted by people across the border. We must think about its solution first and foremost. If we keep neglecting this problem, they will go to brothels and become prostitutes. Listen, they will become prostitutes…Therefore your duty is to rescue them from this dangerous path and take them to your homes. Before arranging the marriages of your brothers and sons, you should absolutely not forget these women.”
Kabir burst into tears. The man stopped making the speech, made a gesture towards Kabir, and said to the audience in a high voice: “Look, how deeply this person’s heart has been moved by my speech.”
Kabir said in a choking voice: “The king of words, your speech has not moved my heart at all…
When I thought that you could have married a wealthy woman but still remain unmarried to this day, I could not control my tears.”
There was a board raised above a store, “Jinnah Boot House.” Having seen this, Kabir started crying sorrowfully.
People saw that a man was standing. His eyes were fixed on the board, and he was crying. They started clapping. “Crazy…Crazy!”
The country’s greatest leader, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, passed away, so everywhere people prostrated down on the prayer mat for mourning. Most people went around with black bands tied to their arms. Kabir saw this and cried. People with black armbands asked him: “Are you in such grief that you started crying?”
Kabir replied: “If the cloths of these armbands were collected, they could cover hundreds of the naked and the poor.”
People with black armbands started chastising Kabir: “You are a communist, a fifth columnist, a traitor to Pakistan.”
Kabir burst out laughing. “But friends, there is no armband of any color tied to my arm.”
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