27 Dec

Short scripts of Amar Jalil’s autobiography written in Sindhi is translated into English by me.  Amar writes: I am the author of of shattered dreams, dispersed descriptions, the glum springs and soundless musics. I lead the convoy of words and sentences in wilderness and wander to chase following the desert of interpretation. I go astray in between procured and unprocured. I don’t write for the sake of palliation rather I write due to the stimulus of complete protest of my existence. The springs don’t impress me, but I write seeing the dry leaves of autumn. Moonlit nights make me dejected with pensive heart. Then I come to understand the turbulence of the ocean on full-moon nights. I have written the elegies and monodies in prose on the excited waves. Fearless heirs, travelling on planks of drown ship that collided with rocks, will read these prosed elegies and monodies in mid sea my and dig out the meaning of my meaningless words and sentences from abyss.  Since last few days, I am not feeling mentally well. Not relaxed from within, there is cry of contradictory ideas in the desert of notion. I have always tolerated the racks in my solicitude But sometimes it feels heartily so, there should be someone, with whom the inner status be discussed, should be sympathetic, should be my own, with whom dispersed, strewed thoughts be expressed with! Those are the few fortuitous who would get friends to talk about. Many years rolled by since I have shut the scrolls of complaints. I Write today, write aimless, write inexpressive, write meaningless, absurd, write beyond speculation, write such having neither head nor tail – write such a script, like boring abstract art. I am like so. When I become mentally worried (I don’t agree with the word worry- I can’t express fairly my mental condition) then abstract is written. I will not be understood to readers, bad wishes are invoked by them, I will not be prayed for blessing in my favor. I told my mother not to pray for blessings in my favor, your prays would have negative effect on me like application written in Sindhi. She is my mother she has given me birth, she cannot withdraw from her love. My mother always pray for blessings in my favor. Sindhu does not pray for blessing in my favor. Then suddenly, out of the blue, came the news that Ratan Talau school was set on fire by the political and religious madmen. It appeared to me they burnt Indra. While ignoring the voices of Amma, I reached Ratan Talau school in a race. Flames were rising from doors and windows. My sensibility was gone erroneous. Immense sorrow was felt by me. Grave shock was sustained to me. Why ? why ? why you have burnt my all belongings ? I deem, then weepingly was told by me and if was not said, I do say now while writing the autobiography, I will live taking pyre in my own arm and I am living with pyre in my arm. I will write with fire instead of ink. I am writing with fire instead of ink.    


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