• She was the first woman in Sindhi literature to give essays the form of fiction. She left the old style of essay writing. She chose a new path

By Kalavanti Raja

In the wide river of Sindhi literature, the name of Badam Natawan shines like a quiet lamp. She was a brave, thoughtful, and creative woman. With her pen, she gave voice to the feelings, pains, and inner lives of women. She wrote in a new way. She wrote with courage. Her words still live in the heart of Sindhi letters.

Her Early Life and Family

Badam Natawan was born on 7 March 1924 in Shikarpur, Sindh. Some records also say she was born around 1930. Shikarpur was an old city of learning and books. She was born into a Mughal family. Her father’s name was Muhammad Hasan. Her mother was a strong influence in her life. Her mother worked as a headmistress in a school.

As a small girl, Badam loved books. She started reading early. She started writing early too. The world of words became her home.

She studied in Shikarpur. Later, she passed her Matriculation from Bombay University. She did not stop at school learning. She read widely. She thought deeply. She knew Sindhi, Urdu, Persian, and English. These languages gave strength and color to her writing.

The Story of Her Name

Her real name was “Badam.” People often asked, “Why Badam?” She gave a clear answer in an interview. The interview was published in the monthly magazine Adiyoon long ago.

She said, “In winter, Pashtun families came to Shikarpur from Quetta. Their daughters joined our school to study. Some of those girls had the name ‘Badam.’ My mother was the headmistress of the school. She liked that name. She chose ‘Badam’ for me.”

She chose her pen name herself. She took the name “Natawan.” Natawan means weak or frail. She said she chose it because society calls a woman natawan. She made that truth a part of her name. In literary circles, she became famous as “Badam Natawan.”

Her Kith and Kin

Badam Natawan built her own family with love and care. She married Abdul Baqi Thebo. He was a landlord from Mehar, Dadu.

Together they had seven children — five sons and two daughters. Two of her children became well known.

Her son Mir Thebo became a famous leader of the Pakistan Communist Party. He now lives in the USA.

Her daughter Naseem Thebo walked on her mother’s path. Naseem became a progressive Sindhi story writer. She filled Sindhi literature with her stories. Naseem married Rasool Bux Palijo, a famous Marxist-Leninist-Maoist leader.

Badam Natawan also had a sister she loved deeply. Her sister was Roshan Ara Mughal. Roshan Ara also wrote. She left a short but strong mark on Sindhi literature. When Roshan Ara died, Badam’s heart broke. She turned her grief into words. She published a magazine called Tuhnji Yaad Mein — “In Your Memory.” It was full of love, loss, and sorrow.

Her Books and Famous Stories

Badam Natawan’s pen never rested. She wrote with speed and with fire. She wrote about women’s morals, character, faith, courage, duties, and knowledge. She was the first woman in Sindhi literature to give essays the form of fiction. She left the old style of essay writing. She chose a new path. Her style was emotional. Her style was symbolic. She wrote about society’s problems in a way no one had tried before.

Shikasta Zindagi — “Broken Life” (1950) 

This was her first book. It came in two volumes. Each volume had 250 pages. For a woman writer at that time, this was a great feat. The book was published by Bashir Ahmad & Sons, Karachi. In this book, she wrote about broken dreams. She opened the inner world of women. She showed the hard face of society.

Khush Khaslat Khatoon — “A Woman of Good Character” (1956) 

This was her second major book. It was published by the Sindhi Adabi Board in 1956. The book held ten essays. Badam Natawan herself said about this book: “In writing this book, instead of ink, I have used the blood of my liver.” The Sindhi Adabi Board honored her. They gave her an award. The Board’s Secretary, Muhammad Ibrahim Joyo, sent her 200 copies of the book and the prize. At that time, this was rare praise for a woman writer.

The scholar Syed Miran Muhammad Shah reviewed the book. He wrote: “This work is far better than the previous ones… For such effort and perseverance, this lady deserves praise and congratulations.”

Qalbi Ujj — “The Thirst of the Heart” (1966) 

This was her third book. It was published in 1966 by Moulvi Muhammad Azeem & Sons, an old publisher in Shikarpur. This book showed the best of her pen. The great scholar Allama I. I. Kazi wrote his opinion on it. His praise gave her work high honor.

In this book, her essays burn with passion and zeal. She looked at society with the eye of a poet. She saw the evil around her. She picked up her pen and wrote with truth. She told women to walk on a spiritual path. She told them to fulfill Huqooq Allah, the rights of God. She told them to fulfill Huqooq-ul-Ibad, the rights of people. She told them to push ignorance away. She told them to light the lamp of knowledge.

Her books show deep study. She used quotes from Persian, English, Arabic, and Sindhi literature. She used verses and stories. She made her essays rich and beautiful.

Other Important Works 

She wrote more books. Three of them are still unpublished. Their names are:

• Nimani Nar or Namani Naar — “The Helpless Woman”
• Khalwat Mein — “In Solitude”
• Runam Rat Phura or Runam Rut Phira — “Tears of Blood Drops”

These books look deep into a woman’s heart. They show her pain. They show how society treats her. These books should be published. The world should read them.

She also wrote many stories and essays. All of them speak of a woman’s life. They speak of her courage. They speak of her silence. They speak of her strength.

Her Place in Sindhi Literature

Badam Natawan did work that no one can forget. She woke up the women of her time. She called them toward knowledge. She called them toward books. She wrote for their rights. And through her writing, she earned her own place.

There was a time when Mohtarma Zeenat Abdullah Channa wrote much in Nain Zindagi and other magazines. People were amazed by her. In those same days, Badam Natawan rose from Shikarpur. She gave advice to women. She wrote for their rights. Her talent came before all eyes.

As her books came one by one, people saw her deep study. People saw her sharp eye. Her writings took an important place in Sindhi literature. At the same time, her words reached the women of Sindh. Those women who could read books found truth in her pages. They found courage. They found knowledge. They found counsel. Because of her, many women learned to stand for their duties. They learned to ask for their rights.

Her style was new. She made essays look like stories. She filled them with feeling. She filled them with meaning. This was a new test in Sindhi writing.

Her Final Years and Legacy

Badam Natawan’s pen ran fast. But just as fast, we forgot her. This is a sad truth. Her work should be in school books. It should be taught in colleges. It should be taught in universities. But this did not happen. Her books are not easy to find today. Her life story is not fully safe. Her unpublished books are still waiting for light.

This is a loss for Sindhi literature. She gave her life to books and to society. Yet we did not keep her memory as we should.

Badam Natawan died on 8 February 1988. She died in Shikarpur, her own city. She left this world. But she left her words behind.

Today, her name is a bright chapter in the story of Sindhi women’s writing. She was a daughter of Shikarpur. She was a mother of brave children. She was a teacher for all women. She was a light for all who read.

Her work tells us to be strong. Her work tells us to be true. Her work tells us to learn, and to teach.

Read: Restoring Democracy: Leadership, Strategy

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Kalavanti Raja, based in Gambat (Khairpur Mirs) is a researcher on Sindh’s political movements and gender history. She can be reached at kalavanti.raja@gmail.com

The post The Pen That Spoke for Women first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Gambat remembers the late writer with Book Fair from 16-19 January 2026

By Ramesh Raja

Hafeez Sheikh was a pioneering Sindhi short story writer and journalist whose work transformed personal struggle into enduring social critique. Born on 10 December 1931 in Gambat town, Khairpur Mirs district of Sindh, he rose from severe economic hardship to become one of the most distinctive realist voices in South Asian regional literature. Hafeez Shaikh introduced my city Gambat into the circles of literature and journalism and Dr. Raheem Bux Bhatti through GIMS Hospital worldwide.

Forced to leave school at an early age due to poverty, Hafeez Sheikh worked as a shoe shiner and shop assistant before resuming his education through extraordinary perseverance. He completed his higher studies in Karachi and later earned an MA in Journalism from Lahore, a journey that profoundly shaped his literary and political consciousness. His career in journalism included work with Nawai-e-Sindh, association with the Associated Press of Pakistan (APP), service as Personal Assistant to Muhammad Ayub Khuhro, and later administrative responsibilities as Divisional In-Charge in Family Planning.

In 1951, while residing at Mitharam Hostel, Hafeez Sheikh played a formative role in establishing the Sindhi Adabi Sangat, a leading literary movement advocating progressive, human-centered writing. His fiction, deeply influenced by his journalistic training, exposed social injustice, institutional violence, class inequality, and the emotional costs of authoritarian systems.

His most celebrated short stories—“Ammaan, I Will Not Go to School,” “Two Shadows,” “Congratulations,” “The Writer,” and “Twatto”—are landmarks of Sindhi social realism. “Ammaan, I Will Not Go to School,” now taught at universities, remains a powerful indictment of fear-based education, portraying how authority, when fused with violence, destroys the very spirit it claims to discipline.

Hafeez Sheikh’s work came under the close and incisive scrutiny of critics such as the respected Rasool Bux Palijo. In 1970, while writing the dedication for the second edition of his short story collection “Saagar Ji Lehran Te” (On the Waves of the Sea), Hafeez Sheikh wrote:

“I dedicate this to Sindh’s renowned critic Rasool Bux Palijo, who did not even have the fare to travel from Thatta to Karachi, yet after reading my short story ‘Mubarkoon’ (Congratulations), he borrowed five rupees from a friend and came all the way to Karachi. He sought me out and when we finally met face to face, he said:

“Bullshit….What the hell are you doing….you have ruined the face of such a fine short story. It was a living, breathing piece of writing—why did you sink the boat like this?’

I replied, ‘Why are you so angry? Sit down, let us talk. It is possible that you are right, and it is also possible that I am right.’

We held our sitting at the Iranian Hotel over six-paisa cups of tea. After two hours, when we had completed three rounds of tea, I said to him, ‘You are right. When Mubarkoon will published again, I will change its ending.’”

Later, when Mubarkoon was published in Urdu, its ending had indeed been changed, and it appeared under the new title “Gaariyan Garakandiyan Rahyoon” (“Vehicles Kept Crashing / Rolling On”). This mode of criticism was itself a test. There was a contest between my ego and the writer’s love for his craft—and in the end, my ego bowed its head before suggestions of Palijo.

Hafeez Sheikh rejected romantic escapism in literature. He wrote with stark honesty, drawing directly from lived experience. His narratives are grounded in everyday life, rural landscapes, emotional silences, and moral contradictions, giving voice to those pushed to the margins. Critics often describe his stories as autobiographical—not because they recount events, but because they carry the emotional truth of a life lived in resistance.

Hafeez Sheikh died prematurely on 9 November 1971 and was buried in Hyderabad Cantonment. His physical grave may have faded, but his intellectual legacy endures.

Revival Through Memory: The Hafeez Sheikh Book Fair

In recent years, Hafeez Sheikh’s legacy has been meaningfully revived in his hometown through the Hafeez Sheikh Book Fair, organized by Sindh Fikri Forum Gambat. Now an established cultural tradition, the book fair reconnects contemporary readers with progressive literary values and critical thought.

The initiative is led by committed cultural organizers Awais Mangi, Salih Narejo, Darban Ujan, Rafiq Sindhyar, Umar Ali, Adnan Soomro, Soorih Sindhi, Mohsin Khuhro, Adnan Latif, Kaleem Ullah, Mehdi Hassan, Kashif Ujjan, and their colleagues, who have transformed Gambat into a vibrant site of intellectual exchange.

The fair also enjoys consistent support from Gambat’s literary community, including Sah Shaikh, Altaf Bhatti, Nazeer Sirohi, Ramesh Raja, Raz Ali Gul Bhutto, Ghohar Shaikh, Basharat Narejo, Bhawan Sindhi, Dr Yaar Markhand, Manzoor Ujjan, Lutuf Sahito, Ali Gul Khuhro, Sana Jakhar, among others—reflecting a collective commitment to sustaining literary culture in Sindh and its surrounding regions.

Why Hafeez Sheikh Matters Today

Hafeez Sheikh’s writing remains urgently relevant in a world grappling with inequality, authoritarianism, and cultural amnesia. His work reminds us that literature is not decoration—it is conscience. Through words rooted in truth and compassion, he challenged power, questioned norms, and insisted on human dignity.

Today, Hafeez Sheikh is remembered not only through his stories but through living cultural practices that continue to inspire dialogue, reading, and resistance. In remembering him, Sindh reclaims a voice that never ceased to speak.

Read: Diplomacy vs. Biodiversity: The Houbara Bustard’s Dilemma

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The author of this article, Engr. Ramesh Raja, is a Civil Engineer, visionary planner, PMP certified and literary enthusiast with a passion for art and recreation. He can be reached at engineer.raja@gmail.com  

The post Hafeez Sheikh: Sindh’s Unquiet Conscience first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Muhammad Habib Sanai

Shoukat Hussain Shoro is regarded as one of the pioneers of the modern Sindhi short story. According to a renowned writer and poet Qamar Shahbaz (Late), Shoukat — lost in his thoughts, lonely and dejected amidst the bustling fair — was among the few young writers who gave a new direction and vision to the Sindhi short story.

About his literary journey, Shoukat himself says:

My grandfather and uncle owned a large collection of books of tales and legends, and my grandmother regularly told us stories. Very early in life, I had read Alif Laila, Hatim Ta’i, Mumtaz Damsaaz, and Dāstān-e-Amīr Hamza. I would regularly send my writings to Gulistān, a children’s periodical published from Hyderabad. During my high-school years, I also began translating stories and getting them published in the literary pages of Sindhi newspapers.

“In the 1950s, Sindhi literature was dominated by Progressive writers. Naturally, when I began writing, I was influenced by the Progressive movement — my characters were an oppressed peasant and a tyrannical wadero.

“In the 1960s, however, the political situation in Pakistan and the injustices faced by Sindh led to the rise of Sindhi nationalism, which also left its mark on Sindhi literature. As a result, I moved away from class issues and began to write about the injustices and oppression suffered by Sindh and its people.”

“In 1971, after the Indo-Pakistani War, the eastern wing was lost, and the political and economic conditions of the country were at their worst. A large number of Sindhi youth were depressed and disillusioned due to widespread unemployment — we were among them.

“The following decade, the seventies, was a period of upheaval shaped by modern ideas and movements emerging across the world. During this time, a new kind of short story began to develop. In India, Sindhi writers had already started writing modern Sindhi fiction, but here in Sindh, the trend arrived later. A few of us — Manik, Mushtaque Shoro, and I — embraced this modern form.

“We faced strong opposition and were accused of distorting the language’s grammatical structure, spreading immorality, opposing the Progressive movement, serving as agents of American imperialism, and promoting frustration and hopelessness.

“The truth, however, was different. We had realized that literature alone could not bring about social change. Writing had helped us see this clearly. We had abandoned the long-cherished dream of transforming society through stories and poetry — and for that, we faced the criticism of political writers.”

Early Life and Education

He was born on 4 July 1947 in the village of Haji Noor Muhammad Shoro in District Sujawal. He received his primary education at the village Primary School and completed his matriculation from Chandio High School, Sujawal, in 1963. He then did his Intermediate from Sachal Arts College, Hyderabad, and earned Masters in Sindhi from the University of Sindh in 1968.

Employment

He began his career as the Editor of the monthly Gul Phul, published by the Sindhi Adabi Board, Jamshoro. Later, he was appointed as a Script Producer at Pakistan Television (PTV), but soon he joined the University of Sindh, where he eventually retired as the Director of the Institute of Sindhology, Jamshoro.

Writing Career and Works

Shoro began writing in 1964, and his first short story, titled Akhyoon Roee Payoon (Eyes Wept), was published in the Sindhi monthly Rooh Rehan. To date, four collections of his short stories have been published:

• Gongi Dharthi Boro Akas (Dumb Earth, Deaf Sky, 1981)
• Akhiyan Main Tangyal Sapna (Dreams Etched in Eyes, 1983)
• Gum Thiyal Pachho (The Vanished Shadow, 1989)
• Raat jo Rang (The Color of Night, 2011)

His short stories have been translated into Urdu, Hindi, and English. His story “Death of Fear” was included in Unbordered Memories: Sindhi Stories of Partition, edited and translated by Rita Kothari, and published in India in 2009. Hindi translations of his stories by Sandhya Chander Kundnani and Hiro Shevkani were compiled in an anthology titled Khoi Hui Perchhai (Lost Shadow), published in 2017. In 2018, English translations of his selected short stories rendered by Ram Daryani were published in an anthology titled Color of Night.

He authored six solo plays and four drama serials for Pakistan Television, in addition to four radio dramas. The Institute of Sindhology entrusted him with an ambitious project: to compile a representative selection of Sindhi short stories spanning a full century, from 1914 to 2014. He completed this landmark anthology, and its first volume was published by the Institute in 2017 under the title Sau Saalan joon Choond Kahaniyun (Selected Stories of One Hundred Years). He also served as editor of several issues of Sindhi Adab and Sindhological Studies, both brought out by the Institute of Sindhology, Jamshoro. Beyond this work, he contributed numerous columns and wrote insightful critical essays.

Books and Special Issues of Periodicals

During his lifetime, and after his passing, several books and special issues of magazines and periodicals devoted to his life and art were published. The first such work, published during his lifetime, was titled Shoukat Hussain: Shakhsiyat ain Fun (Shoukat Hussain Shoro: His Person and Art), compiled by Muhammad Usman Mangi and published by Sindh Manik Moti Tanzeem, Hyderabad, in 2009.

According to a Facebook post by a writer and poet Ali Dost Aajiz, Niaz Panhwar has written or compiled a book in Urdu titled Shoukat Shoro: Aik Uhd Saaz Afsana Nigar (Shoukat Shoro: A Trailblazing Short Story Writer). Ali Dost Aajiz has also mentioned that special issues dedicated to Shoro’s life and work have been published by Sindhi magazines such as Koonj, Saranga, and another literary periodical featuring critical essays on his personality and art.

He was also scheduled to share the stage with Rita Kothari in a session titled “Sindhi Writers Across the Border” at the Jaipur Literature Festival 2018. However, due to a visa denial, he was unable to participate in the event.

Affiliations and Awards

He served as a member of the Board of Governors of the Sindhi Language Authority and received numerous awards and recognition shields in acknowledgment of his literary contributions and cultural services.

He passed away on 9 November 2021 after a brief illness.

Read: Vali Ram Wallab: The Translational Genius

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Muhammad Habib Sanai is based in Hala town of Sindh. He is a freelance writer and contributes his research-based articles to various newspapers and other publications.

The post Shoukat Shoro – Catalyst for Sindhi Fiction first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Manzoor Kalhoro

Since time immemorial, Sindh has been a repository of stories- a deep-rooted and flourishing tradition it has carried for centuries. The soulful, thematic, thought provoking and exalted tales appealed to the listeners and left them delighted, thrilled and thoughtful. Sindh’s folk literature can compete with any literature of any nation in socio cultural context and can be exceptional. Even today, Sindh’s folklore is so rich, lively, and exciting that if someone invests in it on modern grounds, it can rock and serve as a panacea for the psychological anxieties, despair, alienation, and restlessness of today’s world. If the heroines and heroes of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai’s poetry are staged in the remains of Ranikot, in the internal corners of Hyderabad fort, at the central space of Kot Diji, at the scorching sands of Thar Desert, in the fields of Makli or on the shores of Keenjhar or on the pinnacle of Gorakh Hill as similar as that of the theaters of Greece, Rome, France or Britain, then Sindh’s folklore would surely be a claimant of a global place in the international literature.

When British invaded Sindh in 1843 with their imperial claws, they were pleased to learn the fantastic Sindhi folk tales and therefore extolled it enormously. Having introduced the Sindhi alphabet, they either translated their short stories, novels, and dramas into Sindhi language or got them translated and thus introduced their literary arena, trends and movements in Sindhi literature. The invaders understood the dynamic trends of literature across the nations and resultantly predicted that the Sindhi storytellers would channel their creative intellectual powers into modern fiction, novels, and drama. That is precisely what happened. Sindhi writers not only translated Western fiction but, by the time of Partition, native Sindhi creative writers had displayed such creative literary excellence in these modern literary genres that today’s researcher is amazed at how, within less than a century, Sindhi literature stood shoulder to shoulder with modern world literature.

The Partition of the Indian subcontinent created a major rupture in this creative process. The trauma of migration and displacement temporarily silenced Sindh’s literary world. Yet, because Sindh has always nurtured creativity and creative impulse, this vacuum was soon filled. Before long, Sindhi poetry, stories, novels, dramas, essays, letters, and autobiographies again began to blossom and spread their fragrance throughout the region.

Sindh’s literature has always been the reflection of its land, its aspirations, of its people’s joys and sorrows, prosperity and suffering, struggles and resistance. Sindhi short stories have played a vital role in this expression. The Sindhi short story no longer needs validation or recognition as it has already been proven. This genre has produced exceptional, unique, and celebrated storytellers who have equipped Sindhi literature with masterpieces. When writers like Amar Jaleel, Ali Baba, Abdul Qadir Junejo, and Nurul Huda Shah adapted these stories into drama, Sindhi literature earned not only national but also international awards, recognition and reputation.

Today, the list of modern Sindhi short-story writers is long. Yet among them exists a “golden list” of legendary storytellers, and in the very front row of that golden list stands the name of Najam Abbasi. The time and clime in which Najam Abbasi breathed and wrote his masterpiece short stories was the golden age of Sindhi fiction. Every corner of Sindh- both urban and rural, near or remote, witnessed the eruption of brilliant storytellers who dedicated themselves to serve this literary art with their lifeblood. It was an era of socio-political unrest, intellectual strife, ideological discord, and literary idealism. In such extraordinary times, a variety of literary, political, and ideological magazines and journals were published like blossoms in springtime. As extraordinary times create extraordinary people, so was right about Najam Abbasi who carved out his own distinct identity at this critical juncture of life. Interestingly, this era of utmost socio political disturbances also gave Sindhi literature the iconic personalities who too excelled in the genre of fiction and lent Sindhi literature marvelous stories with great depth of socio cultural knowledge, insightful spirituality and utmost political wisdom. To relate this, the names of such icons are Jamal Abro, Amar Jaleel, Siraj, Agha Saleem, Ali Baba, Ghulam Rabbani Agro, Naseem Kharl, Qamar Shahbaz, Manik, Mehtab Mehboob, and Ghulam Nabi Mughal. Amid such giants, Najam Abbasi continued to distinguish himself through his own work.

What were Najam Abbasi’s stories about? They were about people like you and like me; peasants, laborers, the oppressed and exploited classes, the helplessness of women, social decay, tales of tyranny, political oppression, ideological conflicts, the pain of the poor, and the cruelty of feudal lords, chieftains, and landlords. His stories depicted the agonizing realities of the victims of brutality, the restlessness of the upper class, the longing for a revolution, for freedom, and about the ideals of love and devotion. These stories reflected his untiring dedication to the cause of Sindh and the Sindhi language and literature. Najam Abbasi did not belong to that opportunistic and self-serving literary fraternity that compromised for personal hen and gain and consequently harmed Sindh’s political and literary integrity. Instead, he used the Sindhi short story as a weapon against capitalism, class inequality, tyranny, and exploitation. His stories were reverberated the anguish of the common people. The themes he discussed were pertaining to real-life struggles and pain. Hence, he was a storyteller of the oppressed and working classes. Educated men and women alike admired his writings. No newspaper or magazine seemed complete without his contribution. Publishers across Sindh eagerly awaited his new stories, novels, or translations. And his books! Interestingly, his books always went sold as appeared, so much so that there isn’t a single publisher in Sindh who could claim to have charged Najam Abbasi for printing his books.

Najam Abbasi, who wrote his first story titled “Himmat and Koshish” (“Courage and Effort”) in 1944, was a truthful, bold, and principled storyteller. Born into a middle-class family, the son of a schoolteacher Allah Andhi, he never accepted government servitude. He resigned from medical service and spent his life running a private clinic in Hyderabad, serving the poor and dedicating himself to literature.

By nature, Najam Abbasi was rebellious against oppression, tyranny, feudalism, spiritual exploitation, and capitalism. This rebellion began at early age when he read the revolutionary writings of Muhammad Usman Deplai in his father’s small library. Even in his final years of life, after being paralyzed for six years, he refused to give up. When he could neither write nor speak clearly, he still gave interviews from his daughter’s home. Those interviews have now become an essential part of Sindh’s literary history. They reveal how bravely and fearlessly he lived his entire life. Sindh will remain proud of writers like Najam Abbasi, who not only wrote about the sanctity and freedom of their homeland but lived those values in practice, standing firm against every form of oppression.

Born in October 18, 1927, in the small town of Khanwahan in the literary district of Naushehro Feroze, Sindh’s story teller Prince, Najam Abbasi passed away on October 25, 1995. On his grave are inscribed thought provoking words:

“When the day of Sindh’s freedom dawns, light a lamp on my grave as well!”

Sindh continues to preserve the intellectual legacy of this noble storyteller, through his works such as Toofan Ji Tamanna (Stories), Pathar Te Leeko (Stories), Gaarho Laaltain (Translation), Jeke Muhanji Mun Mein Aahi (Stories), Naachni (Stories), Aedo Soor Sahi (Autobiography and Essays), Rishta Nata (Stories), Akela Na Aahyun (Translation), Sooraj Hundi Murjhaail (Stories), Lalkar (Stories), Pahadan Mein Pukar (Translation), Pyar Kahani (Novel), Bulandiyan (Novel), Professor (Stories), Daroon Hun Diwani Jo (Stories), Kahani Jo Qaflo (Stories and Criticism), Gandhi (Translation), Tasawwuf Ji Cheer Phar (Essays), Talash (Novel), Zalzalo (Translation), Mastiriyani (Translation), Dokho (Stories), Mathe Sindh Sukar (Stories), Lenin Ji Inqilabi Kahani (Translation), Muhanji Behtareen Kahaniyun (Stories), Paan Mein Wetha Aahyun (Stories and Columns), Ocha Gaat Pahadan Ja (Stories and Interviews), and Jabal Mathe Bahri (Letters).

Let us preserve this legacy and let us renew our pledge to keep his light shining forever.

Read: Amar Jaleel: The Flame of Free Thought

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Manzoor Kalhoro is a journalist based in Larkano, Sindh. Email: manzoorkalhoro2k16@gmail.com

The post Najam Abbasi: Sindh’s Rebel Writer first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Muhammad Habib Sanai

Noted writer, poet, and journalist Jan Muhammad Khaskheli was born on April 23, 1956, in the politically prominent village of Karam Khan Nizamani, located in Hala Taluka of Sindh. He was born into the household of Haji Khan, a hardworking peasant.

Jan received his primary education in his native village, completed his matriculation at M.G. Government High School, Hala, and went on to pursue his Intermediate studies at Sarwari Islamia College, Hala. He later earned a Master’s degree in Sociology from the University of Sindh.

During his college years, he became actively involved in student politics and later aligned himself with national movements. Around the same time, he developed a deep passion for literature and began composing poetry.

When he was unable to secure a government job, Jan initially opened a shop in his village, but the venture was unsuccessful. In the early 1980s, he left for Karachi in search of better opportunities. According to his unpublished and incomplete memoirs, during his early days in Karachi, he slept on the footpath near the under-construction Taj Complex, where some of his fellow villagers were working as laborers. He soon moved to Soomar Kandani village in Malir, and after a few months, shifted to Lyari, where he lived for nearly fifteen years before eventually settling in Hyderabad.

During his early days in Karachi, he slept on the footpath near the under-construction Taj Complex, where some of his fellow villagers were working as laborers.

His first job in Karachi was with Mr. Umer Bedar, editor and publisher of the Sindhi monthly Adyoon. His responsibility was to write the addresses of subscribers for magazine deliveries sent via VPP (Value Payable Post). Finding the work monotonous, he eventually left the job. After a few months of unemployment, he joined Hyderi Public School as a Sindhi language teacher, a position he held for six years. During this period, he also began working part-time in Sindhi newspapers in the afternoons.

Jan actively participated in the literary gatherings of Sindhi Adabi Sangat—first in Malir, and later in the central Karachi branch. At that time, the Karachi chapter of Sindhi Adabi Sangat was among the most vibrant, hosting weekly sessions that lasted for hours. The intellectually rich environment deeply nurtured Jan’s literary abilities, and he emerged as a notable poet and short story writer.

In an interview with a Sindhi daily’s weekly magazine, he later admitted that his literary engagement—especially with poetry and fiction—provided him both inspiration and the strength to endure life’s challenges.

After spending several years working with Sindhi newspapers, Jan Muhammad Khaskheli transitioned to English-language journalism. In the later decades of his life, he was associated with The News Karachi, where he not only covered regular news stories but also contributed a wealth of insightful articles on subjects that were often overlooked in mainstream journalism. His writings explored themes such as climate change, flora and fauna, the environment, agriculture, forestry, and other innovative and socially relevant issues, bringing much-needed attention to these vital topics.

Books

His first book, Gum Thiyal Manoo jo Safarnamoo (Travelogue of a Disappeared Person), was published in May 1996. It was a collection of 25 short stories. In the preface, renowned Sindhi writer Qamar Shahbaz remarked: “This very simple, reticent, and shy young man, while carrying forward the literary tradition shaped by Jamal Abro and adopting the narrative style of Ali Baba and Mushtaq Shoro, has carved out a distinct place for himself in Sindhi short fiction. Among the few contemporary writers who consistently produce short stories, Jan stands out. At times, I feel as if Manik has returned… Jan has played a vital role in making the Sindhi short story more concise and impactful. Noted writer and translator Manoj Kumar was of the view that “Jan Khaskheli in his stories has unveiled hypocrisy and filth behind the façade of religion, politics, journalism and other beautiful slogans, and has composed the history of great quandary of society.”

After a long hiatus, his second book—and his first poetry collection—Khawaben je Mosam jo Hik Geet (A Song from the Season of Dreams) was published in 2017. This anthology comprised 62 prose poems, most of which were written during the 1980s and 1990s while he was living in Karachi. As a result, the city of Karachi became a central backdrop in much of his poetry—a notable and bold departure in Sindhi literature, where no poet before him had captured the spirit of Karachi in quite the same way. The poems varied in length, some brief and poignant, others more expansive, but the recurring focus was not on personal sorrows or romantic yearnings. Instead, his work was deeply rooted in the socio-political and economic realities of the time. In the preface, writer Manoj Kumar described him as “a poet-historian of pain.”

His third and final book published during his lifetime was Khawaban jo Ajaab Ghar (Museum of Dreams), a collection of 22 short stories released in 2018. Reflecting on his creative process, he wrote at the end of the preface: “Then I realized there was a silent storm surging through society—one so devastating that few could even recognize its destruction. Fear had driven the birds to remain in their nests. Nightingales and sparrows sang in hushed tones, hidden away. Perhaps that is why, whenever I try to form a word, the letters and punctuation marks morph into haunting images. And in that dread, I find myself surrounded by these pages. Only my breath lends me the strength to allow this silent storm to speak. I would paint it too. Let me go as far as to say that in each of my stories, I’ve tried to arrange the things I gathered over time: a pen, a brush, colors, rose petals, raindrops on the sands of Thar, and the golden blossoms of moonlight. That story gave meaning to my sleep and urged me to awaken. Threading together each breath, I tried to unveil the devastation left by that silent storm.”

Unpublished Works

From his interview, it appeared that one more anthology of short stories in Sindhi, another collection of translated stories in Urdu, and two books of memoirs and profiles were yet to be published. In addition to his literary work in Sindhi, he wrote several articles and essays in English on innovative and underexplored themes.

Renowned writer and editor Anwar Abro, shared that in 1993, Jan Khaskheli wrote a long opera titled Chand Wann je Oat Me (The Moon Behind the Trees), which was published in serialized form in Sindh Sujag magazine. He also translated the poetry of renowned Urdu poet Azra Abbas into Sindhi.

Jan Khaskheli passed away on 20 March 2022 due to cardiac arrest. He was laid to rest in his ancestral graveyard in Karam Khan Nizamani.

Let us take a look into a few fragments of his poetic world.

Rose blooming season

Today, in our motherland,

Bullets roam freely through the streets…

At the city’s heart,

Alongside the heroes of our stories, our history,

Our songs and our poems—

Even our dreams are set ablaze.

 ***

Relations

All the dogs of the city

Have turned into guardians of hate,

Yet, in the desire to dream,

Today, they have once again

Forged friendships with the stars.

Story of a city

A hundred kissable damsels,

And branches of roses,

Fell, wounded,

Trampled beneath cruel feet—

For the crime of loving life

Last Moment of the Ceremony

This year,

The season of bullets spraying has lingered.

You and I,

Hiding hunger deep in our hearts,

Let us sing wedding songs,

Even as the season of bullets stretches on.

Corpse of Honour

The judge declared her free —

But every path still shackled her feet.

A baby slipped from her breast…

She was hacked into pieces.

Blood ties ran dry.

The sun watched.

O Sindh,

Tell us —

Where shall we bury

This corpse of honour?

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Muhammad Habib Sanai is based in Hala town of Sindh. He is a freelance writer and contributes his research-based articles to various newspapers and other publications.

Read – Dr. Mubarak Ali: An Erudite Historian

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Jaipur, India

Vasudev Sindhu Bharati, a senior writer and cartoonist, who dedicated his entire life to Sindhi language, literature and culture, passed away after protracted illness on Thursday October 31, 2024, at Sindhu Sadan, Malviya Nagar, Jaipur.

Vasudev Sindhu Bharti was born on November 9, 1938 at Hyderabad Sindh. He was a retired government employee, and one of Sindhi writers, who besides writing in mother tongue Sindhi, gained proficiency in Hindi language and had been regularly contributing to Hindi papers.  He was an activist of Sindhayat from the early days of partition.

Vasudev Sindhu Bharati was prominent artist, cartoonist and children’s storywriter, who made a considerable name in his specialized branch of the children’s literature. A couple of collections of children’s stories are to his credit. More outstanding contribution from his pen is rendering of some important folk tales and historical personalities of the Sindhi community into Hindi language and very imaginatively, illustrated with artistic sketches. He did calligraphic work of many Sindhi books and magazines.

His books include ‘Ind lath’ (Rainbow) Collection of Children’s stories, 1983, and ‘Nain Roshni’ (New Light), Collection of Children’s Stories, 1989.

Apart from the above, he wrote more than 200 articles and stories on children which have been published, both in Sindhi and Hindi.

Bharati received several Honors/ Awards during his career.  A few most significant amongst them are:

‘Sindhayat’ Award for literary contributions, 1998 (At Mumbai by Akhil Bharati Sindhi Boli Ain Sahitya Sabha); ‘Sindhi Sapoot’ Award for enriching Sindhi literature, 1986 (At Jaipur by Rajasthan Sindhi Academy); Award for Children story ‘Ekta Jo Bal’ (Power of Unity), 1992 (At Ahmedabad by Bal Sindhu organization) and award for spreading Sindhi culture & sanskriti, 1994 (At Kota by Sindhi Mandal).

Bharati was also renowned stage artiste and had taken part in some Sindhi plays. Bharati edited Sindhi Magazine ‘Suhini’ for almost a decade along with two other friends, Shri Sunder Agnani and Shri Lachman Bhambhani.

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Read: Sindhis – The Scattered Treasure

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From Correspondent

Ahmedabad, Gujarat

Dr. Prem Prakash, a renowned writer director, known as the pioneer of Sindhi drama, passed away on Wednesday morning January 10, 2024 in Ahmedabad. He was born on August 2, 1946 in Hyderabad Sindh.

Dr. Prem Prakash was based in Ahmedabad Gujarat where his parents had settle after migration in 1947. After having passed B.Sc., Dr. Prem had done Ph.D. in Sindh. He used to work for Life Insurance Corporation of India.

Dr. Prem Prakash was a versatile artist, writer, poet, dramatist, critic and organizer.  His forte was the field of drama. He wrote many short and full length plays and directed them. A greater number of plays he had brought on the Sindhi stage.

Quite a few books of drama and short stories are to his credit. But his monumental research work is his treatise on the history of Sindhi drama, covering over a century, for which he received a doctorate from University of Bombay.

Dr. Prakash received awards for his literary achievements from different organizations including Central Hindi Directorate, Gujarat Sindhi Sahitya Academy, Akhil Bharat Sindhi Boli Ain Sahit Sabha. He also won the coveted annual award from the Central Sahitya Akedemi, New Delhi, narrative “Bhagat”.

Dr. Prem’s written work include drama ‘Picnic’ (1974), ‘Morcha Bandi’ (1975), ‘Villain’ Stories (1977), ‘Veeha’ (Twenty) Stories, 1994 and ‘Bhagat’ (Blending of traditional Dance, Song & Story telling), Poems, 1998.

As dramatist, Dr. Prem Prakash directed the following Sindhi Plays: ‘Juloos’, (Procession), 1982; ‘Vari-a-Sando Kot’ (Castle of Sand), 1980; ‘Ashyano’ (Nest), 1990; ‘Farishtan Ji Duniya’ (The World of Angels).

In addition, Dr. Prem Prakash directed 35 One Act Plays from 1976 to 2000.  Some noteworthy are: ‘Undah Ji Golha’ (Search for darkness), ‘Machis Kithe Aa’ (Where is Match Box), ‘Zilzlo’ (Earth Quake), ‘Sakht Chahre Varo Manhoon’ (The Man with the hard face), ‘Jadahin Zindha’ (When alive), ‘Hun Jo Dupp’ (His fear).

Dr Prem had written and converted many stories into dramas. Among these stories some are the story of Mohan Kalpana “Farishtau Ji Duniya”, story of Mohan Kalpana “Oham ain mathine” story of Haresh Waswani “Gunti”, story at Lakshmi Khelani “Paara Khan Dharya” story of Ishwar Chandra “Sakt Chie waro Marron”. All these Plays try to portray the absurdity of human life using illogical, meaningless and deliberately confusing action and dialogue.

His Ph.D. on “Natak ji Avsar‟ (Evolution of Drama), is considered as an important contribution to Sindhi drama. His thesis has been immensely helpful for research scholars working on Sindhi theatre.

In the foreword of his thesis, Lakhmi Khilani wrote, “100 years history of Sindhi Drama is shown in just 544 pages of Dr. Prem Prakash’s Granth and compare it with Prof. Mangaram Malkhani’s Sindhi Nasar Ji Twarikh.

Lakhmi Khilani writes about Dr. Prem Prakash: He is short, small and looks like a poor person. But his inner skill and his new art is shocking to us.

“Drama is what he drinks and eats. He lives for drama. Drama is first and last love in his life. He feels happy from this kind of hard work. He feels that life is full. He feels that he recognize himself with this Name, fame property is zero,” Lakhmi Khilani wrote.

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Biodata source: Sindhi Sangat, Sindhu World and Episteme 

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By Yasir Qazi

“The soft tone of the natter, the affable manner and the sympathetic demeanor were the hallmarks of Azad’s personality. With a lasting heart-warming smile on his lips, he always used to make silent introductions to those he met. He has left indelible memories for his friends and colleagues. His short journey into journalism is an example of hard work towards a grim goal.” This is how Shamheer-ul-Haidry, noted poet and scholar of the Sindhi language portrays the personality of Huzoor Bakhsh ‘Azad’ Jatoi, a banker by profession, but a fiction writer and journalist by passion, who departed 13 years ago on this day. While Dr. Suleman Shaikh, the prominent social reformer and intellectual of Sindh, says about Jatoi: “Azad rose up like a Precious Pearl and a bright star, who continued to fight for his life with a constant struggle and unparalleled honesty. It was his dream that may Daily “Moomal”, the newspaper published by him, be able to attain the status of the queen of ‘Kaak Mahal’ (The ‘Kaak’s palace, as per a Sindhi legend) of the arena of Sindhi Journalism; and with this desire, Azad became ‘Azad’ (free) forever.”

Whereas Agha Khalid Salim, an eminent scholar, fiction writer, researcher, translator and broadcaster defines Azad Jatoi as: “Whatever other virtues Azad Jatoi had, they all had their place, but his greatest worth was that he was an affectionate father as well as a loving and devoted husband.”

Due to his creative services to the literary and journalistic scene of Sindh, the name of the personable “Azad” Jatoi is respected and loved in Sindh, who passed away on August 26, 2009, and we are completing 13 years without him, this year.

Azad Jatoi was born on March 4, 1956, in ‘Mehrabpur’ a small town in Larkana district in the house of Allah Bakhsh Jatoi. His family name was ‘Huzoor Bakhsh’, but he came to be known as ‘Azad Jatoi’ in the literary and journalistic circles. Azad opened his eyes in a family with an academic and religious background. Huzoor Bakhsh’s grandfather, Maulvi Ghulam Rasool Jatoi, was a renowned religious figure of Sindh as well as a noted religious poet, who used his poetic ingenuity for the promotion of religion Islam, very effectively. Maulvi Ghulam Rasool Jatoi is familiar to almost everyone in Sindh because his written sermons (Khutba’as) in the Sindhi language in the form of poetry, are still read in Friday congregations in most of the mosques of Sindh. When local people hear the message of God in their mother tongue Sindhi in an easy form of poetry, during the first Standing (Qaya’am) of the sermon (Jumma Khutba’a), it makes it easy for them to understand. The books of Maulvi Ghulam Rasool’s these poetic sermons are widely available in religious bookstores across Sindh.

Born in such a cultivated family, Hazoor Bakhsh Jatoi was given religious education from very young age and was admitted to a local primary school in 1961 for acquiring formal education. From Mehrabpur Primary School he completed his primary education in 1966 and got the boon of knowledge from Dokri, a slightly bigger town in the surrounding, for his secondary education; from Government High School Dokri, District Larkana he passed his matriculation examination in 1971. After obtaining his graduation in science (BSc) from Government Degree College, Larkana, he went to the University of Sindh Jamshoro for further education, where he studied in the department of journalism due to his penchant for writing and literature. Successfully, he got his master’s in Journalism there in 1985.

Azad Jatoi began his practical life by serving as a clerk at the ‘Rice Research Institute Dokri’. His first association in the field of journalism was with the daily “Nawa-i-Waqt” a leading pro-state Urdu newspaper, which lasted for a short period of time. After that, he became a clerk in the board of Sindh Madrasat-ul-Islam, the historical school of Karachi, and the alma mater of Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah. After doing a few menial jobs, he chose the banking sector as his permanent source of livelihood. In this regard, he got a chance to join ‘National Development Finance Corporation’ (NDFC) and acquired his first posting at Quetta as the manager of NDFC’s Quetta branch. After that, the sky was the limit for him, in the banking sector. In 1991, he became the Senior Vice President (SVP) of Pakistan’s former private “Picic Bank”, after which he joined another erstwhile private bank of Pakistan called “NIB” in the same capacity, with which his association remained till his death and at the time of his demise, he was the serving Senior Vice President of the said bank.

Azad Jatoi, along with his full-time employment, also served on the boards of various organizations on honorary basis. He served as a member of the same Sindh Madrasat-ul-Islam board from 2005 to 2008, in which he once served as a clerk. Being its member, he continued to give his valuable advice and suggestions regarding the various administrative matters of the institution, to its management.

Though he chose the banking sector as a source of his bread and butter, his passion for journalism never faded. He proved his dedication to journalism by publishing a Sindhi magazine called “Diyatiyun” (Beacons) during his childhood. Then ages later, after his aforementioned brief association with the Daily “Nawa-i-Waqt” newspaper, he took his second remarkable step in the arena of journalism in 1998, when he launched a monthly magazine titled “Moomal” in Sindhi, which contained qualitative and healthy literary content. But perhaps his journalistic thirst could not be satisfied only with this monthly magazine that he launched a daily from Karachi with the same name (Daily “Moomal”) in 2008, exactly ten years after the publication of the monthly “Moomal”; which he watered by giving his blood and soul and continued to edit it till his last breath. It is a matter of satisfaction that the daily “Moomal” is being published regularly till date and after completing 14 years of age, is now about to grow young. Since Azad Jatoi passed away, his life partner Hasina Azad Jatoi has been publishing it for the last 13 years. It is an acrimonious fact that late Azad could take care of this plant (Daily “Moomal”) only for one year, since then till now, Hasina Azad has been taking care of it and is determined to stay, despite several obstacles. Azad was married to this illustrious lady Hasina Memon (now known as “Hasina Jatoi” after marriage), in April 1984, with whom he had three sons and two daughters. Haseena Azad Jatoi herself is a talented writer and journalist and she has made her mark in Sindhi journalism by editing and publishing the Daily “Moomal” newspaper for the past 13 years.

Hazoor Baksh “Azad” Jatoi was also a gifted Sindhi fiction writer. His short stories became the adornment of well-known newspapers and magazines of his time, in which the setbacks and sufferings of society were depicted by him effectively. Twenty seven of these Sindhi short stories were compiled by his wife, Hasina Azad, and published in 2011 under the title “Dukhiyo Deh’u… Sunder Sapna” (Difficult World – Beautiful Dreams). This book was well received in the intellectual and literary circles of Sindh.

As a distinguished writer, Azad regularly participated in various radio and television literary programs of his era.

Hazoor Bakhsh Azad Jatoi was an active person being in his own right and he did not learn to sit idly. He was actively allied with several literary as well as social organizations in Sindh. He also served as the Finance Secretary of ‘Sindh Graduates Association’ (SGA), and a member of the working committee of its’ Karachi branch for some time.

This cheerful soul and distinctive writer and journalist departed on August 26, 2009, at the age of 53 only. It is said that one fine evening while working in the office of daily “Moomal” as per routine, his health condition deteriorated, suddenly. After which he himself rushed to the emergency of a private hospital located in Clifton Karachi, near his office, but could not survive and met his true creator within no time. Perhaps this cheerful, sociable (and apparently healthy) being, who kept sharing peals of laughter with everyone, had been suffering from a disease for a long time, which he was not aware of and which suddenly became the cause of his death; and “Azad”, following the principles of nature set off on his next journey. But it is strongly hoped that Azad Jatoi, by virtue of his sincere literary services and the light of his burning beacon in the shape of daily “Moomal” will be remembered in the literary and journalistic circles of Sindh for a long time.

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The author is a freelance radio and TV broadcast and print journalist, poet, prose-writer, researcher, columnist, blogger, translator, media Expert, and author of 12 books in Sindhi. He writes regularly for esteemed English, Urdu and Sindhi papers and websites. He can be reached at djyasirqazi@yahoo.com

The post The Dreamer of Beautiful Fantasies in Hard Realities first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Murli Melwani

“I told you, Duru Dadi,” said Jamna Bai, the midwife, as she coaxed my mother to push, “that you will give birth to a son”

Banter and cups of tea had circulated round the room the whole evening. Around 9.00 pm an infant’s sharp cry surfaced on the waves of overlapping conversations.

“It’s a boy,” said Jamna Bai. The women launched into a rousing ladha (a celebratory song). Jamna Bai wiped the infant and handed him to my 8-year-old sister, Rupa, who stood behind Mother’s bed. Sati, the 6-year-old, came close to Rupa and put her finger in the infant’s hand. The boy closed his fist over it.

A sweeping, meaningful glance from Jamna Bai hushed the room. Jamna Bai signaled the older women to join her outside.

“The boy has no anal opening,” Jamna Bai said. The women knew what that meant. No bowel movement, a distended stomach for 5 or 6 days – And departure in a shroud.

My mother didn’t have to write to my father who was on his second contract managing a clothing store in Shillong. The husbands of most of the women who had gathered in the room were either overseas or working in different parts of India. Families did not accompany their husbands unless their employers, also Sindhis, were satisfied that the employee had proved himself to be loyal, hardworking and honest. That test ended after the 4th or 5th two-year contract. The sisterhood of wives who were left behind to raise children on their own had a grapevine that kept the husbands informed of the news at home.

When Duru came as the bride of Vishindas Samtani, some four or five years ago, it took her little time to make friends in the neighborhood. The women came to know Duru as a person with a large heart and a great sense of humour. She told a story with the flourish, the pauses and the banter of a wandering minstrel.

The daily recreation of the women was to gather on the rooftops after they had completed the day’s chores. The houses were so close to each other in this locality of Hyderabad, Sindh, that the neighbours shot the breeze across rooftops. The literal breeze was warm but pleasing with the dry fragrance of the desert.

One of the women would goad Mother with a remark like, “So Duru, did Hamid Mia deliver the suthan-cholo (loose pant and top) on time?”

“That Niria-ghutal!” – The literal meaning of the hyphenated word was “choked-throat.” Niria-ghutal was the nickname my mother had conferred on the tailor. Hamid spoke as if a glass-marble was stuck mid-throat.

My mother took the most noticeable trait of a person and gave it a good-humoured label. The dhobi had loose skin hanging under his chin, rather like the wattle of a rooster. She would say “the murgo has come. He will crow that he couldn’t finish ironing all the clothes so he’ll bring the rest next week.”

The elderly person who lived next door always left the home with his lips glistening with ghee, applied, presumably, to prevent his lips from chapping. My mother referred to him as the “the lip-ish-teeck Dada”.

My mother withdrew into herself after my brother left his body. She walked every morning to the tikano (a place of worship with Hindu, Sikh, Jhulelal iconography). On her return, Mother began to spend more time in the alcove in the house that she had converted into a temple. The neighbours learned from Rupa and Sati that Mother kept wiping and cleaning, over and over, the lithographs of Jhulelal, Guru Nanak, Lord Ganesh, and Goddess Lakshmi. She kept bathing and drying the statutes of gods and goddess with a faraway look in her eyes.

The women would come in the evening and coax her to join them on the roof top. Her gentle answer was the same every day: “I don’t feel like it today- Some other day.” But that day never came, not even by the time Father came home for the customary month’s break after his 3rd contract.

As Father told me years later, he was shocked at the change in Mother. “So…so…disheartened. No interest in anything.”

“I was shocked to lose a son too. But my interaction with customers and managing staff helped me accept my karma.”

Father had a sense of humour too. It was different from Mother’s. Whereas Mother saw people through a caricaturist’s eyes, Father used humour as a skill that resolved situations.  Father tried his best to raise Mother’s spirits. One morning he told her: “this middle-aged customer was undecided about the fabric he liked. So I said to him, ‘it will keep you warm in winter and cool in summer’. No fabric does that. The man laughed and bought the piece.” Mother’s response was a weak smile

On another occasion he told her, “The woman said that the price for the sari was too high, I told her this story: ‘One day a mother sent her young son to buy two annas worth of cooking oil. On his return she saw that there was an anna at the bottom of the mug. She told her son, ‘I’m sure the shopkeeper must be keeping a huge profit margin, otherwise how could he sell two annas worth and still return an anna.’” My father waited for a response, but Mother kept stirring the sai bhaji (a Sindhi delicacy) on the stove. “The customer smiled and said, “You can pack the sari.’”

One evening over dinner, Father narrated how “Hiro and Lachu – two employees – had a terrible argument. They came to me to arbitrate. I mimic-ed the gestures and expressions they used when they were arguing”. Father repeated the mimicry. Rupa and Sati laughed. Mother merely nodded.

I’m sure that my Father and Mother, in happier times, would have enjoyed their shared, though variegated, trait.

When humour didn’t work, Father encouraged Mother to join him on his evening strolls along Gidu Bandar, the promenade along the river. She accompanied him on one or two occasions; after that she excused herself.

Father’s month-long stay flew by. Mother hoped that, as on his previous visits, she would find herself pregnant. A whole month passed; her hope remained unfulfilled.

She shared her fear with her neighbours that she might never be able to conceive again.  The sisterhood began to assure her, in their own individual ways that in time the body would discover its functions. Mother kept hoping that it would.

My father completed another contracted stint and returned to Sindh for his month with the family. When Mother felt that Father was well rested, she said: “May I ask you something?”

“Of course! Ask all you want.”

“I want you to take me to Thatta (a city in Sindhh). I’ll take blessings from the dhuni of Baba Sunmukhdas”. The dhuni, the site of the worship to the Mother Goddess, is kept alight all the time.

Thatta was far from Hyderabad. My father had two options. His sister, Gopa-Ma’s husband, Seth Chandiram, was in the export trade in Karachi. Parents, Gopa-Ma and Father, being the only children of their parents were very close to each other. In fact, his brother-in-law had used his connections to get Father his present managerial position. Father could ask to borrow Seth Chandiram’s car, a spacious 1936 model Plymouth. But that would be inconveniencing his brother-in-law. Father chose to travel by the rickety public buses that made innumerable halts.

The sisterhood could see the change in Duru when she returned. She reported, with joy spilling from her eyes, that Baba had given her the vibhuti from the dhuni with the words: “Have faith. Your wish will be fulfilled.”

The rest of Father’s stay was as happy as the first weeks after his marriage.

Mother’s routine changed after Father left. She stayed longer at the tikano. On her return she went straight into the alcove and recited the Japji Sahib (Sikh Morning Prayer). She followed it by singing bhajans. She asked Rupa and Sati to join her for the ardas at the end. She spent half a day in the alcove.

Mother added more events to her existing religious routine. She began to perform the monthly Chand Arti and Pallav (Prayers to Jhulelal followed by the seeking of benediction).

She was overjoyed when she missed her period. But she didn’t tell anyone about it, fearing an evil eye. It was only when she missed it the 2nd time, she whispered it to the sisterhood. Soon she began to join the neighbours on the rooftops in the evening.

Hamid Mia’s wife, Bano, came on a Friday afternoon and presented her a metal taweez. “There is a prayer on paper rolled in. It will protect the child against harm.” Bano tied the black-threaded taweez around Mother’s arm.

The wife of the elder neighbour lip-ish-teeck Dada advised her to announce that she was carrying a girl. “This will mislead any evil spirit.” The elderly women took on the role of a town crier and spread the news.

Other neighbours chipped in with suggestions. One told her to order a girl’s frock and hang it in the house. Another brought her a basket of chillies and said she must distribute them, instead of the customary ladoos, when the child is born. The sisterhood insisted that she start performing the Satya Narian Katha every month. My mother honoured all their suggestions.

The delivery was easy, a son, with no birth defects. I am that child.

Chillies were distributed on the 11th day of my birth following my name-giving ceremony. According to the horoscope, my name should begin with the sound of K. The name chosen was Kheeman. But the elderly neighbor decreed that my name should to be related to chillies. She thought the name “Mirchu” would be appropriate. That was the name by which I began to be called.

When I was about 7 months old, Mother woke up around midnight to the feeling of an unseen, incomprehensible presence. She walked round the house and went back to sleep. Next evening, she shared her experience with the sisterhood. The chance of a thief entering the house was discounted because we lived on the 2nd floor. An older neighbour said that unexplained noises, scents, sensations, or fleeting shadows were indications that jivas, spirits, was present in a home. There were good jivas and bad jivas. Someone suggested an exorcising ceremony. My mother gently said her faith was in prayers.

A few weeks later Mother was roused from sleep with the same uneasiness as before. That night she didn’t dare to get up and check the house. She spent a sleepless night. Every few weeks this feeling of uneasiness would occur, mainly after midnight.

When I was about a year old Mother suddenly felt that I was not in the bed with to her. She closed her eyes, folded her hands and said in a tearful voice, “For the love of God, please don’t take another son from me.” After the supplication, Mother saw that I was by her side.

She wrote to Father about the happenings. “I’m living in fear. I don’t want to live here.” She waited, with increasing anxiety, for his reply. He wrote back that when he returned in about a year, he would find another home for her. Mother cried when she received the letter. After that she tried to stay awake at night by silently reciting shabads, mantras, and bhajans. Finally, she picked up courage and wrote to Gopa-Ma about the state she was in. Mother pleaded that she arrange for Father to come mid-contract and not just move her from this house but  take the family with him to Shillong. It was in Seth-Dada’s power to do so.

Gopa-Ma was able to convince her husband. Mother, in gratitude, wrote back that for this kindness she had sponsored an ardas for her in the neighboring tikano.

In no time the news spread that Duru and her children would move to Shillong. The sisterhood was happy for her.

When Father arrived, she pleaded: “before we leave, please take me to Tatta again.” This time the three of us accompanied our parents.

Baba Sunmukhdas smiled, and asked “What name have you given the boy?”

“The pandit chose Kheeman. But everyone calls him Mirchu.”

Baba asked for the day, the date and the time when I was born. He looked at a chart, thought for a few minutes and said in his gentle voice, “Change his name. The vibrations of the name, Arjan, will ease his journey through life.”

Mother touched the Baba’s feet. Arjan is the name I’ve carried since.

The first thing Mother did on arrival in Shillong was set up her home temple in a corner of the last of the three rooms.

Mother was taken by the natural beauty of Shillong. But what she couldn’t stand was the cold. She wore thick sweaters most of the time.

She followed almost the same routine here as she did in Hyderabad. Shillong didn’t have a tikano; it had a gurudwara. On Sunday mornings the whole family went to the Gurudwara, soaked in the kirtans and ate the blessed karaun parsad.

Afternoons, Mother and the three children sat on the verandah and heard her talk about Sindh, about her family, about the good and bad times she had lived through. She interspersed her memories with stories about Hindu gods and goddesses.

Her old sense of humour had returned; she saw the Hindu gods and goddesses in human terms. Once, talking about Hanuman carrying a whole mountaintop when he had to pluck just a herb, she gave this example: “If I told Arjan here to buy a few oranges and he brought me a whole tree, what would I think of him?” They laughed, nudging me.

Mother didn’t forget to teach me the value of work “In the evening, go stand behind the counters in the store. You’ll see how hard it’s to earn money.”

One evening the purchases of an Englishman filled a number of paper bags. The Englishman grabbed three bags in each hand. My father told me to carry the remaining two for him.  After the Englishman loaded the bags in his car, he pulled out a two rupee note and put it in my hand. I must have been about six years old. I ran home, excited; I told Mother what had happened and held out the note for her to take.

“Wait Arjan, wait,” She ran to get her roaw (dupatta), draped it over her head, held out the lower part with both hands, palav-paiyun style, as when seeking benediction. I put the two rupees in the raow. She touched it to her forehead. “Guru Baba. This is my son’s first earning. He is offering it to me. Bless him. May he earn so much that he can look after his mother and father when they are old.”

How can I ever forget that scene of Mother so ecstatically happy?

More than once Mother said, “all my treasures are with me for the first time.” That was the happiest period of our five lives.

As every winter approached Mother fell ill. Father would tell her “Let’s see a doctor.” Her reply always was: “A little rest, hot ginger-lemon-honey tea and I’ll be all right.”

But that winter her cough was more wracking, she had a fever, she didn’t eat much, she complained of being tired all the time. After much persuasion, she agreed to be seen by a doctor. Dr. Padmapati made a home call. He examined her and told us to rush her to the hospital. Father admitted Mother to the Welsh Mission Hospital. After the examination, Dr. Hughes spoke to Father in a whisper. “Fluid has collected between the covering of the lungs and the inner lining of the chest. The infection has spread to the blood stream. We’ll drain the fluid tomorrow morning.”

Mother’s smile was weak as she was being taken to the operating theatre the following morning.

Dr. Hughes came out of the theater a minute or two later. With a sad expression he told Father that by the time they transferred her from the gurney to the operating table “she was already in God’s arms.”

Gopa-Ma arrived after a few days. My father needed the emotional support only she could provide.

Over the next few days as the Sahaj Paath (non-continuous reading of the Guru Granth Sahib) continued, all that we talked about was Mother. It was in these conversations that I learnt the depth of her penances and the fervour of her supplications for a son.

“Bless him. May he earn so much so that he can look after his mother and father when they are old.”

For me the sun didn’t rise for months.

It rose after I promised myself to nurture this child of prayers in Mother’s image.

Seva would be the first step.  On pre-festival days I went to temples and gurudwaras and spoke to the panditjis and gyanijis. I noticed the pleased, supportive smiles on their faces as they assigned tasks to this ten-year-old.

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Courtesy: Muse India – The literary ejournal (May-Jun 2021 Issue)

Murli Melwani

Murli Melwani taught English Literature at Sankardev College, Shillong, before making a mid-career change to head an export company in Taiwan for 25 years. His retirement in Plano, Texas, brought out the writer in him. His short stories have been published in journals in various countries, including USA, UK, Hong Kong and India. He is a two-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize, in 2012 and 2013. One of his stories made the list of “Story South Million Writers Award notable stories of 2012”. Another was nominated for “Best of the Net 2013” prize run by Sundress Publications, USA. Another was included in Stories from Asia: Major Writers from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh (Longman Imprint Books, UK). His published work includes Stories of a Salesman (1967), short stories, Deep Roots (1970), a play in three acts, and two books of criticism, Themes in Indo-Anglian Literature (1976) and The Indian Short Story in English (1835-2008): An Historical and a Critical Survey (2009). His latest collection of short stories is Ladders against the Sky (2018). He lives in Foster City, CA.

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Ulhasnagar, India: Shri Heero Tikamdas Shewkani, an acclaimed Sindhi writer and critic, breathed his last on Friday July 30, 2021 in Ulhasnagar at the age of 86 years.

Shri Heero Shewkani was born on 6th January 1935 in Chuhar Jamali town of Thatta district of Sindh from where he, along with his parents, had migrated to Kutch Gujarat as a result of partition and settled in Adipur where his residence was located in Maleer area.

Apart from being a short story writer, he was a prominent critic in Sindhi language. One book of short stories and three books of literary criticism were to his credit. His major contribution was Sindhi ‘Adab Ji Tarikh’, a translation in Sindhi of the monumental work History of Sindhi Literature in English by Principal L.H. Ajwani, commissioned by the Central Sahitya Akademi, Ministry of HRD government of India.

He had spent four decades in teaching profession. He reached the highest post of Principal in R.K. Talreja College, Ulhasnagar, from where he retired.

He had received two prestigious awards, one Sahitya Akademi Translation Prize, on his translation work and the other from the Gujarat Sindhi Sahitya Academy for his total contribution to Sindhi literature.

Heero Shewkani, who did B.A. (Hons.) and M.A. (Hindi), has following books to his credit:

Zindagi Ain Cactus (Life & Cactus),short stories, 1975;  Jiddat-Jo-Mafahoom Ain Sindhi Kahani, (Definition of modernism & Sindhi story), literary criticism, 1975;     Jaizo (Critical estimates), essays of  literary criticism, 1982, and Nuqta-e-Nazar (Viewpoint), essays of literary criticism, 1992.

Heero was Member of Advisory Committee of Central Sahitya Akadmi for 10 years and Member, Maharashtra Sindhi Sahitya Academy for six years.

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Source: All Sindhis Hope Association (ASHA), Sindhi Sangat

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