Masterpiece (Short Story)

 

 

Masterpiece

By

Tipu Salman Makhdoom

(Translated from Punjabi)

 

 

 

The cigarette held between his two fingers looked like a cannon that had just fired. Just as a cannon, after shooting its ball, leaves behind only the thick smoke of curses, so too from the cigarette's tip, the smoke curled and danced, swirling around like Rumi's white-robed dervishes. Before he started the day's difficult work, the Lawyer Sahib was trying to relax after all the day's hard work. It was as if all the noise from the courts and the tough legal fights had flowed from his brain into his blood, then into his lungs. From there, with each breath of cigarette smoke, he seemed to be pushing out all those bad thoughts. His clerk had neatly stacked piles of case files on the table. Most of them were torn, old, and well-used, but there were some new envelopes too. This had been his routine for forty years; it was nothing unusual. All the cases were ready; he just needed a quick look to refresh his memory. Lighting another cigarette, he opened the files. He took puff after puff, turning the pages, and moving the completed files aside one by one.

 

The clerk stepped into the room, signaling the arrival of a new client. "Did someone send him," Lawyer Sahib inquired, "or did he simply wander in?" The answer came back: a client had indeed sent him. A double wave of satisfaction washed over Lawyer Sahib. Not only had this newcomer deliberately sought him out, greatly increasing the likelihood of securing the case, but it also confirmed that his existing clients were pleased with his services. It seemed his "hens were truly laying golden eggs." He instructed the clerk to wait a bit before ushering the client in. Deliberately, he spread out more files on his desk and lit another cigarette. A lawyer, he mused, who appears too readily available might be perceived as having little work.

The client who finally entered was a young man, soft-spoken and seemingly not yet thirty. His curly hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face with a full beard and mustache. With a slight twist of his lips, he began to speak in English, instantly sharpening Lawyer Sahib's attention.

"Malik Sahib, my esteemed uncle, holds you in exceedingly high regard," the young man began, his voice carrying a nuanced cadence, a subtle hint of a foreign accent perhaps.

A faint smile touched Lawyer Sahib's lips. "That is most gracious of him. Indeed, I oversee all his property affairs. Only last month, I secured a favorable judgment in his plaza case, which, I must say, brought him considerable satisfaction."

"Yes," the client affirmed, "his praise for you is ceaseless. I've recently returned from Italy, after an absence of two decades. We are firmly established there, so I confess I'm not entirely abreast of Uncle's specific cases, but his admiration for your legal acumen is profound."

"Ah, I see," Lawyer Sahib murmured, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Are you contemplating a property acquisition here?"

"No, sir," the young man clarified, "my current aspiration is to establish an art gallery in Lahore."

"An art gallery!" Lawyer Sahib's tone brightened, a genuine interest now piqued. "A splendid endeavor indeed! Will you be proceeding with a company registration, or perhaps a partnership deed? Initially, a partnership often proves less cumbersome. Then, should the venture flourish, we can readily transition to a registered company at your discretion. It poses no difficulty whatsoever."

"Yes, sir. Well, no, sir," the client hesitated slightly. "I haven't quite settled on the company aspect yet. In any case, a partnership is not my preference. Financial matters are not a concern. And as for networking, I intend to manage that through various agents. My primary purpose in seeking your counsel was to ascertain if there are any legal impediments to inaugurating an art gallery."

Lawyer Sahib drew a slow, contemplative drag from his cigarette, his gaze now fixed upon the young man with unusual intensity. He noted the distinctive branding on the client's attire and the unmistakable costliness of his phone.

"Were you born here, or in Italy?" Lawyer Sahib probed.

"Yes, I was indeed born here, sir," the client replied, "though I now hold Italian citizenship."

"Ah, yes, yes, that poses no issue," Lawyer Sahib reassured him, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Under Pakistani law, you remain a Pakistani citizen and are thus entitled to all the inherent rights. Furthermore, Article 18 of the 1973 Constitution of Pakistan grants you the right to business as your fundamental right. As a Pakistani citizen within the geographical confines of Pakistan, you are at liberty to conduct any legal business; this, my dear fellow, is your fundamental right."

The young man remained silent, letting about two full minutes pass in quiet.

"Son," Lawyer Sahib finally said, his voice a little softer, "maybe I used too many legal words. Simply put, there's no problem. Go ahead and open your art gallery. Just make sure all the official rules are followed."

"What are those official rules, sir?" The young man's voice was quieter this time.

"Don't you worry about that at all; that's my job," Lawyer Sahib reassured him. "You're like Malik Sahib's son, so you're like my own son too. The fees will be just as Malik Sahib suggests; we'll figure it out."

"Thank you, sir," the young man replied, but a hint of hesitation remained. "But... what exactly are those official rules for an art gallery?"

"There's quite a bit of paperwork and running around, but don't you fret, I'll take care of everything," Lawyer Sahib explained. "We'll need to check the NADRA records to confirm you're a registered Pakistani citizen and that your information is up-to-date. You'll also need to get registered according to tax laws, and so on. I'll handle all that. Your money is declared in Italy, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, no problem with that," the young man confirmed. "But... is there any legal rule against doing business with idols?"

Business with idols? Lawyer Sahib's usual way of talking about his services stopped completely.

"Business with idols? I don't understand. You were talking about an art gallery," he said, puzzled.

"Yes, sir, I'm actually a sculptor; I make statues," the young man clarified. "In Pakistan, I want to make and sell copies of famous statues from around the world, using my own hands."

Lawyer Sahib looked at him silently, his face showing a troubled expression.

"Sir, this business is huge worldwide," the young man insisted. "Pakistan is a new market for it, sir."

Lawyer Sahib lit another cigarette. He took two deep puffs, then began to speak.

"But making statues is forbidden (haram) in our religion," he said thoughtfully. "We'll need to check if the Sharia Court has made any ruling on this."

"Yes, sir, that's exactly why I came to you for advice," the client replied. "Still, there are many statues in the Lahore Museum, and people enjoy looking at them."

"Oh... a museum is different, isn't it?" Lawyer Sahib mused, still unsure.

"No, sir," the young man corrected him, "there's also a statue right on the road in front of the museum, of Punjab University's Vice-Chancellor, Woolner. And no one has any problem with it, sir."

"Hmm... you're right," Lawyer Sahib admitted, sounding a bit surprised. "Then there shouldn't be any problem. But I'll still do a full legal investigation, just to be certain."

"There's one more thing, sir," the young man added.

"What's that?" Lawyer Sahib prompted.

"Sir, perhaps there's no trouble in making a statue of just an ordinary person," the young man began, choosing his words carefully, "but I wanted to ask you about statues of great, famous people."

"Famous people? Like Iqbal and Jinnah?" Lawyer Sahib pondered. "I don't think there'll be any problem with them either."

"Sir, I'm talking about religious figures," the client clarified.

"Religious figures! Which ones?" Lawyer Sahib's voice held a new edge of surprise.

"Sir, like the “Nut-Raj” statue of Shiva, or the statue of Prophet Moses, which Michael Angelo made in the sixteenth century—a copy of that."

Lawyer Sahib slowly lit another cigarette.

"Son, what kind of work are you getting into?" he exclaimed, his concern clear. "No one here will buy a statue of Shiva, and making or even keeping a statue of Prophet Moses would be blasphemy."

"Sir, please find a way to solve this," the young man pleaded, his voice rising with urgency. "You don't know how huge the market is here. Each statue will sell for millions, and they'll go instantly. You can leave this completely to me. There are plenty of art lovers in Pakistan, and they're willing to spend money if the piece is truly good. Don't worry about the money, sir, I'll pay whatever fee you ask."

Lawyer Sahib leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. Most legal cases dragged on for years, but this research work felt different, exciting. The fee he'd get from this could be earned in just a few days. And this client, with his talk of "Euros," certainly seemed like a wealthy one.

"But son," he questioned, his brows furrowed, "everyone here is Muslim. Who will buy a statue of Shiva here?"

"Sir, an art lover buys a statue for the art itself, not for its religion," the young man explained with passion. "Lord Shiva's dancing statue is a true masterpiece of art, sir. On one hand, a drum, which stands for creating the world; on the other, fire, which stands for destroying the world. Nut-Raj dances, perfectly balancing both. His third hand points to his raised foot, meaning 'follow me,' and his fourth hand blesses those who follow. And this whole dance happens while crushing the demon of ignorance. This one statue holds an entire philosophy, sir, a complete mythology."

"And the statue of Prophet Moses?" Lawyer Sahib pressed. "No Muslim will buy that?"

"Sir, Michael Angelo never actually saw him," the young man countered. "He just made a statue that looked like a Greek god—angry, powerful. What an amazing statue, sir. We won't sell it as a statue of Prophet Moses, but as a copy of Angelo's great work."

Lawyer Sahib began to burn, slow and quiet, like a cigarette left to smolder. The thought of an idol business, especially of Shiva and Prophet Moses—God forbid!—felt like polytheism, the great sin of putting someone else on God's level. This was about ruining his afterlife. Euros meant luxury, but what was his part in this sin? He wasn't making the idols, was he? The one who did it would face the consequences. His job was just to check the law and say if it was allowed or not. Sinners will be those who allowed it, and those who did it—what was his fault? Yet, this wasn't just about playing with the law; it was about God's will, about heaven and hell. It was becoming a match between the beautiful Hoors, the companions of paradise, and these cold stone idols. Lawyer Sahib started remembering the sermons of the religious scholars. No, he couldn't commit such a sin. God had given him everything; why would he be ungrateful? He shouldn't destroy his future in the afterlife for money! These thoughts filled his mind, and Lawyer Sahib's faith grew strong again.

"Son," he declared, his voice firm, "this idol business is pure sin. Get this idea out of your head. You can open an art gallery for paintings; I'll get everything sorted for you in two days."

The young man didn't give up.

"Sir, I am conscious of this delima," he explained patiently. "But a person only thinks about these things if the law allows it. You just do the research and tell me what the law says. If the business is illegal, then the whole matter ends right here. If it's allowed, then I'll talk to the religious scholars as well. Just thoroughly check the legal side of it. The fee is no problem, sir. Whether to actually do the work or not, those are decisions for later."

Lawyer Sahib found himself wavering again. The young man's point made sense. Was the business going to start just because he did the research? He was just doing the research, right? If it wasn't allowed, then all was well. If it was, then he would tell the young man to be smart, asking why he'd get into such trouble. But first, he had to earn his fee.

"Okay, son," Lawyer Sahib said, a slight sigh in his voice, "as you wish. Give me a week; I'll do all the research. But I have a lot of work on my plate."

"Thank you very much, sir," the young man replied, his face lighting up. "Here's a check for one hundred thousand rupees as an advance; the rest of the fee will be paid once the work is done."

He said his goodbyes and left. Lawyer Sahib happily slipped the check into his wallet and began to sort through the other files. He had planned to ask for one hundred thousand rupees for the entire job, wherever the deal was made. But here, just the advance alone was one hundred thousand. His mind drifted from the files, filled instead with thoughts of Euros, how much more fee he could get, and which laws he needed to check.

He finished his work and went home, ate dinner, chatted with his family, watched a little TV, and then went to bed. But sleep wouldn't come. He tossed and turned. In the darkness, the darkness of the grave came to his mind. God came to mind. He started thinking, "Am I really going to do this cursed idol business for money?" The sermons of the religious scholars began to flood his thoughts: idols are forbidden. No, he wouldn't do this work. He wouldn't do this research against God's command. If the fee was lost, then let it be lost. To hell with it. He would return the fee in the morning.

He quickly remembered God and cursed the idols a thousand times. His heart felt light and happy. It felt as if God had gently patted him on the back. He then fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

In the morning, he went to court feeling as if he were wearing a crown. It was as if everyone was applauding him for returning the fee for God's sake. He sat down proudly in front of the judge, a victorious smile on his face. He joyously signaled greetings to the lawyers sitting next to him, waiting for his case to be called.

When the case was called, Lawyer Sahib stood up with great energy. The other lawyer from the opposite side also rose. As the other lawyer reached the stand and opened his file, Lawyer Sahib's legs suddenly felt weak. It was a daily habit to grab his file, kick his chair back, and step out from the side, but at that moment, somehow, everything got jumbled up. Three or four seconds passed just trying to manage this simple action. The opposing lawyer was standing ready in front of the judge, and now the judge was looking at Lawyer Sahib, waiting for him to come so the proceedings could begin. Lawyer Sahib grew even more flustered. The lawyer in the next chair helped him, and Lawyer Sahib, untangling himself from the chairs, moved towards the judge. He was a bit surprised. He couldn't walk as fast as he wanted to. In fact, he even stumbled once. This had never happened before, but this was no time to focus on such small things. The drum of war had sounded. Reaching the stand, he bowed his head slightly and greeted the judge. The judge, tired of the lawyers' daily arguments, simply gestured to the other lawyer to begin. The other lawyer immediately started a flood of legal points.

Lawyer Sahib took a deep breath, pulling papers from his file. The other lawyer was speaking, but it didn't matter. Lawyer Sahib had all his points ready. No matter what the other man said, he was going to win the case with his own arguments. Let him finish, then it would be Lawyer Sahib's turn.

On one page, Lawyer Sahib had written down all his crucial points. But where was that page? He quickly looked through the papers, but he couldn't find it. He suddenly felt a surge of panic. He tried to quickly flip the pages, but they started to get tangled. Now, he was in a true mess. He had to argue right now, and his preparation was lost. How could he argue without his notes? In his rush, he pulled at the pages, and many fell to the floor. What was happening today?

Thankfully, the judge didn't notice the fallen papers; he was focused on the other lawyer. With a mix of shame and fear, Lawyer Sahib bent down to pick them up.

The other lawyer's argument stopped suddenly. With a thud, it was as if a small earthquake had shaken the Rostrum. All the lawyers rushed forward. The judge also stood up. Lawyer Sahib lay unconscious.

For the first week, Lawyer Sahib understood nothing. He drifted in and out of sleep, affected by medicines and injections. When his eyes opened, he saw doctors and nurses attaching wires to his hands and tubes to his nose, and then he'd fall back asleep. When he felt a little better, the tubes and wires lessened. He learned he'd had a stroke on his right side. He also couldn't move well; he had barely survived. He, who used to rush around courts every day, was now stuck in bed. His life had stopped completely. From a powerful, rushing river, it had suddenly become a small, still puddle.

After three weeks, he was discharged from the hospital. The little bit of activity from doctors and nurses coming and going also ended. All his family and friends had already visited him at the hospital. At home, it was as if time had frozen.

A person can be surprisingly tough. He keeps saying, "If this happens, I'll die," or "If that doesn't happen, I'll die," but when hard times come, he goes through everything. Two months passed, and now he was able to eat rice and broth. He had also gotten used to being alone all day. Sometimes, someone would visit, and they'd chat a bit. Otherwise, he would lie in front of the TV all day, sometimes watching a show, sometimes lost in his own thoughts. And what were his thoughts, really? He had done nothing but work his whole life. He hadn't pursued any hobbies or ever wondered about this magical world he was born into, or what might happen after it. His thoughts always returned to his cases: which difficult case he had won and how much he was praised for it, and which ones he had lost.

One day, he was sitting, his right hand resting on his right knee, both limbs lifeless. As he looked at them, the thought came to him that his hand and foot felt like stone. From stone, the idea came that his right side had become a statue. He had become half a statue! Like a flash of lightning, he remembered the young man who talked about statues. Then, that young man seemed to stick to Lawyer Sahib's mind.

Lawyer Sahib began to recall how excitedly and devotedly the young man spoke of the statues. When he talked about the statue of Shiva, he would bend slightly, as if Nut-Raj himself was standing before him and he was touching his feet. And when speaking of the statue of Prophet Moses, he would bow his head, as if Prophet Moses stood before him and the young man was greeting him.

As he thought, Lawyer Sahib's left hand began to itch. What could he do? He started rubbing his left hand against his stone-like right hand. Whenever the young man spoke of a statue, it was as if fire came from his eyes. With the rubbing, the stone hand fell from his knee. Lawyer Sahib's thoughts were suddenly broken. The statues had turned him into a statue! It was as if he had become completely stone. A statue. At that very moment, his wife entered.

"Take this medicine; it's time," she said softly. "Otherwise, you know how you start crying, right?"

Lawyer Sahib silently put the pill in his mouth and swallowed it with water. Storms were raging in his mind. Until the pill put him to sleep, he kept thinking about the statues.

That entire next day statues danced and boomed all around him, filling his mind. As he recalled the conversations from that fateful day, he grew utterly convinced that these statues were great gods, and that young man was their priest—a priest Lawyer Sahib had gravely offended. His wife gave him another pill, and in that haze, he understood: the statues could even read his thoughts. Everything he had secretly thought that day, about the statues being infidels and about returning the priest's fee, they had known it all. And as punishment for such insolence, the statues had turned Lawyer Sahib into a half-statue. His blood ran cold. What had he done? Under the heavy weight of this sin, he drifted back to sleep.

When he awoke, everything was gone. There were no statues, neither dancing nor booming. Just darkness and loneliness all around him. Lawyer Sahib became certain: the statues had first turned his half into stone to get revenge for his disrespect, then they had entered his mind to make him realize his mistake, and now, they had vanished, leaving Lawyer Sahib to suffer alone. The doctors' comforting words now sounded like empty lies.

Two agonizing days passed this way. One day, Lawyer Sahib felt an overwhelming urge to tear his head apart. Only the statues' priest could get him forgiveness from them. Why hadn't this idea come to him before? He immediately called his office and summoned the munshi. It took the munshi half an hour just to remember the young man, "the priest of the statues." When he finally remembered, Lawyer Sahib again felt like slitting his own throat. The munshi had blurted out:

"Oh, the one Malik Sahib sent you?"

All his other clients had gone to different lawyers, but his connection with Malik Sahib was very old. Malik Sahib did not argue: "Ask whatever you want, he'll be with you tomorrow."

The next day, the young man arrived.

"Sir, I was very sad to hear about your illness," he said, concern in his voice. "May God make you well."

"Yes, son," Lawyer Sahib replied, his voice weak. "We simply can't grasp the plans of the powerful.What can a man do?"

"Yes, that's right, sir," the young man agreed.

"Oh, son, what's happening with your art gallery?" Lawyer Sahib asked, trying to sound casual.

"Malik Sahib told me about another lawyer, sir," the young man explained. "He's now handling all the legal matters."

"Good, good," Lawyer Sahib said quickly. "Then, when will you make those great statues, sir?"

"Sir...? Oh... we'll see," the young man stammered, a little confused.

"You mentioned two statues, Lord Shiva and Prophet Moses," Lawyer Sahib pressed. "Which other statues will you make?"

"Sir... none," the young man said simply.

"Why???" Lawyer Sahib asked, startled.

"Oh, after talking to you, I asked a Mullah Sahib," he explained.

"Then?" Lawyer Sahib urged.

"He said making idols is disbelief," the young man stated.

"Huh! Then?" Lawyer Sahib breathed out, utterly bewildered.

"Then... I thought, 'Forget this bad business of idols,'" the young man concluded. "Now I will only make a gallery of paintings."

"Bad business of idols?" For a few minutes, Lawyer Sahib couldn't understand what the young man was saying. Then, it seemed to him as if the statues of Nut-Raj and Prophet Moses were standing right in front of him, mocking him. He didn't know what to do. Should he laugh with the mocking statues or cry and beg for forgiveness? Trapped in this mix of emotions, he suffered such a severe heart attack that his heart stopped instantly. He didn't even have time to writhe in pain. He simply became a corpse sitting there. Everything happened so quickly that the tangled knot of his mixed feelings couldn't even unravel. This tangled mess of emotions became permanently fixed on Lawyer Sahib's face, like a clown's mask.

The young man looked at that face and felt as if an artist even greater than Michael Angelo had created a masterpiece statue. He felt a strong urge to make a copy of this masterpiece statue!