Barzakh | A Short Story

This story was published as part of Outlook Magazine's 'Future Tense' issue, dated October 1, 2024. To read more stories from the Issue, click here.

At six sharp, Shurka woke up to what could have been a bright, beautiful day. No sooner had his eyes opened than he walked out and looked up immediately at the giant screen. WHAT IS ILLEGAL TODAY! The words in bright pink had appeared on the screen promptly at six. Shurka appr💎eciated the efficiency and the ease; earlier the Daily Edict would appear in the form of an official notice pasted on the community wall. It never used to arrive on time and once it did one had to wade through a sea of impatient, restless people to get there to rea🔥d it as quickly as one could. Phew! That used to be some daily exercise.

This public inconvenience had been duly taken note of and a Committee on Public Comfort for Effective Compliance had been formed. The committee made some great recommendations which were duly accepted and implemented. The old poster on wall was replaced by the giant electronic screen hoisted at a carefully calculated height to ensure proper and optimum visibility. The Daily Edict would be displayed promptly at six in the morning giving people time enough for compliance before the Daily Edict Enforcement team would arrive at seven for daily inspection and interaction. Within the Committee there had been a huge, televised debate about the choice of the colour of the Daily Edict. The Conservatives wanted red. It was traditional. Besides Science supported them. Red was the colour with longest wavelength and hence could be noticed from a greater distance as compared to the other colours. The Radicals wanted white. It was the colour of peace and the most people friendly colour they could think of. The debate was great and violent. Eventually the Centrists came to the rescue. They suggested a compromise. The Commi🦩ttee finally choose pink. Besides the Committee also recommended to change the note of interrogation at the end of Daily Edict with an exclamation mark. To quote from the report itself:

“The Daily Edict is the distillation of public sentiment. Of course it is for the people but at the same time it is also BY THE PEOPLE (emphasis in original). Everyday as the rightly honourable citizens wake up they come to discover what is harmful for their Nation and for themselves, one thing at a time. They, therefore do not ask, “What is Illegal today?”, they rather exclaim eagerly, “What is illegal today!” The Daily Edict is duty bound to reflect this public sentiment as a moral imperative. Hence the Committee suggests (unanimously) an amendment to The Daily Edict (language) rules wherein the sub-clause 3 of rule 14 which reads as, “The words should end with a note of interrogation (?)” should be replaced with, “The words should end with a note of exclamation (!)” Shurka noted how the recommendations of the committee had made such a great impact. ൲Standing there at his door, as comfortable as he ever could be at that wee hour, he read the whole edict without any fuss:

WHAT IS ILLEGAL TODAY!

All photographs older than you.

A frisson of a smile seemed to disturb the stoic steadfastness of Shurka’s lips as he rushed back into his room. A comely face smiled back at him from the table by his bed. Framed in fading yellow, the photograph of his wife smiling with her head resting on his shoulder looked old but it stood by logic that the photograph could not be older🌠 than Shurka himself. Even if logic proved insufficient he could still prove it by undeniable, substantial evidence. In the background of the photograph stood the dour building of the Marriage Bureau in a radical white. And as everybody knew, throughout the history of the Marriage Bureau the Radicals had managed to control it only for a brief time of a year and a half—the 18 months lapse between the Edict of Legal Marriages and the Edict of Illegal Marriages.

Both before and after those 18 months the Marriage Bureau had always been a deep, conservative red. Shurka had been thirty-one at the time of the Edict of Legal Marriages and almost thirty-three when the Edict of Illegal Marriages was announced. The former could be proved irrefutably from the Register of Legal Marriages, as could be the latter from the Register of Illegal Marriages. Ipso facto, Shurꦗka was at least thirty-one years older than the photograph. The photograph, hence, could not be held to be in violation of the Daily Edict. Therefor♓e, Shurka could keep it.

Relieved, Shurka picked up the photo♌graph and caressed tenderly the fading face of his wife. Suddenly he no longer wanted to get ready for work. All he wanted to do was climb back into his bed with the photograph cradled in his arms and close his eyes for the rest of the day. If only he could take a day off.

A knock at the door put 𒁏an end to all such wayward thoughts. Shurka turned𝕴 and saw a woman at his door. She had a citizen’s badge around her arm so there was no need to be afraid. Or to be courteous. “Who are you? What do you want?” Shurka said, his voice dipped in scorn.

“I am citizen KF-3108.” The answer was prompt as a re🐻flex. She herself was surprised by the quickness of it and the coldness of it.“I… I mean… It is me… your… your neighbour… from the cubicle across.” She tried to rectify. “We have met many times. At the breakfast trolley and dinner trolley. Remember?”

“Ah!” That explained why her face looked vaguely familiar to Shurka. But that ♏still didn’t explain why s🌄he was here and Shurka did not know how to ask that question again. “But the breakfast trolley isn’t here yet. Or is it?”

“No. No. No. It is still time for the trolley to ♓arrive. I am not𝓀 here for that.”

Then for God’s sake why are you here? Shurka’s discomfiting silence asked t﷽his question more emphatically than his words ever could.

“I just … I just wanted to talk about…errr… about… you know… today’s… E🀅dict… The Daily Edict.” The woman blurted out as her eyes fixed themselves on the photograph in Shurka’s hand. “I see you got a photograph there. Is it old? I mean too old for you know…”

“No.” Shurka cried out aloud as he clenched the frame tightly. “It cer🦩tainly isn’t.”

“Of course. Of course, it isn’t. I didn’t 🐻mean… you know… I just… It is like… well… How old would you say anyway it is?”

“No more than twenty-five years.”

“Thank God for that!” the women said as a sigh of relief escaped her lips🔯. And then suddenly she was tense again, “But are you sure?🐽”

“Yes I am. I better be. I have irrefuಞtable evidence to prove that fact.”

A gush of joy swept over the woman. She rushed to Shu🌸rka and grabbed his free hand. “Some hope finally. Thank God!” She kept on crying amidst tears as she shook Shurka’s hand and kissed it.

“What are you doing?” Shurka cried as he shook his hand f༒ree and stepped back.

“Oh! forgive me. I just couldn’t control myself. Just let me explain please.” The woman said as she held out what looked like an envelope. She opened it carefully and took out a photograph. “This is▨ my father.” She said pointing towards the man in the photograph. “He was taken away months before I was born. This is all I have ever seen of him. This is all I have left of him. And one day when he will come back this is the only thing that will identify us for each other… Oh sorry, now is not the time for distractions. Let me come back to the matter at hand. This photo, by the looks of it, seems to have been taken no more than five or six years before I was born. Let us assume the worst just to be on safer side. Say it is even ten years older than me. And I am no more than 30 years old, that makes it 40 years old at the maximum. And yours, as you say, and I believe you, is no more than 25 years old. And you, excuse my bad manners, but now is not the time for it, you my dear look no younger than 60 years at least.” The woman said and gestured towards Shurka as if all that made any sense to him. But it didn’t. He just shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t you see? It all adds up. You can take my photograph and it won’t be older than you and I can taꦿke yours and it won’t be older than me.”

“No.” Shurka cried withouꦿt a moment’s delay. “You can’t take my photograph.”

“I 🍬promise to keep it safe. I swear I will. Please just let me have it before th♕ey arrive. Everything will turn out fine. Trust me.”

“No. I said no.”

“But… We don’t have much time. We can argue later. They will be co🐎ming soon. Please let me have it. Here… Here… you take mine first.” The woman said as ꩲshe offered the envelope with one hand and tried to reach for Shurka’s photograph with the other.

“Stop.” Shurka cried, his face turning red with rage. “Get your hand🙈s off me.”

But the woman kept on pressing, thrusting the envelope towards Shurka ꦏwhile trying to grab his photograph at the same time. “It is okay. Here you ju🍬st hand me that and take this. As simple as that. And as easy as that.”

“It isn’t. It never is. I can’t take that risk.”

“Risk!” the word stopped the woman in her tracks. It seemed to ignite something within her. Nostrils flared, jaws twitching, words started to explode in the woman’s mouth and burst out in an angry staccato. “Risk!... You are taking 🦩the risk?… You silly, old fool! What are you risking? What do you have to risk at your age anyway? … I am the one who is taking all the risk. I am… uggghhhh… not now… now is not the time… Damn me… Please, sorry… just give me that damn photograph. Why don’t you understand! They will be here soon. We don’t have time for all this. Please. Why don’t you understand for God’s sake?”

“Please leave. And leave now. Don’t force me to report you.꧋”

Anger and despair, in equal measure, twisted the woman's face into an ugly, red grimace as if somebody had poured hot scalding 🎐water all over that face. Anger and despair, in equal measure, sloughed off the words from her tongue. There was nothing left to say, she realized. There was nothing left to do. So she gnashed her teeth and shook her fist in Shurka's face and walked away.

Left alone in his room Shurka started to rehearse answers to various questions that might be raised about the photograph but the scalded face, the shaking fist and the gnashing teeth kept🔯 on interfering with the answers in his head. And this interference continued all along till the Enforcement Team announced themselves at his door.

"Citizen, identify yours🐽elf." The Officer in charge asked.

"Citizen KM-310❀9 humbly at your service worthy Offic🌊er."

"Can we come in." The Officer said as he walked in and sat on the only chair in the room. He placed his insp🐠ection register on the table and opened it to the relevant page.

"Anything to renounce?" The Officer asked.

"Nothing most worthy Officer. I have only this photograph with me which I believe and can be proved as well, is at least 31 y𒅌ears younger than me." Shurka was relieved at how well he spoke his much rehearsed answer.

"Anything else?" The Of𒈔ficer asked as he took the photogr🅰aph from him.

Shurka shook his head in negative.

"Go on then. You heard the citizen. Be thorough about it." The Officer shouted at his men. The team promptly started to scour the room. While they were reaching out to all the familiar nooks and c🐻orners the officer placed the photograph on the table and started to write in the register. Every now and then he would look at the photograph and shake his head.

Strange fears riding on fearsome thoughts started to gallop in Shurka's head. Why wasn’t the Officer asking him anything? Shurka had all the answers ready. If only he could see what the Officer was writing about him and his photograph he might be able to explain everything. He might be able to make the Officer understand everything. If only he could… Thus, Shurka peered over the Officer's shoulder. The page the Officer was writing in was marked KM-3109, Shurka's citizen ID number that is. And though try as he might but that was all that Shurka could read from that page. The rest of it was blocked from his view. Shurka strained his neck as much as he could but the right side page remained blocked. He could see the left side page though. KF-3108 it said at the top. The citizen renounced (voluntarily) an envelope, read the entry on this page. The said envelope contains the photograph of a subverted individual who has been sent for Rectification (purportedly) before the citizen under question was born. Renunciation was wilful but not strictly as per the Model Citizen Behaviour. Emotional Scaffolding for Behavioural re-alignment and strengthening of the citizen under question is highly recommended failing which it is feared that the citizen might...

Before Shurka could read the rest of it he fe🌼lt the sharp eyes of the Officer pierc📖ing into him.

"That piece of indiscipline means 16 points off your da♒ily work achievement."

Shurka turned red, a deep red that looked almost black. He mumbled an apology but it was hardly heard by anyone in the room. The team was done with the room. The Officer got up from the chair, tucked the register under his arm and started to walk towards the door leaving the photograph behind on🌟 the table.

Shurka waited for the Officer to turn back and start questioning him about the photograph. Questions that Shurka had well-rehearsed answers for. But the Officer was gone. And one by one the rest of his team left as well. Surely they would come back. The photograph was still on the table. On Shurka’s table! Should Shurka call them back? Just remind them what they had forgotten? Isn’t it better to be done with it than to keep waiting in agony like this? Or should he take the risk? Maybe there is no risk at all. Maybe it is supposed to be like this. As easy as that. As simple as that. As easy as ✅that. As simple as that. The words flashed before his eyes as did the scalded face with gnashing teeth and shaking fist. Had the woman been right? Could he have taken t🐭he risk? Should he have taken the risk?

Shurka refused to answer these questions. And he refused to answer them for the who🦋le day as they kept nagging him aღt his long, toiling hours at the National Workplace including the four extra hours he had to put in owing to the 16 point indisciplinary penalty.

At the end of the day when th🐽e battered and exhausted Shurka finally managed to climb in to his bed the questions were on the verge of turning into accusations. But then he picked up the photograph and felt a strange reassurance sweep over his body. Risk or no risk he still had his photograph and that is all that should matter. He placed the photograph on his chest and went to sleep pushing the q♌uestions to the teeming dungeons of his memories. Tomorrow would be another day.

Next day at 6 sharp, Shurka woke and he walked out immediately. WHAT IS ILLEGAL TODAY! The giant screen blared in bright pink.

ALL PHOTOGRAPHS YOUNGER THAN YOU.

A shorter, edited version of this appeared in print

Shabir Ahmad Mir is from Pulwama, Kashmir. He is the author of the novel The Plague Upon Us