The womankind everfirst: 2

The womankind everfirst


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Chapter 2

It was in the evening when the telegram from the Swedish Embassy in Ved Nagar clattered through the electric machine of the telegraph office.

The girl on the machine at the time pulled the message out with a yell.

“Look it who won the Nobel Prize!” she shouted.

The other girls came out of their chairs running, and the jubilation, the joyousness attracted the three delivery humanoid robots also.

Ved Nagar didn’t have any human servants at all.

It was a thoroughly roboticized City State with special privileges as was Jammu and Kashmir.

A Municipal Government was running it under Indian Constitution.

Eventually, the exclamations and the buzz of excitement brought Muħammad Ħanīf, the manager, out of his cozy cubicle.

He was reading the Constitution of Ved Nagar and drinking a juice, beside the heater.

Muħammad Ħanīf appeared buttoning his trouser up.

“What’s up?” he called out, “What’s up? What’s going on here?”

One of the girls passed the strip of tape to Muħammad Ħanīf.

He read it.

Muħammad Ħanīf grinned broadly.

“Allah! Alħamdulillāhi rabbil åālmīn. It’s a big day for all of us.”

“Let me deliver it.” One of the girls offered cheerfully.

“What do you think of me, Nūr Jahān Ħāmid Jamīl?” Muħammad Ħanīf smiled at her, “Am I a damn fool? This is solemn occasion. Isn’t it? This is something Mr. Muħammad Ħanīf would do personally.”

“Bet you just want to have yourself another look at your fiancée, Al Zubaydah Al Nādir.”

Muħammad Ħanīf was startled somewhat.

He never anticipated Nūr Jahān Ħāmid Jamīl could dare such a tease to him.

Nūr Jahān Ħāmid Jamīl was interested in Durgesh, yet she couldn’t get anywhere near Mr. Mayor.

It wasn’t that Nūr Jahān Ħāmid Jamīl wasn’t beautiful.

If it would have been so, Nūr Jahān Ħāmid Jamīl would never herself had dreamed of Durgesh.

The fact that Nūr Jahān Ħāmid Jamīl was extremely beautiful had made her dare to dream of Mr. Mayor.

“Take care, sister,” Muħammad Ħanīf said sympathetically, “This message here is too important. You get it ready now.”

He read the message once more.




The message was addressed to doctor Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās Seven hundred eighty six Durgesh Al Zāhidah Al Imrān Avenue Ved Nagar.


For Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān it was always a pleasure to lie on the hard table in the darkened room beside the elaborate electrocardiograph equipment.

Only few people could understand it.

An efficient, antiseptic nurse dabbed the paste on her chest, arms and legs, and then applied the electrodes with their five lead wires-one to her chest, two to her arms and two to her legs.

This experience was soothing, relaxing, and always conducive, always helpful to clear thinking.

She engaged twice a year in this experience at the behest of the Ved Nagar Government.*

This evening, however, as Al Zāhidah Al Imrān stretched on the table, chest, arms, legs bared, half watching the beautiful nurse attach the cool electrodes to her beautiful skin.

Her pleasure was shadowed faintly by apprehension.

She reasoned that the apprehension had entered into the EKG test because today the test was especially important.

In the three years past, since she had accepted the Government’s offer to join the high-level staff of the Society for Basic Research outside Ved Nagar, she had attended these checkups, one in January and one in July, as a matter of routine.

Seven years, she remained in the live in relationship with Durgesh.

The tests were never against her.

Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān could never believe she was perfectly all right, only because she was in live in relationship with the Hindu she utmost detested.

She could not bear his ever obsessed by almost entire beautiful Musalmān houseladies, Hindu Penis, could cure her by only penetrating her female genital organ.

She changed her medical experts.

Yet, the report never changed.

It was always the same.

Was Durgesh really Ħazrat Mahdi ålayhissalām?

But then why has he established Ved Nagar, instead of Dārussalām?

She was medically fit when she lived in relationship with Durgesh.

She wasn’t medically fit those seven years ago.

She isn’t medically fit again after she returned to her ever loving husband, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb.

“You shouldn’t have come to me again, Zāhidah.”  Her ever-loving husband, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb, had said.

“Why don’t you understand, Rashīd, I love you.” Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān said with tearful eyes, “You sent me to him I detest very much. Aren’t seven years enough to find out he isn’t a Muslim and he would never be.”

“That’s not our problem exactly, Al Zāhidah Al Imrān.” her ever loving husband, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb, tried gravely to explain to her, “Our exact problem is that I want you to live, to be alive, if not for yourself, for me, for our daughters, and now for our sons too.”

“They aren’t our sons, my ever loving husband, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb. Durgesh has fathered them.”

“Nevertheless, you are their Ammī, their real mother. Aren’t you?”

Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān cried.

“Why did you sent me to Durgesh, Rashīd? Why the hell did you sent me to him?”

“Because I had done everything in my power to keep you alive except Durgesh’s ever infallible Sex Therapy. I hadn’t another option.”

“But even seven years couldn’t cure me.”

“You were cured entirely.”

“Then why it’s again there as soon as I returned to you?”

“Because you need Durgesh’s ever infallible Sex Therapy constantly nonstop.” her ever loving husband, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb, said gravely, “Al Zāhidah Al Imrān, you have to go back to Durgesh.”

Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān was startled.*

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās would remember the evening as a crucial moment of self-revelation in her mature years.

Twenty-eight was a mature year.

Wasn’t it?

Al Zubaydah Al Nādir was mature even at her eighteen, Just eighteen Just Adult.

If not, why she was having sexual relationship with Durgesh when she was Just eighteen Just Adult.

Some persons really run far ahead of their actual age.

Al Zubaydah Al Nādir, Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās’s cousin was one of them.

She wasn’t even a bit ashamed of herself that Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās caught her red handed.

“Red handed?” Al Zubaydah Al Nādir smiled at Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās patronizingly, “What the hell do you mean,  Saåīdah?  I wasn’t committing a theft. Was I? I am already eighteen. I am an adult legally and I have chosen my life partner. What’s wrong in that?”

Durgesh is my Ammī’s live in relationship partner.”

“So what? Durgesh has infinite beautiful Musalmān houseladies as his live in relationship partners. If you can choose him your own life partner, why the hell can’t I?”

Durgesh is sixty six already. He is forty eight years older than you.”

“I haven’t any objection even a bit.” Al Zubaydah Al Nādir winked at Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās, “Although I never believe he is more than twenty eight. Some of my girl friends say he himself looks never more than eighteen himself. Just eighteen Just Adult himself.”

“You and your ever Durgesh obsessed ever crazy girlfriends!” Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās sighed helplessly.

Al Zubaydah Al Nādir again winked at her,

Durgesh is incredible, isn’t he?”

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās watched her wristwatch.

It was 6:18.

She remembered reading somewhere that most of the dummy clocks used for advertising by American jewelers were set or painted in, at about 8:18 in the incorrect belief that this was the moment that Abraham Lincoln had died.

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās never liked it.

Abraham Lincoln’s death should not be remembered.

His great life must be remembered instead.

Durgesh never believed that the death was an integral part of life.

He believed in immortality always.

That’s why Durgesh was so ever young that none could tell he was sixty-six.

The  everDurgeshobsessed young Musalmān lady brigade of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan herself claimed Durgesh was thirty six only.

Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan herself was thirty four now, the duly elected President of Modern Democratic Årabia.

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās was glad that she has won the same Nobel Prize now, her ideal, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, had won four years ago.

Durgesh had won it even before for establishing religion as an everlasting endless movement of humanity whether it was Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Persianism or any other religion whatsoever.

In this historical ship, there were many Nobel Prize winners.

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās and Al Zubaydah Al Nādir were waiting for me.

The magnificent green vessel of HVSI had, an hour ago, left behind the coast of Ved Nagar and was now cutting through the choppy, the uneven sea toward the Swedish port of Göetborg.*

Al Zubaydah Al Nādir smiled.

“Do you know what does HVSI stands for?”

“Sure,” Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās watched her cousin gravely,

Humane Values Secured Infinitely.”

“Muħammad Ħanīf claims it isn’t true.”

“Your fiancé? That’s manager at Swedish Embassy, Ved Nagar?”

“That’s right.” Al Zubaydah Al Nādir chuckled, “He says HVSI actually stands for ‘Hindu Vishv Sansthān Interuniversal’.”

“It stands for both: ‘Hindu Vishv Sansthān Interuniversal: Humane Values Secured Infinitely’. It’s the actual full name of the social organization.” Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās said proudly.

“Social or Political?” Al Zubaydah Al Nādir asked evocatively.

“Can you tell me of another organization, only single one, that protects humane values as sincerely and as profoundly as HVSI?” Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās said, “HVSI is matchless in everything humane profoundly.”

“I agree with you.” Al Zubaydah Al Nādir said honestly.

They heard footsteps directly behind them.

Both of them twisted quickly.

Their beautiful faces were smiling to greet me.

But their visitor was Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān instead of me.

Their reactions didn’t hide their disappointment.

Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān smiled regretfully.

“Sorry. You both the girls were expecting Durgesh perhaps.”

“Sure,” Al Zubaydah Al Nādir cooed, “However, it’s better you, Kħālājān, than none anyone.”

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās didn’t even looked at her Ammī.

“You are still angry with me, Saåīdah?” Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān asked her pleading almost.

“It’s better we shouldn’t talk on it.” Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās said tersely, “I never imagined my mother is as selfish and as lacking gratefulness as you are. You are never grateful what Durgesh did for you for seven long years.”

Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān sighed.

“You can’t understand, Biŧŧo. You haven’t married someone who is as great as your Abbū, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb.”

“I agree with you. Most of the Pseudo Musalmīn let their wives die instead of surrendering them for Sex Therapy. I’m really proud of my Abbū, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb, that he is one of the great true Musalmīn. Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam brought Islam to protect the lives of the Årab womankind who were being buried alive when they were only a child. Durgesh says Doctor Ali Sina and his co-authors never talk of this greatest achievement of Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam and the true Musalmīn of that time. Yes, the true Islam couldn’t survive as long as it should have due to the ever selfish imperial activities and ambitions of Yazīd malåūn lånat ålayhi, nevertheless it doesn’t mean Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam absolutely failed in his sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam greatest mission of establishing humanity in then Arab and the other countries.”

Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān settled in the wicker chair across from both of them.

“You really believe Durgesh is Ħazrat Mahdi ålayhissalām?”

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās watched her Ammī ironically.

“If Durgesh isn’t really Ħazrat Mahdi ålayhissalām how are you being cured only by living in relationship with him?”

“I don’t believe it’s only because I live in relationship with him. He is the ever utmost successful Sex Therapist. He is doing some kind of Sex Therapy only known to him and to none else ever.” Al Zāhidah Al Imrān said, “I have lived in relationship with Durgesh for seven long years despite the fact that I hate him immensely for his ever shrewdest sexual relationships with the infinite Panjvaqtah Namāzī extremely beautiful ardent Musalmān houseladies. Durgesh is a never curable utmost communal Hindu that have utmost pride in having sex with extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān houseladies.”

“You still hate him?”

“Yes.” Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān said bluntly without even a single moment’s hesitation.

“Yet you love him immensely when he penetrates you.” Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās smiled ironically.

“That’s the problem. I am unable to control my physical needs, my physical body. It loves the Hindu beast exclusively. It doesn’t love your Abbū, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb, your father. It hates him for he never made me love as wildly as Durgesh does always.”

None of both was startled.

It wasn’t an unknown fact to anyone of her now.

“My brain loves Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb and hates Durgesh immensely,” Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān sighed helplessly, “While my body ravenously craves for Durgesh and hates Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb to the extent that I want to cuckold Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb to Durgesh and myself. While alone, I enjoy proudly that Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb has himself surrendered me to Durgesh that he should have sex with me, Sex Therapy my foot, and cure me. But when I return to my senses, I hate myself for it. I pray in my Salawāt, ‘Allah, punish me tremendously for what I’m doing with my ever loving ever moral husband.”

“Kħālājān,” Al Zubaydah Al Nādir said sympathetically, “Medically, you are suffering from split personality.”

“I know, what do you think I’m a damn fool?” Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān laughed ironically lightly, “I’m myself a PhD, girlies. Yes, I never got Nobel Prize for any services of humanity I rendered; nevertheless, I myself am never inhuman. Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās hates me today for something I don’t have any control over. She is a Nobel Prize winner now for her humanitarian ideals, yet she refuses deliberately to understand my disorder. Humanitarian ideals! Haha!”

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās had herself asked the same question.

Durgesh understands it perfectly.

Her Abbū, Maulānā Al Rashīd Al Wahāb, understands it perfectly.

Her Ammī, Begum Al Zāhidah Al Imrān, understands her perfectly.

Even her Just eighteen Just Adult Kħālāzād cousin, Al Zubaydah Al Nādir, understands it perfectly.

Why doesn’t Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās herself?

Why doesn’t Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās have any sympathy with her own Ammī?

Why Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās is so irrational?

“You are a PhD now, Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās.” Durgesh himself had tried so many times to explain to her, “You must program your brain now more rationally.”

“You want me to offer Stavans instead of my Salawāt?” Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās was suddenly furious, “I never imagined my Ammī was so correct. You want to convert me into Hinduism?”*

I smiled patronizingly.

“Certainly not, my sweetie, never. I never want anyone to convert into anything s/he doesn’t want to be ever. Hinduism and Islam aren’t two separate religions at all. You just be a good Muslim, instead of being or remaining one of the Pseudo Musalmīn. Even Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā never wanted it. Otherwise, there were never any revelation of Allopanishad.”

Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās calmed herself.

Hell, Allah! She should have never reacted such childishly.

What a Pseudo Musalmīn childish reaction.

Most of the non-Muslims have the same complaint.

Most of the Musalmīn never react rationally.

They never try to understand what actually the non Muslim opposite him/her wants to say.

They just suspect him/her that he/she is trying to divert him/her from Islam and act irrationally furiously.

Allopanishad is an Upnishad of Atharvved.”

“They say it’s written by some Musalmīn in the regime of Shahanshāh Jalāluddīn Muħammad Akbar to convert Hindus into Islam. It is the basic holy book of Dīn-e-Ilāhī, a religion established by Shahanshāh Jalāluddīn Muħammad Akbar.”

Chapter 3


. More Creative Adult Sex in English from Durgesh

2.Durgesh in Hindi/Urdu

3. Science Fiction

4. On History

5. Commentary on Ved

6. On Hinduism

7. On Islam