The womankind everfirst
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.
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.
‘IN RECOGNITION OF… IN SUPPORT OF HUMANITARIAN IDEALS… THE NOBEL FOUNDATION OF STOCKHOLM ON BEHALF OF SWEDISH ACADEMY IS PLEASED TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU HAVE TODAY BEEN VOTED THIS YEAR’S NOBEL PRIZE. THE PRIZE WILL BE A GOLD MEDALLION AND A CHEQUE FOR ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS STOP THE AWARD CEREMONY WILL TAKE PLACE IN STOCKHOLM ON DECEMBER TWENTY FOURTH STOP DETAILS FOLLOW STOP HEARTIEST CONGRATULATIONS STOP…’
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.
The tests were never against her.
She changed her medical experts.
Yet, the report never changed.
It was always the same.
But then why has he established Ved Nagar, instead of Dārussalām?
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?”
“Why did you sent me to Durgesh, Rashīd? Why the hell did you sent me to him?”
“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?”
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.
Some persons really run far ahead of their actual age.
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 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.”
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.
He believed in immortality always.
That’s why Durgesh was so ever young that none could tell he was sixty-six.
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.
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?”
“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.
Their reactions didn’t hide their disappointment.
“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.
“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.”
“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.”
Al Saåīdah Al Åbbās watched her Ammī ironically.
“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?”
“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.”
“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.
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?
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.
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.
“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.”
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān waited impatiently for the reply.
It never came.
Perhaps the person, who was playing the game, was afraid of her that she was after him/her to know his/her identity.
It was natural there couldn’t be any reply whatsoever.
Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān went to Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī, the lawyer, instead of directly approaching me.
However, she knew very well, Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī was an integral part of HVSI Law Internationals now.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī called in the postal authorities.
The postal authorities went to work.
The letters continued to come, as if the sender took her action as a challenge and accepted it, instead of being afraid of.
It was impossible for the postal authorities, however, to get any proof.
The person mailing the letters evidently wore gloves.
There was never as much as the smudge of a fingerprint that could be developed in iodine vapor.
The envelopes were mailed in drop boxes in various parts of Ved Nagar.
Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān’s name and address had been set in type on a small but efficient printing machine, such as those frequently given children for Eīdul Fitr.
At the suggestion of Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān’s divorced wife, was consulted.
She was living with me in Ved Nagar.
Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus remembered having given Muħammad Jamīl, the child, a very expensive computerized mini printing press for Eīdul Fitr for the year before.
Muħammad Jamīl had taken it with him when he went to visit his Abbū, Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān.
It was still there.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān had, it seemed, enjoyed the press even more than his son had.
This information gave Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī ground for jubilation, triumph.
“Now we’ll get the bastard,” she gloated.
Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān made an affidavit against her elder brother that he was torturing her mentally only because Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān loved me, a Hindu, her brother despised very much communally.
He used to call me Anant Muslimātchod Hindu scornfully.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī handled it from there.
The police served a search warrant on Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān.
The said printing press was located without difficulty.
From its condition, however, it was evident it hadn’t been used in some time.
Moreover, the experts gave it as their opinion that the envelopes had most certainly not been addressed on that press.
It didn’t have the font used in printing those letters and envelopes.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān was on bail.
He was excessively polite to the police officers.
“I am not crazy enough to defame my own younger sister and thus consequently myself too. Can’t everyone see it’s a work of someone, who wants to defame and disgrace my Musalmān houseladies and me?”
His ex-wife, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, smiled cunningly.
“He is a pervert, as the so many Pseudo Musalmīn are ever. Allah never forgives the Pseudo Musalmīn for their ever disguised blasphemy. The bastards ever misuse the immensely sacred name of Islam for their ever perverted Pseudo Isālm. Allah punishes them by making them bisexual, gay and cuckold.”
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān commented ironically.
“Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus’s Allah is perhaps Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan. It’s her theory that any Musalmān that’s not true in his conviction to Islam is Pseudo Musalmān and Allah punishes such Pseudo Musalmīn by making them bisexual, transgender, gay and cuckold.”
“You don’t think it’s true?” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus smiled sympathetically.
“Most of the Musalmīn don’t think it’s true.” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said gravely.
“You mean most of the Pseudo Musalmīn don’t think it’s true?” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus laughed patronizingly.
“I don’t think they are Pseudo Musalmīn.” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said curtly, “It’s what Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her lady bandits say.”
“I sympathize with you Pseudo Musalmīn, because they are you that are being punished by Allah in this way, by making them bisexual, gay and cuckold, I mean. Allah Ħāfiz, anyway.” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus said sweetly.
“Allah Ħāfiz,” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said curtly and slammed the receiver.*
No one knew how the name of Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ was mentioned in connection with it.
Neither any one knew who mentioned it.
However, when the police asked,
“Do you suspect your psychiatrist ex-fiancee, Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ might be behind it to defame and disgrace your Musalmān houseladies and you?”
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said sophisticatedly,
“I don’t think so. The women are softies. Except Musalmīn alone most of the mankind even is softie, or it wants to display itself to be so ostensibly. She could not understand why it’s necessary for me to discipline my son, Muħammad Jamīl, the seven years old child. I’m surprised to the question. I don’t think Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ could fall to such an indignity. We had been engaged. I was quite fond of her.”
“Why the engagement had broken?” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl asked gravely, sympathetically, ostensibly at least.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān wasn’t a damn fool enough to think ACP Suraiyā Jamāl was really sympathetic to him.
He knew she was one of the greatest fans of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, her lady bandits and Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.
Yet, she never approved of Triple Society.
Her concept of Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah wasn’t as violent as that of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her lady bandits, after all.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her lady bandits scorned Pseudo Musalmān actually, while ACP Suraiyā Jamāl was sophisticated somewhat, ostensibly at least, even if not actually.
“The engagement had been broken over a rather minor matter.” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān smiled as if he was the victim of her injustice. However, he didn’t want to talk of it, “Dr. Ms. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ was working altogether too hard. Naturally, she had been under great nervous tension. She had not been like herself for some weeks before the engagement was broken. If there is still anything I can do, ma’am ACP, I want it understood definitely that I’m willing to help at any time whatsoever.”
“I see,” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl could not help herself from being sarcastic, “How nice of you.”
“Nothing at all, ma’am. I would be only too glad to render any assistance whatsoever in tracking down the scoundrel(s) who are annoying my younger sister, psychiatrist Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān. The police are welcome to drop in at any time. As far as I’m concerned, the police never need any search warrant even. Despite all the adverse deliberate publicity against us so called Pseudo Musalmīn, by Her Excellency Kħātūn-e-Jannat Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan razī Allāhu tålā ånahā and her lady bandits, we Musalmīn are too law abiding citizens. My door would always be open to the authorities. Would you please convey my sincere sympathy to my younger psychiatrist sister, Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān? I have tried to call her myself a dozen times, but she had hung up as soon as she recognized my voice.”
It wasn’t until Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus called her that Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān smiled cunningly.
“Was it the printing press?” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus asked Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān.
“No,” Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān said, “The press was there all right but it hadn’t been used for some time.”
“That’s just like the bastard,” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus said, “I know exactly how his ever communal dirty shrewd Pseudo Musalmān mind works. He saw Muħammad Jamīl’s press. He then went out and got one similar to it, but with different fonts. Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān probably printed about two hundred envelopes in advance, then he took the press out on his yacht and dropped it overboard. He knew you’d suspect him; that you’d find out about Muħammad Jamīl’s press and get a search warrant―that’s his way of showing you how diabolically clever he is despite the adverse reputation of general Pseudo Musalmīn.”
She looked at Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ,
“I’m surprised you went with him as long as you did without recognizing the sort of man he is beneath his mask.”
Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ resented Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus’s tone,
“At least I found out in time to avoid marrying him.
Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus laughed.
“You were smarter than I was.” She admitted, “I was communal somewhat perhaps. I deliberately scorned marrying any non-Muslim those days. Allah punished me for it. Now, I believe Dr. Ali Sina and his co-authors are correct. Never marry any Muslim bastard. So many other Hindus are there, even if particularly Durgesh is not available to some unlucky Muslimah.”
Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ too laughed bitterly.
“Nevertheless, you’ll remember I dropped you a note telling you not to be fooled.”
Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ said somewhat ruefully, repentantly.
“I thought it was the result of your jealousy that I succeeded where you failed. Sorry.”
“Allah, Heavens, I’m happily in Live In Relationship with Durgesh now. I was trying to save you from what I’d gone through with him. If I could only get the sole custody of Muħammad Jamīl, my son, I wouldn’t want anything more.”*
Åāliyah Fārūq had disabused me of that notion.
“You wouldn’t be causing a problem,” she’d said, “you’d be solving one. I love Åbdul Waħīd to pieces, but he’s just not getting it done in the bedroom. We need someone to help out. Besides, I’ve always been curious about Hindu men.”
“I’m not about to start messing with cheating Musalmān wives, Åāliyah Fārūq,” I had explained.
Åāliyah Fārūq had laughed.
“Cheating? Who said anything about cheating? Åbdul Waħīd brought it up in the first place, and he sure as hell plans on watching you fuck me.”
“I see. So you’re swingers?” I asked.
“No, honey, we’re not swingers. We want to try out cuckolding,” Åāliyah Fārūq replied.
She’d gone on to explain that Åbdul Waħīd didn’t want to fuck someone else’s wife, he wanted a guy to fuck Åāliyah Fārūq while he watched.
So later than night, I had fucked the lovely young Musalmān blonde to the point of exhaustion while Åbdul Waħīd had watched and jerked off.
When I left, Åbdul Waħīd had thanked me profusely and made arrangements for another encounter over the next weekend.
I had quickly found that the notion of fucking an attractive, young, married Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān woman appealed to his libido.
It wasn’t just fucking hot Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot I liked, it was fucking hot white married Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot.
In front of the perverted/cuckold Musalmān husband.
It was like Viagra.
The role of handsome hung Hindu bull fit me like a glove, and I soon discovered that fulfilling Åāliyah Fārūq and Åbdul Waħīd’s expectations of deep, dark taboo jungle love was as entertaining to me as it was arousing to Åbdul Waħīd.
The actual problem was that the Pseudo Musalmīn themselves loved to be cuckolded to their ever dominating Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wives and me/their Hindu lover/Live In Relationship partner.
They needed Stavans/Meditation with Constant Positive Thinking actually to get their confidence and manhood back.
It wasn’t possible due to several communal/religious/social reasons.
The main reason, none wanted to be true to accept, was Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
She wanted them Cuckold to compel them to establish Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s dream Ummat, Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.
“She hates Pseudo Musalmīn even more than even Mughal-e-Åāzam, Shahanshah Jalāluddīn Muħammad Akbar did. He forced Pseudo Musalmīn to marry their Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān daughters/sisters to marry Hindus. Yet, even he didn’t cuckold them. Whereas Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is running Seven Movements including Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Movement.” I said curtly.
“Well,” Åbdul Waħīd smiled feigning gravity, “we don’t think there’s anything wrong in it.”
I gazed at him contemptuously.
There wasn’t any use of arguing with Åbdul Waħīd.
He had already fallen beneath it.
Åāliyah Fārūq was lying on her back with her legs spread and My Hindu cum load was leaking from her gaping Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot when Åbdul Waħīd had first asked me if I thought I could handle another white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife.
“We have some close friends, Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq, who live in the building,” Åbdul Waħīd said. “Åāliyah Fārūq’s been telling Lubnā Salīm about what an amazing Hindu lover you are, and Lubnā Salīm told Åāliyah Fārūq she was interested.”
“I see,” I smiled meaningfully.
“Lubnā Salīm’s really cute. She’s a tiny little redhead. You’d love fucking her,” Åāliyah Fārūq chimed in, playing with my Uncut Hindu Lund, entirely unashamed of herself. “Why don’t we all have a dinner and we can explain how things work. I love being your hot white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife, but I’m feeling guilty keeping that magnificent Uncut Hindu Lund all to myself.”
“Besides,” Åbdul Waħīd joined in, “Åāliyah Fārūq and I really get turned on by the idea of turning Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq out as an Uncut Hindu Lund cuckold couple. It feels like we’re corrupting them.”
I laughed and agreed to the meeting.
However, I suspected Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was behind it somewhere, somehow.
Åāliyah Fārūq and Åbdul Waħīd were actually members of her Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Movement.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was really establishing seriously her Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.
She wasn’t kidding anyone in the matter at all.
Åāliyah Fārūq too hadn’t been kidding when she had described Lubnā Salīm as “tiny.”
I towered over the 4 foot 11 inch Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān redhead, who giggled when I took her small hand in my hand to shake it.
“If everything else about you is this big, I’m in trouble,” the Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān redhead chirped.
I liked her immediately.
She’d worn her red hair in a pixy cut.
Coupled with her pouty red lips, alabaster skin and slightly upturned nose, the overall effect made her look like a woodland sprite.
Her easy laughter and constant smile did nothing to dispel the image.
Over drinks, I learned that Lubnā Salīm had been a gymnast and ballet dancer but had switched to elementary education when she’d torn her ACL as a college freshman.
“Besides,” she said with a laugh, “there isn’t a ballet company in the country that wants a sub-five feet redhead in the corps de ballet. All for the best anyway. I love teaching kids.”
Her husband Muħammad Ashfāq was a graphics designer and artist, who’d converted one of the bedrooms in their unit into a painting studio.
He was slender and dark haired, which curled over his collar, looking every bit the moody, struggling artist.
When I had suggested that it must be difficult to make a living as a painter, Lubnā Salīm had laughed.
“Don’t let the ‘suffering artist’ look fool you. Muħammad Ashfāq does quite nicely with graphics design and his parents left him very well off,” she said. “We live comfortably on Muħammad Ashfāq’s graphics income and my salary as a teacher. The painting’s his avocation.”
The dinner went extremely well.
Åāliyah Fārūq had seated Lubnā Salīm and me next to each other, with Muħammad Ashfāq across the table.
Wine flowed freely and Muħammad Ashfāq and I spent most of the dinner in an intense discussion about stock market forecasting, investment strategies, hedge funds, and metals futures.
Lubnā Salīm spent most of the dinner running her left hand first up and down my right thigh and then up and down my Hindu crotch.
At the end of the evening, I stood.
“Thanks for a wonderful dinner, Åāliyah Fārūq,” I said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
I shook Åbdul Waħīd’s hand and nodded to Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq. “Nice to meet you both.”
As soon as I was out the door, Lubnā Salīm hurried to join me, slipping her arm through mine.
“Why don’t you walk me home,” she suggested, seductively, meaningfully.
I smiled and looked at her husband, Muħammad Ashfāq.
Muħammad Ashfāq laughed.
“You don’t need my permission, Durgesh. She is entirely capable to take her own decisions. Sorry to say it, but actually you Hindus are more possessive of your wives than we Musalmīn are. Islam is liberal enough to permit divorce if the spouses have too many differences to the extent they can’t live with each other any more.”
“Islam concentrates on liberty more, Hinduism concentrates on family more. If you want a strong family, you have to sacrifice your liberty for it. If you want a greater liberty, you have to sacrifice your family for it. It depends on what you need more, your family or your liberty.”
Lubnā Salīm laughed.
“Hey, don’t preach your Hinduism to my ardent Musalmān husband, you Hindu scoundrel. Let him remain Musalmān, please!”
Muħammad Ashfāq laughed.
“I love my Īmān even more than my life, Lubnā Salīm. Don’t worry. The entire history of us Musalmān mankind stands to evidence that we Musalmīn always sacrificed everything, including our Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wives, and our families too, to save our Īmān. It’s better to lose our Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wife and family even than to lose our Īmān itself. We Musalmīn always let Hindus fuck our Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wives even, instead of letting Hindus fuck our Īmān itself.”
Lubnā Salīm looked at her proud arrogant Musalmān husband, Muħammad Ashfāq, proudly.
“I’m proud of you, Muħammad Ashfāq.”
“Thank you, Lubnā Salīm, my dear beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wife.”
I could not believe what I was listening to.
But that’s what I was listening to from entire Musalmīn ever since my childhood.
They had their own kind of morals throughout their own history and they loved their morals more than their own life even.
I had to admit Hindus were not so dedicated to their morals.
The Hindus were better in sex, but the Musalmīn were better in morals.
I once more realized it.
Surprisingly, I respected Musalmīn more for it, than I respected Hindus even.
Saiyadah Fatimah PhD, my ardent Musalmān wife and my infinite Musalmān women even, never agreed with me.
Well, they too had their own morals.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
The Everbest Wives
The warm, breezy, summer air flowed into the bedroom through the two open windows.
The soft rustle of the white sheers as they flew out from the wind gusts, was a relaxing sound.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām was slowly waking up, feeling the sun’s rays coming through the window, hitting her skin and warming her all over.
There was a conference of the stepdaughters of her Hindu father, led by Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, Kħātūn-e-Jannat Ħazrat Saiyadah Fātimah razī Allāhu tålā ånahā herself.
They requested Durgesh, their Anant Muslimātchod utmost successful Hindu father too to attend it.
“Sorry,” I smiled at them, “I know in so many societies, incest is becoming normal now, even being respected. ‘Father husband’, ‘brother husband’ ‘daughter wife’, ‘sister wife’, are becoming normal advanced ultramodern relations too, even honored manywhere. Yet, I still don’t like it. Count me out, please!”
Al Tåzīm Al Islām was on her stomach, turning her head on her pillow so she could feel the warmth shine directly onto her face.
She hadn’t yet opened her eyes, instead, suddenly feeling chilled from the inside out.
It was a thought, a feeling, a shocked wonderment…why, at 23-years-old, was she still alone?
Well, she really DID know the answer to that, she always had, from the time Al Tåzīm Al Islām was a kid.
But, as always, she’d kept those thoughts and emotions to herself, buried deep inside, where they belonged.
When the aroma of freshly brewed coffee whiffed through the air, Al Tåzīm Al Islām opened her eyes and smiled broadly,
“Daddy,” Al Tåzīm Al Islām whispered to herself. She got up and put on her light-blue and white cotton bathrobe, and walked downstairs to the kitchen.
She wanted to say, ‘Daddy husband’, ‘Daddy, my unique love’, etcetera, but she knew it would antagonize her sixty-five years old Hindu love.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām could never afford it.
Yes, Durgesh is forty years older than Al Tåzīm Al Islām is.
Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam were forty four years older when he consummated love with Ummil Mominīn Ħazrat Åāyeshah Siddīqah razī Allāhu tålā ånahā.
Islam never recognized marriages oriented to the ages of the marrying partners.
What a foolish, stupid, unscientific and immensely impractical idea it is!
It has destroyed countless marriages.
It has increased the number of divorcees immensely, but the non-Muslims never understood why Islam preached it.
The stupid dumb asses.
Islam always cared of the genes transfer to the next generation.
Moreover, an older experienced husband is always preferred in Islam than an ever-inexperienced male child that doesn’t know anything first hand of marital duties and responsibilities.
“Morning, daddy,” she said, smiling at me as Al Tåzīm Al Islām walked over and kissed my forehead.
“Morning, Al Tåzīm Al Islām,” I smiled back.
I drank my coffee while I waited for her to get her coffee and sit down with me.
This was our daily morning routine, since her Abbū, Doctor Muħammad Islam left them.
He charged her Ammī, Al Tawħīd Al Muħammad that she wanted to cuckold him to her Hindu lover Durgesh and herself.
“It isn’t true, Your Honor,” her Ammī, Al Tawħīd Al Muħammad, pleaded, “Doctor Muħammad Islam himself pleaded me to let him play a cuckold Musalmān husband to get favor from Ummil Åālmīn Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, Kħātūn-e-Jannat Ħazrat Saiyadah Fātimah razī Allāhu tålā ånahā,”
A video was played in the court to support her statement.
The Judge wasn’t startled.
She looked down to Doctor Muħammad Islam thoughtfully.
“Your honor, I wanted to test the extent of her Durgesh obsession.” Doctor Muħammad Islam answered when he was given the opportunity to refute the evidence provided by defense in the videos, “I expected her to refuse me to cuckold, but…”
“I object to his statement, Your Honor.” Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī objected, “The videos shown here reveal my client, Al Tawħīd Al Muħammad, refused to cuckold him, but Doctor Muħammad Islam insisted. My client yielded ultimately. She thought he needed it. Nowadays surprisingly, there are so many Musalmān husbands that plead to, their otherwise ever faithful ardent Musalmān wives, to cuckold them to Durgesh and to their own Musalmān wives. We have a large number of videos to prove our point.”*
Judge Åārifah Pŧhān looked at the Public Prosecutor.
A deputy district attorney arose to present the prosecution’s point of view,
“If the court please, the prosecution has already stated that the authenticity of the videos is not being challenged by the prosecution. Doctor Muħammad Islam never claimed he never requested his wife, Al Tawħīd Al Muħammad, to cuckold him. He wanted to please his wife.”
“To the extent to be cuckolded to her and her Hindu lover, the Mayor of Ved Nagar, Durgesh?” Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī smiled ironically, “Your Honor, if the prosecution admits that, why the separation at all?”
“Your Honor,” deputy district attorney answered, “that’s the point. We wanted those videos to be produced in the court. But the prosecution could not do it, because the party opposing the separation was itself planning to oppose the introduction of them as evidence. The prosecution hadn’t another alternative except to spread the rumors that the prosecution does not want them introduced.”
Judge Åārifah Pŧhān deliberately did not smile.
It was against the dignity of the court.
Yet she appreciated the strategy of the prosecution to make the defense itself to produce those videos in support of their own arguments.
However, it was reaching the adjournment.
Judge Åārifah Pŧhān adjourned the court for next date.
Everyone knew I, Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s new Hindu father, was a very handsome man by all accounts.
I had kept up my fine physique even at my sixty-five.
I was toned and fit from my daily Stavans, Weekly Mandrs, Monthly Satrs, Parvs, lap swims and gym workouts.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām had always been more of a home-body type of girl.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām was sweetness and cheerfulness, personified.
She’d always been a ‘daddy’s girl’.
When Al Tåzīm Al Islām graduated high school, she had refused to go away to college, as her siblings had.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām wanted to live at home while attending the University.
Given how smart Al Tåzīm Al Islām was and her academics, she graduated from high school at age 16; and graduated from college with her Bachelor’s Degree when Al Tåzīm Al Islām was 20.
After graduation, Al Tåzīm Al Islām wanted to start her own company, working from home.
Therefore, we remodeled one of the bedrooms, making it into an office on one end of the room, and her product storage on the opposite end.
She had a good business head about her and now, three years later, Al Tåzīm Al Islām was single-handedly managing a very lucrative business.
As was our regular morning routine, Hindu father and Musalmān daughter, after we have a couple cups of coffee and chat for a bit, we each went to our own rooms and shower and dress for the day.
Since both our bedrooms and home offices were upstairs, after we’d each get ready, we’d meet in the hallway and chat for a few more minutes, then each go to our respective offices to start to work.
For lunch, we always ate together, going out about half the time, giving us a chance to get out of the house and clear our heads before returning to work.
The same routine existed for supper, as well.
To most, it might sound like a boring or lackluster way of life, but for Al Tåzīm Al Islām and me, we loved it.*
It was homey, it was being together, it was comfortable, and we were content, just the way things were.
Things would have probably continued as we always have been, if Al Tåzīm Al Islām hadn’t had a small accident.
That one unforeseen fluke, changed everything.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām had recently changed bedrooms and moved into what had formerly been the ‘in-law suite’.
It had a large bedroom with a private bathroom, and a separate private, small living room.
Growing up, it was kept as a guest bedroom.
However, when Al Tåzīm Al Islām needed a larger home office, we did some rearranging and remodeling.
I continued to stay in the master suite I’d always had.
My home office was next to my bedroom, so it made sense to keep it the same, as well.
What used to be Al Tåzīm Al Islām and Al Tawħīd Al Muħammad’s old bedroom, was now remodeled.
It was now Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s new home office.
Now, the three bedrooms that were upstairs, Mine, Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s, and the guest bedroom, all had their own, private bathrooms.
The other two former bedrooms were now the home offices of Al Tåzīm Al Islām and me.
Since we were the only two who ever really used the upstairs, it was a floor plan that worked beautifully for us.
While Al Tåzīm Al Islām was in her shower that morning, she happened to notice that a couple of the newly-installed glass tiles in her shower had come loose and the corners were sticking out.
She made a mental note to tell me so it could be fixed. Continuing to shower, she slipped, although slightly, it was enough to throw her off balance a little and she inadvertently backed up rather hurriedly, into the tiles, scraping her head against it, causing a deep cut.
When she turned off the water, she looked down and saw blood dripping down her shoulders and chest.
Always one to get queasy and even faint at the sight of blood, she sat down on the custom-made shower bench and leaned against the shower wall.
She felt light headed at having seen her blood.
I had by now showered, dressed and was waiting in the hallway for Al Tåzīm Al Islām.
I thought I heard a sound but when I stopped and listened, it was quiet.
“Must be the radio,” I chuckled to myself.
However, a minute later, I heard what sounded like objects hitting a wall, as if someone was throwing things.
“Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā! It wasn’t a radio…Al Tåzīm Al Islām!”
I was confined into Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s room.
Yet, now could hear her moaning from the bathroom.
When I saw her sitting in the shower, semi propped up against the wall, her head dripping blood…I was gravely concerned suddenly.
“Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā! Oh, my God! Al Tåzīm Al Islām, are you okay? Oh, Al Tåzīm Al Islām!”
I picked up her naked extremely beautiful young Musalmān body, carrying her to her bed and laid her down.
I went to her dresser, grabbed a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, concernedly dressing her.
I picked her up again, and carried her downstairs.
I scooped up my keys and wallet off the kitchen table and carried Al Tåzīm Al Islām out to the car.
I got her settled in, then drove to the ER of our local hospital.
Seeing the blood coming from Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s head as soon as I walked into the ER carrying her, a Lady Doctor working at the front desk immediately escorted us back to a room in the ER.
When they asked me to step out after Al Tåzīm Al Islām was in the hospital bed, I came unhinged.
“The hell I will. This is my daughter and I brought her here, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to push me out. My place is with her…she’s very very much important to me in my world…got it?”
“No problem sir, you can stay.”
Al Tåzīm Al Islām turned to me and lifted up her hand for me to hold it. As I held her hand, rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand, she looked up at me,
“My head hurts so bad. Can we give me an aspirin?”
The Lady Doctor heard her and replied,
“We can’t give you anything yet. Let me ask you a few questions then we’ll get you a shot for the pain, sweetie.”
She did give her a shot for pain, and soon got the cut sewn up.
“No permanent injury,” the doctor said, “but she’ll have a headache for a day or two, she had a nasty cut. The shot we gave her will make her sleep for a few hours. Here’s a prescription for some pills that will help with her headaches, and another prescription for an ointment that needs to be applied three times a day to the wound; it will help keep out infection as it heals. You’ll need to follow up with your family doctor in about one week, and I can assess how she’s progressing at that time.”
I refused to put Al Tåzīm Al Islām in a wheelchair as we were leaving; I was carrying Al Tåzīm Al Islām, simple as that.
“Durgesh?” Al Tåzīm Al Islām said groggily on our way home, “Will you get me a milkshake…sounds so good.”
I laughed, thinking the pain shot we gave her was making her a little loopy, but, what the hell,
After getting the chocolate milkshake, I tried to hold it with one hand, so Al Tåzīm Al Islām could drink it, and drive with my other hand.
When we arrived at home, once again scooping her up in my arms, I looked down and noticed that between the deep V-neck of her white t-shirt, she had spilt several drops of the chocolate shake, on the top of her boobs.
I leaned my head down to lick them up when I caught myself.
“What the hell am I doing?”
I chastised myself as I carried Al Tåzīm Al Islām inside the house, now in a deep sleep.
Not willing to leave her alone, I carried her into my home office, laid her down on my imported, Italian-leather suede sofa and covered her up with a blanket.
As I worked at my desk for the next few hours, I began to think I was actually watching her more than I was watching the jet-engine blueprints I was working on.
“Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā,” I said to myself. “Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s out cold from medication, she’s got stitches in her head from a cut, and I’m not right because she’s over there, and I’m over here…I’m not paying proper attention she needs now.”
I got up and went over to the couch.
I gently lifted Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s head and sat down, now placing her head and pillow in my lap.
She didn’t wake up, but seemed to feel my presence in her sleep.
She sighed and turned on her side, nuzzling her face in my abdomen, and continued to sleep.
I draped one arm across her stomach and placed my other hand on the top of her head, combing her hair back from off her face with my fingers.
I leaned my own head back against the couch and within a couple of minutes, I myself drifted off to sleep.
I wasn’t sure how long I slept, but I woke up when I felt Al Tåzīm Al Islām starting to become restless.
“Al Tåzīm Al Islām, you okay, honey?”
“Durgesh?” she flickered her eyes a few times before they slowly started opening.
When she saw my face smiling down at her, she smiled broadly at me.
“Hi sweetie,” I said, kissing Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s forehead.
“Hey, Durgesh, I’m glad you’re here. Thanks for staying with me.”
Al Tåzīm Al Islām puckered her lips for me to kiss her.
As I’d done a thousand times before, I gave her a fatherly peck on her lips.
Although this time, Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s arms went around my neck and she gently held me in place when I leaned my head down.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām lingered her warm, soft, lips, on mine, lightly brushing them over the surface before pressing her lips firmly against mine.
Instinctively, I pulled back, shocked out of my mind.
“Durgesh.” There was something in the way she said that word that went directly to my Anant Muslimātchod unique legendary Uncut Hindu Lund.
It wasn’t a voice of a daughter or even a stepdaughter at all.
It was definitely the voice of a duly married wife to me, immensely in sexual love with me.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām told me everything in the syllables of that name.
Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā!
Al Tåzīm Al Islām!
My duly married immensely loving wife?
I had never even imagined of it.
Nevertheless, that was Al Tåzīm Al Islām in her heart and mind absolutely.
Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā!*
For a moment, I allowed myself to become, emotionally washed away, in Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s touch and kiss.
Her tongue sweetly parted my lips and within seconds we were kissing as passionately as I had ever kissed before in my life.
I couldn’t remember a time recently I’d ever felt such passion, such devotion, such total giving of a woman to me.
But then the other reality came crashing down on me.
“Stop, honey. We can’t kiss like that, Al Tåzīm Al Islām.” I reached up and gently removed Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s arms from around my neck.
“Honey, it was the medication you’re on. Go back to sleep.” My Anant Muslimātchod unique legendary Uncut Hindu Lund, ever dreamed by almost entire womankind, was nevertheless rock hard.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s mouth was absolutely amazing!
“Hell…that’s Al Tåzīm Al Islām for Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā!” I thought to myself.
“I love you, Durgesh,” Al Tåzīm Al Islām pouted.
“Honey, I love you, too. But we can’t kiss like that.” I traced Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s face with my fingertips.
“Mmmm…it feels good, Durgesh.”
“Just relax and go back to sleep, Al Tåzīm Al Islām.”
“Kiss me again, Durgesh…please.”
“No, honey. It’s better for you to rest right now.” Everything inside me was at war…my father’s love was battling with the romantic love, trying to convince me to simply open my mind and heart to her in a whole new way, and to love her.
“Al Tåzīm Al Islām, now stop it. You’ll feel better later, just sleep now.”
“I’m awake now, Durgesh. And I’ll feel better when you kiss me.” Al Tåzīm Al Islām was one that had never argued with me.
Her temperament was always so sweet and easy going; we had only had a few disagreements in 23 years.
“Al Tåzīm Al Islām! That’s enough, honey. Now stop.”
“I’ll go to sleep if you kiss me.”
This time, Al Tåzīm Al Islām delicately slid her soft hands underneath My pull-over shirt, and splayed her hands on my chest, running her fingertips over there, just at the moment my lips made contact with hers.
She let out a soft, deep, moan.
My arm that was around Al Tåzīm Al Islām’s waist pulled her extremely beautiful young Musalmān body closer to me and my mouth started wanting to devour Al Tåzīm Al Islām.
Suddenly, I stopped,
“No! Al Tåzīm Al Islām, please, honey, we can’t!”
I gently lifted her head and pillow up from out of my lap, laying us back down on the couch as I stood up.
“I’ve got work to finish,” I was talking to Al Tåzīm Al Islām as I walked around my desk to sit down. “You go back to sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up.”
I was done talking; I started flipping through my latest blueprints, making notes over to the side, not once looking back over at Al Tåzīm Al Islām.
What Al Tåzīm Al Islām didn’t realize was that I had such a massive hard-on, I was doing my best to not only hide it, but also to will it to go down; feeling terribly uncomfortable for getting a boner from my sexual thoughts about Al Tåzīm Al Islām.
Al Tåzīm Al Islām!
Al Tåzīm Al Islām looked sadly at me, but the medication was still making it too easy for her to sleep.
She softly whimpered.
Her feelings were a little hurt by my sudden and abrupt departure.
She rolled over on her side and stared at me, not able to hold her eyes open for long, and soon fell asleep.
I noticed her eyes finally close and her breathing changed into deep, slow breathes, indicating Al Tåzīm Al Islām was asleep.
I let out a deep sigh and flopped back into my tall, leather, desk chair.
“What the hell was that?” I said out loud to myself.
I stared at Al Tåzīm Al Islām thoughtfully.
“It’s got to be the medication,” I thoughtfully murmured.
I tried to get back to work, but I could only concentrate for about two whole seconds at a time.
I’d look over at Al Tåzīm Al Islām, who, in her V-neck, white t-shirt and no bra, her full ‘C-cup-bordering-on-D-cup-tits, look so supple and soft.
They seemed to call out to me to touch the milky-soft, pink skin.
I was mesmerized by their natural Musalmān beauty.
I ached to squeeze them, to feel the delicate Musalmān softness.
Control yourself, Durgesh.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has made you habitual of having sex with Jet Musalmān Beauties, most of the time.
Never forget it, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has done it deliberately with a definite purpose.
To establish her ever dreamed Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.
That’s what Shahanshāh Jalāluddīn Muħammad Akbar has utmost successfully done once.
He compelled Musalmīn to marry their ardent Musalmān womankind with the Hindu mankind.
His son, Jahāngīr, did the same.
Shāhjahān did the same.
It ran for three generations nonstop.
Yet, what happened after that?
Didn’t it made possible the rise of Aurangzeb?
Wasn’t Darashikoh killed because he wanted to continue the same Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is obsessed to establish?
Do you want the rise of another Aurangzeb?
Try to come out of the conspiracy of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her bandit horny Musalmān queens.
How a born Hindu is always a better husband for a born Muslimah, than a born Musalmān husband is?
It’s Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her bandit horny Musalmān queens’ Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad’s political strategy only.
Moreover, that’s too is dangerous in long term.
If you really want to protect innocent Darashikohs from Aurangzebs, prevent it right now.
Yes, Akbar was a great human being.
Nevertheless, it doesn’t mean everything he has done is correct.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Al Nādirah Al Åbbās rushed to me, put her beautiful young arms around my neck and kissed me full on my lips.
I hugged her wildly.
Al Nādirah Al Åbbās felt me hardened.
She grinned mischievously and grabbed my Uncut Hindu Penis.
I winked at her.
Al Nādirah Al Åbbās laughed pleasantly melodically yet gracefully.
We undressed each other.
Next moment, I wasn’t fucking Al Nādirah Al Åbbās, instead, Al Nādirah Al Åbbās was fucking me wildly.
She had straddled me on my Uncut Hindu Penis.
Her glorious Musalmān buttocks were in wild up and down motions.
My ever erect Uncut Hindu Cock was penetrating Al Nādirah Al Åbbās’s young Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt.
We fucked violently.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Hindu Piyā.” Al Nādirah Al Åbbās said fucking me violently, “But Abbū is all worked up. Apparently, there’s been a shooting in the lower flat. Abbū is afraid officers will be swarming all over the place to interfere with what he wants to see you about. He says it’s dreadfully important and I’m commissioned to get a habeas corpus, mandamus, or whatever you lawyers call it, to see there at once. Abbū promises to pay you anything you want if you’ll come immediately.”
I smiled, playing with her young glorious Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān buttocks.
My Uncut Hindu Prick was visiting her young, twenty eight years old ravenous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt ravenously itself.
She was kissing me wildly.
Al Nādirah Al Åbbās was wilder and more ravenous in sex than Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd was even, to the extent that Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd couldn’t find anyway except to complain to Al Åbbās Al Saåīd that his daughter was disturbing her in her honeymoon with me.
“Can you tell me exactly what’s the nature of your Abbū’s business with me?” I asked smiling.
“Frankly I can’t, Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt. My Abbū is one of those rugged Årab individualists. I was to act intermediary.”
“He understands who is the perfect intermediary between him and me.” I winked at her.
Al Nādirah Al Åbbās also winked at me,
“Doesn’t he? He understands very well how to make you Hindus work for us Musalmīn. You all the Hindus are crazy to fuck Musalmān Beauties. Well, Abbū provides you Hindus Musalmān Beauties as much as you want and keep you Hindus working for him nonstop with extraordinary loyalty to him.”
“And you think it’s only your Abbū’s policy?” I laughed, “Everyone successful Musalmān ruler, king, Bādshāh, Sultān, Nawāb, whatsoever his title was, successfully ruled Hindu dominant areas, using the same policy, in pre 1857 days.”
“Yes, I know.” Al Nādirah Al Åbbās smiled triumphantly, “Mughal-e-Åāzam, Shahanshāh Jalāluddīn Muħammad Akbar, learned this policy from Shérshāh Sūrī. He studied prudently why Shérshāh Sūrī was so successful in making Humāyūn run away from India to Iran. He found it and implemented in his realm. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan isn’t conceiving Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah out of a whole cloth ever first. She had studied prudently the tremendous miraculous success of the Mughal Empire in India. She found it was the Ashvinātam Hindu Muslim Unity. Aurangzeb tried to destroy it and destroyed the entire Mughal Empire consequently imprudently. East India Company took full advantage of it. It filled the Hindu households with British Beauties instead and managed to get the loyalty of the Hindu majority for East India Company instead of the then imprudent Musalmān rulers, gradually.”*
I woke the next morning, felt the warm soft presence next to me, and smiled.
It was when I rolled over that I got the surprise.
Instead of being it the black curly hair, I was getting used to; I saw a head of straight red hair.
There was only one redhead in the house, Jamīlah Aurangzeb’s daughter, Bābarah Åālamgīr.
‘What the hell was Bābarah Åālamgīr doing here?
Was I blind last night?
Did I have sex with Bābarah Åālamgīr?’
All ran through my mind as a lump formed in my stomach.
I cautiously raised the sheet to peer underneath and found that as I had suspected, Bābarah Åālamgīr was in my bed, completely naked.
Nothing new about that however.
The Panjvaqtah Namāzī extremely beautiful Musalmān girl wore clothes less often than she ran without, to seduce me of course.
I understood that.
I wasn’t born yesterday.
I dropped the sheet, layback for a minute to try to clear the sleep out of my head, remembered what happened and why Bābarah Åālamgīr was there.
I lay there quietly for a good 10 minutes before I gave up.
The last I remembered was making love to Nasīm Muåāwiyah/Al Ħamd Al Åbbās for what seemed like forever and falling asleep in her arms.
I had absolutely no recollection of Bābarah Åālamgīr being involved and I knew I had not been blind.
The evening’s memories were too clear for that.
So why was Bābarah Åālamgīr there?
I had two options.
I could slip out of bed, find Nasīm Muåāwiyah/Al Ħamd Al Åbbās and ask her.
In that case, I might run into Zubaydah Bābar or Nishāt Nazli and then might have to explain why Jamīlah Aurangzeb’s daughter, Bābarah Åālamgīr, was naked in my bed.
On the other hand, I could wake Bābarah Åālamgīr and ask her.
The second option gave me more control of the situation and less potential for embarrassment.
Therefore, it was a no-brainer.
I turned onto my side facing her and gently shook her awake.
“Oh, hi Durgesh, good morning. How long have you been awake?” She asked me as she woke.
“Just a few minutes. I lay here trying to figure out why you’re in my bed.”
Bābarah Åālamgīr giggled,
“Did I give you a start?”
“Yeah, a little. You know I never drink and I know when I fell asleep Nasīm Muåāwiyah/Al Ħamd Al Åbbās was here. So when and how did you get here?”
“Nasīm Muåāwiyah/Al Ħamd Al Åbbās woke me around 5:30 this morning. I don’t know what you did to her last night but she was all happy and bubbly. It was disgusting so early in the morning. All she wanted to talk about was planning to go get our stuff and bring it here. I finally told her that whatever she decided was fine as long as she let me go back to sleep. She had me out in the living room and I tried to lie on the couch but it was cold. Therefore, I crawled in with you to keep warm. She left around 7:30 to go rent a truck or something.”
“A truck? How much stuff do the two of you have?” I asked suddenly picturing my house jammed with all kinds of junk.
Bābarah Åālamgīr giggled again.
“Don’t worry, not that much. She just figured that if we made one trip we wouldn’t be able to get it in my car so we’re going to get one of those little trucks. It’s just our clothes and stereo and stuff.”
“Clothes? You mean the two of you actually wear clothes. I didn’t even know you owned any?” I teased her.
Nude Bābarah Åālamgīr pulled nude me into a hug as she giggled again,
“Oh Durgesh, Durgesh darling! Méré Hindu Piyā! Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt! Hum Musalmān ħasīnāon ké Hindu Kħasam! Hindu husband of us Musalmān Beauties! Of course, we have clothes; we’re Panjvaqtah Namāzī extremely beautiful Musalmān girls. Aren’t we?”
I sighed as I felt her great Musalmān tits push into my chest.
Bābarah Åālamgīr had thrown her Musalmān leg up over mine so I was certain I could feel her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot pressing against my thigh.
Her Musalmān leg was only inches from my Uncut Hindu Lund that had gotten hard as a rock.
As soon as I realized Jamīlah Aurangzeb’s naked daughter was in bed with me and had not receded yet, I looked at the clock.
It was 9:30 already.
“I’m going to get up and get a shower.” I announced as a means of extricating myself from the situation.
“Oh good. I’ll join you again. That was fun yesterday.” Bābarah Åālamgīr chirped.
I groaned inwardly.
I was trying to get away from the naked Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān nymph and she wanted to share my shower.
I thought about declining but did not want to seem to push her away.
Besides, nothing really had happened yesterday.
I just would have to behave myself and make sure she did also.
We headed to the bathroom together.
I started the shower and adjusted the water temperature.
Then when I turned around, I was greeted by the sight of Jamīlah Aurangzeb’s daughter, Bābarah Åālamgīr, sitting on the toilet and the unmistakable sound of urine hitting the water.
She had just sat down and gone without any thought to my being there and I had had to go also but was going to ask her for a little privacy before going.
Apparently, she didn’t feel privacy was important.
As I watched, she wiped herself and stood up, took me by my hand and stepped into the shower pulling me in with her.
“Bābarah Åālamgīr, I have to pee too.” I protested.
“So go ahead but you are all wet now. Therefore, you might as well go in here. It all goes to the same drain anyway.” Bābarah Åālamgīr smiled innocently.
Then she got that devilish look in her eye.
“Can I aim it for you?”
“No, you can’t aim it for me. I’m not used to having people watch me use the toilet. I’ve been going by myself for over 62 years, I think I can manage.” I told her.
Bābarah Åālamgīr looked down, mischievously, at the floor, and her lower lip stuck out in a pout.
I realized that I had been a little harsher on her than I should have been and probably hurt her feelings.
“I’m sorry honey; you just caught me by surprise.”
Then I sighed,
“Ok you can aim it for me.”
I saw a smile cross her awfully stunning immensely pretty, immensely smart, Panjvaqtah Namāzī Pakistani Musalmān face and I closed my eyes trying to pretend she wasn’t there.
I felt Bābarah Åālamgīr grasp my Hindu manhood and I relaxed to release a stream of urine.
“Oh wow that’s neat.”
I could feel Bābarah Åālamgīr directing it this way and that and smiled to myself.
Then I felt a shift in her position and opened my eyes just as she started to giggle.
“Feels weird.” Bābarah Åālamgīr said as I looked down and saw that she was directing my stream into her open mouth, giggling the whole time.
I was struck dumb, not knowing what to say or do.
I was pissing into Jamīlah Aurangzeb’s daughter, Bābarah Åālamgīr’s open Musalmān mouth and she was enjoying drinking it.
“Who’s the pervert here?” ran through my mind as my stream subsided and she released me.
She leaned over and kissed me.
“Thanks Durgesh. That was fun. I never did that before.”
Then with that pronouncement, Bābarah Åālamgīr picked up the soap, began to lather her hands up and then rub them on my body.
Suddenly all other thoughts were gone from my head as Jamīlah Aurangzeb’s daughter, Bābarah Åālamgīr, began to run her hands over my naked skin.
She started on my front at my shoulders and washed chest, my sides and me downwards and then to my stomach.
Instead of continuing down to my Uncut Hindu Cock as she had the previous day she urged me to turn around and she did my back moving down and massaging the soap into my ass cheeks then she reached around and began to wash my privates.
Just as Bābarah Åālamgīr had the day before she stroked me while she did it and fondled my balls.
The difference is this time she didn’t seem to want to stop.
Bābarah Åālamgīr was stroking me intently with a firm grip on my Uncut Hindu Cock and I knew that if she didn’t stop soon I was going to blow my load.
“I think it’s clean enough.” I offered even though part of me, a large part, screamed to let her continue.
Bābarah Åālamgīr just released me, moved down and soaped up my legs then rinsed me off.
“My turn.” she announced as she turned around so I could do her back.
I picked up the soap and lathered up.
Then I started on her shoulders and worked my way down her back.
I spent a lot of time washing her extremely beautiful Musalmān ass off, rubbing it and massaging it and she enjoyed the attention as she stuck it out for me.
The more I rubbed the more she stuck it out. Then reluctantly I proceeded down her Musalmān legs and washed her Musalmān legs and feet before continuing upwards.
I reached her sex and hesitated, in my aroused state I only hesitated to fight off the ‘incestuous’ (?) impulses I was having.
So that when I touched her sex, it was as someone bathing her not seducing her.
She felt the difference in the touch and was disappointed.
As horny as she had become now, Bābarah Åālamgīr wanted more contact.
She had been so turned on by holding me while I peed she could not resist stepping into the stream and playing it over herself.
It got her so hot she nearly came.
But now I had washed her sex and reached between her Musalmān legs to get her there.
She spread them and squatted down a bit so I would touch her most private parts and felt the tingle run through her extremely striking Panjvaqtah Namāzī female Musalmān body .
I withdrew my hands and continued up to her stomach.
Finally, I ran my hands over her chest.
I lingered on her Musalmān tits gently massaging her nipples.
Bābarah Åālamgīr stepped back and leaned against me.
I hesitated but continued to rub her Musalmān tits, occasionally running a hand down and over her sex again.
My touch had changed again.
I was no longer bathing her now I was caressing her.
It was foreplay now.
Bābarah Åālamgīr knew it and she loved it.
Bābarah Åālamgīr slowly reached her hand behind her and stroked my thigh as I caressed her and then she slipped that hand up between them and let it gently wrap around my Uncut Hindu manhood.
Slowly she began to stroke me as I touched her extremely striking Panjvaqtah Namāzī female Musalmān body.
My touch became more insistent and soon I was tweaking her nipples with one hand and cupping her sex with the other.
Then without warning and probably by accident I touched her ravenous Musalmān clit with my finger and that little touch caused her to release her pent up frustration.
A stream of juice rolled from her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot as orgasm overwhelmed her extremely striking Panjvaqtah Namāzī female Musalmān body.
Bābarah Åālamgīr grasped me harder and pumped me in her bliss and I was so close I too came shooting my Hindu sperm all over her back.
She felt it hit her back.
The realization that my Hindu seed was running down her, that she had caused it, struck her and her orgasm, instead of subsiding, renewed.
Then we were both quiet and we held each other involuntarily.
Bābarah Åālamgīr could feel my Hindu body was tense against hers and she knew I was not ready for this.
Therefore, she had to ease the guilt.
“I’m sorry Durgesh. I didn’t mean to… I mean I didn’t plan on it.”
I shushed her.
“It’s Ok. We both know we should have stopped sooner. My fault too.”
Bābarah Åālamgīr leaned back to me and pushed closer.
“No, I should not try to tempt you like this, but I like being with you so much. It’s fun. I just didn’t intend to let it go. At least it’s not as we did anything like oral or fucked or anything. We just were carried away a little. Ok?”
“Yeah. Ok honey.” I answered.
“You’re not going to go on a guilt trip on me or anything. Are you?” She asked and turned to face me.
I smiled at her.
“No. No guilt trip.”
Bābarah Åālamgīr smiled back and hugged me to her.
“Good, and one last thing. Now I know why Nasīm Muåāwiyah/Al Ħamd Al Åbbās doesn’t want to let you go. No one has ever given me an orgasm that easily before. You are great.”
I smiled as Bābarah Åālamgīr looked back at me.
“Well, I think we’re clean enough, let’s get out and get some breakfast.” I offered.
Bābarah Åālamgīr almost blew it that time because she lost control.
I was feeling guilty and that was the last thing she wanted.
Luckily, she turned it around and made it Ok.
She continued to chastise herself as we dried each other off and went out to get something to eat.
We found a note from Zubaydah Bābar and Nishāt Nazli.
They were at the beach and let the sleepy heads waste the day it said.
Therefore, we ate and chatted.
Just as we were finishing Nasīm Muåāwiyah/Al Ħamd Al Åbbās returned.*
Al Nādirah Al Åbbās was now on her knees and elbows and I was fucking her from her gorgeous nude behind.
We walked through the door.
The Årab Sheikħ that had opened the door, only smiled in greeting.
It was Ved Nagar.
It was a Dream City of Posthumans, Para Humans, the immortals.
Chaturang Shāshvat Maithunyog was normal here.
Capable persons, the Årab Sheikħ thought.
They can do anything.
After all, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has successfully brought down the age-old kingdom of Al Saåūds.
Now, there’s Democracy in former Saůūdī Årab too.
It’s not Saůūdī Årab any more.
It’s now Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat now.
Chaturang Shāshvat Maithunyog is normal there too now.
The Posthumans, the Para Humans, the immortals.
Are they really?
Allah knows better.
They say they can’t live without Chaturang Shāshvat Maithunyog.
Allah Ålīmun Kħabīrun.
Is qayāmat nearby?
Allah knows better that too.
Allah Ålīmun Kħabīrun.
We entered the elevator.
The door was swung quietly shut behind us by the swift moving Årab Sheikħ.
Leaving the elevator, I heard the sound of rubber tired wheels rolling rapidly along the mosaic floor.
The same high-pitched reedy voice I had heard over the phone said.
“It’s all right, Al Salīm. Don’t bother. I’ll make it.”
Then a wheelchair shot through a curtained doorway.
An emaciated, thin, hand applied a brake, and Al Nādirah Al Åbbās and I found ourselves scrutinized by a pair of piercing gray eyes, deep-set beneath shaggy brows, in a face that seemed all skin and bones.
The man in the wheelchair gave the impression of boundless nervous energy.
It was as though the strength that had been denied the body had gone into nervous vitality.
So intense was the concentration in those gray eyes that the man seemed to forget entirely the amenities of the situation.
He ignored Al Nādirah Al Åbbās utterly and completely.
She was his daughter.
Al Åbbās Al Saåīd devoted all his attention to study me.
He was as if asking in silence whether, even now, it was possible to recognize Al Åbbās Al Saåīd’s true identity.
Was it possible for anybody to recognize him as Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, the former managing director of Al Qāsim Rolling, Casting and Engineering Company?
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Pūrā måmlah samajh saknā zarā sā bhī dushwār nahīn thā.
Ruqayyah Waħīd méré Uncut Hindu Lund par usī din, usī vaqt aur usī lamħé sé mar miŧī thī, jab usné apnī sahélī Saåīdah Salāħuddīn ko mujhsé chudvāté dékhā thā.
Ruqayyah Waħīd kħwāb mein bhī nahīn soch saktī thī ki uskī koī Panjvaqtah Namāzī kaŧŧar Sunni Musalmān sahélī ék Hindu sé bhī chudvā saktī hai.
Allah ghārat karé kambakħton ko.
Panjvaqtah Namāzī hain.
Phir bhī kisī Hindu sé chudvāné ké liyé marī jātī hain.
Aré, koī Hindu inhén paŧāyé, inkī bémisāl Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān kħūbsūrtī kī wajah sé inhén chod sakné ké liyé, to bhī baat kuchh samajh mein ātī hai.
Lékin Allah Allah, yahān to yeh kambakħt kħud chakkar kāŧtī hain tåqatwar Hindu mardon ké.
Kħud burī taraħ unké pīchhé pađkar unhén paŧātī hain aur phir kħūb jī bharkar chudvātī hain un Hindu mardon sé.
Saåīdah Salāħuddīn ko to usné āđé hāthon liyā thā.
“Mar béħayā. Mérā Hindu Sasur hī milā thā tujhé chudvāné ké liyé?”
Saåīdah Salāħuddīn zarā sā bhī to nahīn sharmāī thī.
“Akélī mat khā. Badħazmī ho jāyégī.”*
Ruqayyah Waħīd sannāŧé mein aa gaī thī.
“Ilāhī, aré, qahar nāzil ho tujh par, kambakħt. Kyā bak rahī hai?”
“Itnī nāsamajh nahīn hai tū. Hotī to University mein awwal nahīn ātī.”
Ruqayyah Waħīd né pāglon kī taraħ Saåīdah Salāħuddīn ko dékhā.
“Pāgal ho gaī hai kyā? Main méré Hindu Sasur sé chudvāūngī?”
“Tamām kħawātīn-e-Ved Nagar mein charchā hai ki, Ruqayyah Waħīd né Durgesh sé chudvāné ké liyé Salīm Jalāluddīn jaisé nāmard sé nikāħ kar liyā.”
“Lånat hai tum sab Uncut Hindu Lund kī dīwāniyon par. Kaisī kaisī bébuniyād afwāhén uđātī phirtī ho, apnī Uncut Hindu Lund dīwāngī ko justify karné ké liyé. Salīm Jalāluddīn nāmard nahīn hai.”
“Jhūŧhī kahīn kī! Lånat hai tujh par.”
“Mérā nikāħ Salīm Jalāluddīn sé do saal qabl huā thā. Aaj main ék béŧī kī Ammī hūn.”
“Baap kaun hai?”
“Saåīdah Salāħuddīn, main ħaqīqat bayān kar rahī hūn.”
“Salīm Jalāluddīn kisī kā baap nahīn ban saktā. Voh nāmard hai. Samjhīn? Isīlyé apnī bīwī ko yahān Durgesh ké ħawālé chhođkar Dubai bhāg gayā. Dékh nahīn sakā béchārah apnī Panjvaqtah Namāzī PhD paŧākħā Musalmān bīwī ko ék Hindu sé chaŧkħāré lé lékar chudvāté.”*
Ruqayyah Waħīd hansī.
“Mujhé hamdardī hai tum sab Uncut Hindu Lund kī mārī huī Musalmān lađkiyon aur Musalmān åuraton sé. Arī kambakħto, yah sab Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan kā siyāsī propaganda hai ki Musalmān nāmard hoté hain aur Hindu Chudakkađ-e-åāzam hoté hain. Bakwās hai yeh sab.”
“Yånī tūné aaj tak Durgesh sé nahīn chudvāyā?”
“Lāhal vilā qūvat! Arī Kambakħt, Durgesh mérī Sāsu Ammī ko chodtā hai, Begam Al Jihād fil Islam fī sabīlillah ko.”
“Sach?” Saåīdah Salāħuddīn uttéjit ho uŧhī, “Tūné kħud apnī ānkhon se dékhā?”
“Mar béħayā, kyon itnī pāgal hai kisī Panjvaqtah Namāzī kaŧŧar Musalmān Choot mein Uncut Hindu Lund ghustā dékhné ké liyé? Arī Kambakħt, hum Musalmān lađkiyān aur hum Musalmān åuratén Hinduon se isliyé chudvātī hain ki Musalmān zyādah pakbāz hoté hain hum Musalmān lađkiyon aur hum Musalmān åuraton kī banisbat. Voh baghair nikāħ ké kisī kħātūn sé koī jinsī tålluqāt qāyam nahīn karté, kħwāh voh kħātūne-muħtarmah Musalmān ho, yā ghair Muslim. Musalmān mard aaj bhī is daur-e-nāgahānī ké sabsé zyādah Paktarīn mard hain, kħwāh unké dushman aur dushmanān-e-Islam unhén is par kitnā hī zalīl kyon na karté rahén. Musalmānon mein Ħazrat Yūsuf ålayhissalām kā Īmān abhī bhī båqī hai. Balki main to yahān tak kahtī hūn ki ab sirf Musalmān mard hī rah gayé hain jinmein Ħazrat Yūsuf ålayhissalām kā Īmān abhī bhī båqī hai.”*
Ved Nagar mein party dénā koī aesā kaam nahīn thā jo koī aerā ghairā natthūkħairā bhī kar saké.
Lékin Jāgīrdār Muħammad Jalāluddīn ké liyé yah party dénī béħad zarūrī thī.
Voh apnī naī film shurū karné jā rahā thā.
Yah usī kī party thī.
Party mein film stars kī bharmār thī.
Film heroines kī kamī nahīn thī party mein.
“Har koī in heroines ké āspās ghūm rahā hai,” Nigār Sultānah Humāyūn nihāyat hī talkħ lahjé mein bolī, “lékin yé kambakħt hain ki Durgesh ké ird gird sé haŧné kā naam nahīn lé rahī hain.”
“Aré,” Jāgīrdār Muħammad Jalāluddīn jhallākar bolā, “raat bhar chudvāyā hai na tumné Durgesh sé? Maine pahlé hī kah diyā thā ki party mein Durgesh ko mahmān kħawātīn ké liyé bakħsh dénā.”
“Jaisé main nahīn bakħshūngī to Durgesh vāqaåī mujhé hī chodtā rahégā. Yé heroines bardāsht kar léngī apnī itnī bađī béizzatī.” Nigār Sultānah Humāyūn tanz kiyé baghair nahīn rah sakī.
“Humné isliyé āpko raat bhar Durgesh sé chudvātī rahné ké liyé chhođ diyā thā ki Marħūm Sultān Ålāuddīn Kħiljī ké kħāndān kī jo kuchh thođī bahut izzat bachī rah gaī hai, kahīn āp usko bhī is party mein Durgesh ké qadmon par nisār na kar dén.”
Nigār Sultānah Humāyūn tanziyah andāz mein hansī.
“Kamāl karté hain Bhāījān, aap bhī. Āpkī yah kħāksār chhoŧī bahan kyā, aur uskī awqāt kyā. Bhalā aap ké yahān hoté hué kisī aur kī jurrat yah ho saktī hai ki Marħūm Sultān Ålāuddīn Kħiljī ké kħāndān kī izzat par koī aanch tak pahunchā saké? Kitnā buland kar rakhā hai Marħūm Sultān Ålāuddīn Kħiljī ké kħāndān kā naam aap né. Aap kā mukammil ism-e-girāmī hai− Jāgīrdār Muħammad Jalāluddīn Kħiljī. Lékin aapné aaj tak kabhī apné naam ké saath lafz ‘Kħiljī’ kabhī nahīn lagāyā. Kyon nahīn lagāyā?”
Jāgīrdār Muħammad Jalāluddīn mand mand muskurā rahā thā.
“Kyon nahīn lagāyā?”
“Tāki aap logon ko is kħushfahmī mein mubtilā rakh sakén ki aap kā naam Marħūm Sultān Jalāluddīn Kħiljī ké naam par nahīn, Mughal-e-Åāzam Shahanshāh Jalāluddīn Muhammad Akbar ké naam par rakhā gayā hai. Kitnā naaz hai Jāgīrdār Muħammad Jalāluddīn ko apné Kħiljī honé par. Hai na?”*
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam