What did I Obtain from it?

The moment he saw me, his face lit up with joy. I was surprised that my arrival was as eagerly anticipated as the coming of spring. In a welcoming and eager manner, he said, “Please have a seat. My eyes remain fixed on the door, wishing for someone to enter—someone I can have a conversation with.” To match his exuberance, I responded by saying, “Oh, I swear, I have been meaning to visit you too. I wanted to catch up with you.”

I had just sat near him when he reached for the windowsill and grabbed a fiery-red apple. He picked it up and offered it to me courteously. “It was meant for you to savour.”

“It is an original. Delicious apple. Sweeter than sugar.” He added. 

I held the apple in my hand and its scent captivated me: I was delighted by his gift. He pulled out a pocket-knife from his pocket and handed it to me. I split the apple down the middle and offered him a piece as well. 

He flinched at my gesture. “What are you doing?” He asked. “I can’t eat it; my doctor has forbidden it because I have diabetes.” 

Startled by his response, I insisted, “Diabetes? But an apple wouldn’t hurt.” 

He refused for the second time, “Zahar! Zahar! For me, it is nothing less than poison.” He continued, “I would never say no to an apple otherwise. If I could eat them, I wouldn’t have to even buy them. After all, I have my own orchard and the one in your hand is from there. I ordered one to be brought here and placed on the windowsill. I thought, if nothing, at least I can devour it with my eyes. Or even better, I can offer it to someone dear to me—like you, and watch them enjoy it.” 

I was more absorbed in eating and relishing the apple than listening to him. Its sweet juice seemed to penetrate deep within, a cool sensation spreading through my body. 

He continued speaking, indifferent to whether I was listening. “It is the way nature intends, and nothing more. Like, even when I have no shortage of apples, I’m still forbidden from eating it. Why else would I not eat it if I have one on my windowsill? It’s not solely about owning things. I know people who consume apples even when they don’t own an orchard themselves.” I was barely interested in his ramblings, which went on and on without a pause. “But, truth be told, I believe that my sins are the cause of this punishment. I refuse to blame anyone else,” he added. 

I had finished eating the apple and was seized by a desire to eat another one: as scrumptious as this one had been. But I kept it to myself, as he was speaking endlessly.  

“I have an orchard in Shopian. It’s a prospering apple orchard but I think it’s cursed. Since the day I bought it, I have been restless.” 

My interest piqued upon hearing this. I asked, “What exactly do you mean?” 

“You see, when I acquired this orchard, I also inherited a curse,” he said with conviction. “So Allah blessed me not only with this orchard, but also bestowed upon me a curse.”  

My interest deepened. Intrigued, I asked, “Please, can you tell me exactly what the matter is?” 

He paused, hesitating at first. “It’s nothing remarkable,” he said, trying to brush off the question by pointing towards the far corner. “The towel is there if you want to clean your hands,” he added. 

I stood up and grabbed the towel. I wiped my hands which were smeared with apple juice, thinking that I wasn’t going to let him avoid my question. But as soon as I sat back, he began on his own: “This orchard that I am talking about belonged to one of our neighbours in Shopian. Our families had lived next to each other for ages until I moved to the city because of my job. Once there, I embraced the life of an urban man. Learning the ways of urban life required me to forget the ways of my village life. I started getting used to the customs of urban life and had picked up things that were unknown to the simple folk of my village Shopian. The neighbour I mentioned didn’t have a child. He had adopted a boy and, rightfully outlined in his will that after his death, all his property must be transferred to this boy. The neighbour was Qadir Dar, and his adopted son’s name was Samad Dar.”

My interest was totally  stirred now. While he spoke, I chimed in with an “I see” every once in a while.   

Ignoring my interjections, he continued his story, “While I was working in the city, Qadir Dar had grown old and his son Samad Dar had taken over the land, cultivating it with corn. He had also planted a few apple trees here and there.” 

“One day, while visiting the village, I saw the orchard—and as if influenced by the devil’s malicious schemes, I went straight to Qadir Dar’s dwelling.. I greeted him first and then enquired about the land he owned. I asked, ‘Qadir Dara, you’re too old now and your son cultivates your land. Don’t you think it would be more feasible for you to sell this land and open a shop somewhere in the market?” He replied, 

‘I wouldn’t even think of doing that. After all, I have saved it for Samad. How can I cheat him now after having promised him this orchard? As you can see, I’m nearing the end, and I’ll have to answer for my actions in the afterlife.’”

“I continued to urge him, but he didn’t accept my offer. Knowing he wouldn’t agree, I opted for a different approach to acquire the land. I went to befriend his adopted son: With Samad Dar, I knew exactly what trick to play. Back then, everyone was facing financial hardships, no one possessed enough money. I knew that if there was one thing he could be lured by, it was the prospect of earning money.” 

I interjected again by agreeing with him, “Indeed, money wasn’t as common then as it is now.” 

Acknowledging my interjection, he exclaimed, “Ah, Allah bless you!” and continued, “I had pulled a fast one on Samad: he gave in to the temptation. But, we had a problem. He told me that, officially, the land still belonged to his father and would be transferred to him only after his father’s death.” 

“Blinded by the devil’s tricks, I convinced him to write a letter to the tehsildar, informing him that Qadir Dar, his father, had passed away, and that the land should now be transferred to his name.” 

 “He wrote the letter, and I delivered it to the Pathweir, with whom I had struck a bargain beforehand. Sure enough, he accepted the letter and, for fifty rupees, handled the entire procedure. Soon after, I paid Samad Dar his money, and the land finally became mine.” 

“Later, when his father, Qadir Dar, heard about the whole business, he was thoroughly aggrieved. He tried to convince the authorities that he was yet alive, but no one believed him. He was profoundly disheartened. His deep despair consumed him, ultimately driving him to madness. Eventually, he jumped into the water and drowned.”

“Unconcerned, I staked my claim on the land and even pinched an extra bit of what was around.” He paused, reflecting briefly before continuing. “Today, that land is an orchard of heavenly beauty. Trees of all kinds–apples, grapevines, thrive on that land. But Qadir Dar’s curse sticks to everything. Everything.” He said the last bit with emphasis. 

I enquired further, “In what sense, do you mean?” 

He said, “Shortly after, my wife passed away, this marked the beginning of a whirlwind of unfortunate circumstances. Some time later, I remarried, but regrettably, my children didn’t accept my new wife. Gradually, disputes sprung up in our household and over time, they grew to hate me as well. By the end of it, they were fighting with one another. They filed lawsuits against each other over the orchard. After all these years, they still haven’t resolved their disputes. And as if all this weren’t enough, the curse gave me diabetes. I long to eat apples and grapes now. Aren’t they all mine? But no, they’re forbidden to me.” 

He heaved a sigh and uttered with remorse, “The devil took hold of me and made me take away Qadir Dar’s life. And what did I achieve from it in the end?” 

It seemed like he was waiting for me to answer. Not sure what to say, I remained silent. He asked again this time with more urgency. “Yes, I’m asking you.” His crusted lips quivered. “I got spittle. Just spittle. That’s the outcome of greed: spittle.”