“The quilt” (“lihaaf” in urdu) is one of her famous short stories Lihaf: Translated from Urdu, a story by Ismat Chughtai. Whenever I get under my. URDU ADAB: Lihaf; a Famous Urdu Short Story by Ismat Chughtai. Sham Ki Barish (Rain of the Evening) an Urdu novelette based on love story. Lihaf A Beautiful Urdu Short Story By Ismat chughtai. لحاف. You might also like: حوا کی بیٹی تماشہ نہیں Hawa ki Beti Tamasha Nahi Hai A.

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Whenever I get under my quilt in wintertime, I see these elephant-like shadows on the wall across, swaying from side to side; then, suddenly, my mind starts to race down the memory dhughtai and I start remembering things.

In my opinion, a blanket is as comfortable and its shadow on a wall not as terrifying as that of a quilt. Sometimes I do wonder why was I so quarrelsome. At an age when my sisters were collecting beaus, I was busy with chightai and girls, strangers or not. That was the reason why my mom, chughai leaving for Agra, left me with this woman she thought of as her own sister. That indeed was a very clever punishment! So my mother left me with this woman named Begum Jan, the same Begum Jan whose quilt is as permanent in my memory as a burnt-scar from a red-hot iron rod.

The poverty-stricken parents of this Begum Jan had married her off to a man who was a lot older than her but was pious and virtuous and never went near prostitutes. He had been llihaf Mecca for the pilgrimage andhad sent many others over there for a Hudj as well. But he had a very peculiar hobby. People like to keep pigeons and doves as ismah or raise roosters for cockfights; but the Nawab Sahib hated those ridiculous activities. Only thestudents lived in his house. He had taken the financial responsibility for all lihf fair-skinned adolescent boys with slim waists who lived in his house.

That poor skinny little Begum had emaciated out of loneliness. Is it when those adolescent boys started to pay the Nawab Sahib regular visits: To hell with it. Ever see a leech stick to a stone? Nawab Sahib will not budge. She turned to books for solace but found nothing there. Romance novels and emotional poetry depressed her even more.

She lost her sleep and became a starving rag, and started vhughtai wear one too. You figure you wear clothes to impress others, not for a life like that.

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Ever since she married and came to this house, his relatives would drop-in and stay for months. And she resented them so much.

They would just camp-in and help themselves to whatever they pleased. She remained a prisoner in that house. Despite that quilt, padded with new fluffy cotton, she would lie in bed cold.

Chubhtai she turned in bed at nights, the quilt would make a different shadow on the wall across. For why live…for this life!

But to live was her fate. She lived, and lived well.

Ribbo saved her from falling. All of a sudden her emaciated body started to inflate. Her cheeks started to shine and her beauty started to radiate. Massages with that strange oil brought her back to life. Begum Jan must be forty-forty two when I first saw her.

A purple-color throw was lying by her feet. She looked regal as a queen. Chughtqi loved her face. I wanted to sit by her and admire her face for hours. Her skin was very fair, but not a trace of blush. Her hair was very black and all oily.

Lihaf ebooks by Ismat Chughtai | Rekhta

I never saw her hair part not-straight…not one hair-strand out of place. Eyebrows plucked arched, her eyes were cat-like and black. Her eyelids were heavy and the eyelashes thick.

But her most inviting feature was her lips, usually colored red. She had light mustache over her upper lip and long curly hair by her temples. Sometimes chughtzi face seemed very odd—as if of an adolescent boy. Her skin was smooth as if unnaturally stretched.

Ismat chughtai’s lihaaf

She was very tall and looked enormous because of all that meat she had put on. But she did have a very well proportioned and balanced body. Her hands were big and slick and she had a urvu, sexy waist. Ribbo had no other responsibilities. Sometimes it frightened me.

Lihaf: A story by Ismat Chughtai

All you saw was that Ribbo is massaging Begum Jan. The day Begum Jan took a bath…oh my God! Two hours before her bath she would have so many massages of oil and henna that even my fantasy would break down.

The doors will be locked, charcoal-heater will be fired up, and the massage will begin. And only Ribbo remained in the room, the other she-servants would just mumble something and drop at the locked door whatever was needed. The whole thing was that Begum Jan had an itching disease. That poor woman tried everything to get it cured.


These doctors are crazy. May your enemies get afflicted with diseases. And this Ribbo—she was as dark as Begum Jan fair. The whiter Begum Jan, the redder Ribbo, just like a burning red piece of hot iron. She had light chicken-pox marks on her face, fast hands, and a tight belly. Her always-wet lips were thick and puffy, and her body gusted a nervous odor.

Her hands were lightening fast: Summer or winter, Begum Jan would wear this loose Hyderabadi see-through shirt: She always had a light shawl on her. She moved around very little. Getting her back scratched lying on the carpet munching on dried fruit: Whenever the two were mentioned, there will be laughter.

DIL KI DUNYA: Lihaf A Beautiful Urdu Short Story By Ismat chughtai

They became a butt of jokes for these people. But Begum Jan did not bother to socialize with anyone. It was only her itch that mattered to her. As I said, I was quite young back then and had a tremendous crush on Begum Jan. The question was where should I sleep? In her room, naturally. A sleeping cot for me was laid next to her bed. I conversed and played cards with her till about eleven at night and then went to my cot to sleep. Ribbo was still there scratching Begum Jan when I went to bed.

I suddenly woke up in the middle of the night. The room was very dark. The elephant stopped moving and the quilt flattened. Why are you scared? Just recite the Aytul Kursi to yourself. I heard two voices whispering. I was even more scared. I threw the quilt over my face and fast fell asleep. I am very superstitious. Being scared and run to someone at night and mumble in my sleep was a routine for me back when I was young.

Everyone said I was possessed. The quilt looked very innocent in the morning. But when I woke up in the middle of the next night, Begum Jan and Ribbo were very quietly having an argument in the bed. Ribbo was sobbing and sniveling. Then I heard sounds as if a cat slurping. I fell asleep feeling very nervous. Today Ribbo was visiting her very quarrelsome son.