Why do people tell frightening tales of the road of death when there are so many going along the same way to keep one company? I have no fear of dying. I had two loves in my life, Begum Qamarunnissa and Delhi. One destroyed me, the other was destroyed for me. I have nothing more to live for. For my two loves I compose the following lines:

As I opened my eyes after my death
My only wish was to once again see your face;
It was in my heart you had your habitation
Where will I find eyes to see this plundered place?

Bhagmati

Bhagmati is to spend the evening with me. She will expect me to take her. If I do not show enthusiasm she will say I am growing indifferent or worse, impotent. I must have a good excuse for abstaining: high fever, a broken arm or a fractured penis. But all I have is wind in my stomach. Anyone who suffers from wind knows that until expelled, it will not allow the flame of lust to be kindled.

A long time ago when this trouble first started I made a list of wind-producing items. It included many of my favourite foods: raw onions, mangoes, cheekoos, ice-cream, cakes . . . I got over the problem that faced me by making a slight change in my love schedule. I ate them after and not before. With the years I had to add other items to the ‘after-not-before’ list: rice, lentils, potatoes, fried foods. The list continued to grow till it included just about everything edible. Nevertheless by the evening my belly would be full of air. I gave up lunch and moved the trysting hour from the evening to the afternoon. It worked well for some time. But it takes two to make a tryst and Bhagmati is not a nooner. So whenever I was sure Bhagmati would visit me I restricted my breakfast to black coffee and Vitamin B tablets—the closest thing I’ve discovered to an aphrodisiac.

Today all I have had since the morning are two mugs of black coffee and a capsule of Vitamin B Complex. Still there is a balloon full of wind in my stomach and no lust in my loins. I do not desire sex; instead I pray for a long, satisfying fart. I have tried hopping round the room on one leg, lying on my back with knees pressed against my paunch, massaging my belly. All to no avail. Verily hath Shaikh Saadi said:

O Sage! the stomach is the prison house of wind,
The sagacious contain it not in captivity,
If wind torment the belly, release it, fart;
For the wind in the stomach is like a stone on the heart.

O Sage of Shiraz! The wind doth truly torment me like a stone on my heart! How shall I release it?