‘Waalaikum assalam.’

‘Sir, I’ve come on behalf of the Bengal Imams’ Organization. I’m visiting the imams of all the mosques. I cordially invite you on behalf of our organization. We have a meeting in Uluberia next week.’

‘Who are the people in the organization?’

‘There are many. It’s Maulana Shah Alam who’s the secretary. He’s the one who sent me to you.’

‘He’s my friend. What’s the agenda? Unless I know about the objectives of the organization…’

‘This letter explains everything. But our main demand is that arrangements be made to pay a dole to imams. From the government.’

‘Why would the government of a secular country provide doles to imams?’

‘Have you any idea about how much Waqf property there is in West Bengal? Are you aware of what the income from that amounts to? The demand will be to provide the dole from that income. After all, this won’t be spent from the government’s coffers.’

‘All right, give me the letter. I shall attend, Inshallah.’

After the youth left, Tahirul didn’t dally any longer. He made his way hurriedly to Kalu Miya’s house. The boys and girls had arrived, and were waiting for him; he was indeed a bit late today. He had just sat down in his place when Kalu Miya cleared his throat and greeted him, elongating the syllables. Tahirul returned the greeting equally courteously and looked at him curiously. Kalu Miya said, ‘There’s something I wanted to discuss with you. Can you please come to this room, Hujur?’

‘Certainly. Let’s go.’

As soon as he entered the room, Tahirul saw the mutawalli, Haji Burhanuddin Saheb, sitting there. He smiled warmly and said, ‘Come, come. I wanted to speak to you, so I came here after the Asr prayer. I wanted to ask you about what you have decided.’

‘I don’t follow you. Can you please tell me the specific issue on which you are asking about my decision?’

‘Hadn’t I spoken to you about starting your family the other day? Don’t you remember? When I visited your room—’

They were interrupted. Even before Tahirul could recollect, Fulsura arrived with a tray full of cups of tea. With her arrival, Kalu Miya swept the subject under the carpet and began talking about something else. ‘So is the mosque meeting taking place on Wednesday? We’ll sit immediately after the Isha prayer, what do you say?’

Was he hiding something from his daughter? Or was he pretending in front of Tahirul?

Tahirul sat dumbfounded at the sudden change in the subject. Fulsura had normally never appeared before Tahirul without her hijab. But when she entered the room today, saying her greeting and bringing the tea, there was no veil over her face, rather her lips were curled in a smile. This was the first time he saw Fulsura’s entire face. The smile didn’t last very long in the presence of the two murubbis. Was Tahirul thinking something? The smile on Fulsura’s face didn’t rock him in any way.

In order to avert the whole subject, Tahirul responded to Kalu Miya’s query. ‘Yes, a meeting is indeed required. An assistant imam is needed for the mosque. I was thinking of making a request to you people.’

‘Why? Why an assistant?’

‘Say if I go somewhere, and am delayed, then he can conduct the prayer.’

‘That can be considered. But you didn’t say anything about the other matter. You didn’t respond at all.’

‘What can I say?’

‘Hujur, let me be frank with you – you’ve seen Kalu Miya’s daughter, Fulsura. Do you like her? Actually, I called you to show you the girl. After all, you’ve seen Fulsura from close quarters. She’s a very nice girl. She’ll make a good match for you.’

And as he said that, he began laughing. The laughter sounded ugly to Tahirul. Realizing what it was all about, he turned grave. Without giving any answer, he merely offered his greeting and left. He didn’t feel like teaching now. He didn’t like Fulsura. He began walking towards the mosque. Haji Saheb seemed to have been a bit offended about that. He had spoken to Kalu Miya the other day shortly after making the proposal to Maulana Tahirul. Did the Imam Saheb dislike it when an uninvited person tried to get involved in his personal life? But he was astonished at the fellow having the audacity to disregard him.

And when it came to Kalu Miya, he agreed at once. If he got Imam Saheb for a son-in-law, his status would be enhanced too; and if he could get his daughter married to a good man, he would be able to live in peace for the rest of his life. So he didn’t dawdle over giving his consent to Haji Saheb’s proposal. And so, according to plan, this bit of play-acting today. Eager to know the outcome, Kalu Miya entered the room, only to find that Imam Saheb wasn’t there. When he asked Haji Saheb, he too ignored him completely. He left the room slowly. Failing to fathom anything, Kalu Miya was left bewildered.

twelve

Tahirul met Suman’s brother, Abhijit, on the way. Jogipara’s Hindu folk too were in the habit of calling the Imam Saheb to blow blessings on them. They partook of telpora-panipora with great devotion. They tapped against their foreheads, in obeisance, the bottle containing the water that had been blessed in the name of Allah, and drank that, chanting ‘Durga! Durga!’

‘Sir, you have to come to our place! For quite some days now, Ma has been asking for you to come to blow blessings on her. Will you please come?’

Tahirul had time to spare. The azan for the Maghrib prayer was still a long time away. He had never been to a Hindu household in Sadnahati before. He agreed. He said, ‘Come. Let’s go.’

It was nearby. And yet one could clearly discern that this was a Hindu hamlet. There was a small Shiva temple adjoining Sushil Nath’s house. The houses were sparklingly clean. In every household, a plastered sacred pedestal had been installed and a tulsi plant put there. There were also some other flowering plants. A bunch of incense sticks dangled from the pedestal. The fragrance of the incense soothed Tahirul. Our Prophet (PBUH) used to love fragrances. He loved such cleanliness and tidiness, and yet Muslims failed to give any importance to even such small things, and so Tahirul pondered. There were many pairs of footwear outside Suman’s veranda. Hearing the sound of a commotion, Tahirul enquired, ‘What’s up? Why so many shoes?’

‘They’re Dada’s students’ shoes. He is a private tutor, you know. He takes classes thrice a day.’

‘Oh! I suppose your brother is highly educated? Doesn’t he do a job?’

‘He’s sitting for exams to get a job. He’ll get one some day.’

They entered the house as they spoke. Tahirul saw that most of the students were female. He noticed Riziya, who was wearing a yellow-coloured churidar-kameez. As soon as he glanced at her, it occurred to him that this girl was supposed to attend his class today. The moment Riziya spotted him, she suddenly smiled and greeted him. She also pulled up the odna around her neck and tried to fix it on her head. Following her, all the other girls too did the same. Tahirul also observed that the Muslim girls’ modesty and veiling found more expression only in the presence of moulovis and maulanas! As if it was only them who were males. He asked Riziya, ‘What’s the matter? Weren’t you supposed to attend my class today?’

‘Yes, I normally come here in the morning. But since the exams are nearing, I’ve come to study in the afternoon as well.’

‘Where’s your teacher?’

‘Dada will be here in a little while. But why are you here, Hujur?’

‘Should the Imam Saheb be confined only to the mosque? Is he not supposed to go anywhere?’ And saying so, Tahirul smiled wistfully.

Riziya didn’t say any more. She cast her eyes downwards, towards her book. ‘Mollar dour mosjid porjonto’ – Riziya vaguely remembered this idiom, which implied that a maulana’s prowess was limited to the mosque alone. She didn’t mention it aloud, though, and smiled to herself.

Tahirul went into the adjacent room to blow blessings on Suman’s Ma. Apparently this gave her some relief. Some power or the other had possessed her. Tahirul emerged after a while. He saw that Suman was teaching. He had seen him on the streets many times. He had been introduced to him in Maruf’s house. So as soon as Suman noticed him, he greeted him, folding his hands in namaskar. Tahirul jestingly remarked, ‘Sir, I see you’ve dragged my student to this madrasa!’

‘Who’s that? Who is your student?’

Riziya hesitantly replied, ‘Dada, it’s me. I go to him in the evening to learn Arabic.’

Suman smiled, and exclaimed, ‘Oh! Is that so?’

And then he said to Imam Saheb, ‘Do you know, this student of yours is something of a miracle. She got star marks in the Secondary examination. Pay special attention to her.’

Tahirul was astonished, and he said, ‘Really! I’m sure you have a major contribution towards that.’

‘Actually, if the soil’s good, the potter can make a lot of things. And what if the soil’s not good? The one who wants to change will certainly do so. The effort must always continue. I tell these girls that if Riziya can get good results out of her own efforts, then why can’t you?’

Tahirul was startled to hear Suman. It was like a new realization. Allah does not change a people until they themselves want to change, he thought to himself.

The two teachers had been fulsome in praise of Riziya in front of her fellow students. The praise melted the young woman’s heart. Riziya looked shyly at Tahirul and Suman. She observed joyful pride on their faces. But Tahirul did not stay there very long. He didn’t think it was prudent to stay long in front of unknown women.

Maruf strolled around the locality after the Isha prayer. From time to time, he chatted with people here and there. Although Farid, Jamal and Siraj were younger than him, it was they who were his friends. The youths of the ostagars’ moholla needed recreation just like all other people. Recreation was necessary if people had to survive with a healthy mind or mentality. Not football, or cricket, nor a healthy culture; the principal sport for their recreation was carrom. Striking the pieces correctly by manipulating one’s fingers was not at all easy. It wasn’t that everyone was adept, yet almost everyone played the game. It involved four players. But some ten or twenty people stood surrounding the carrom board. Everyone enjoyed themselves simply as spectators. Maruf too stood there as a spectator and marvelled at the game. He kept watching and reflected that the large piece, which was called a ‘striker’, had special power. It was aimed in one direction, but the target was elsewhere.