Each carrom board was like a standing club. Jokes were cracked even as the game progressed, people lamented the deplorable working conditions, and critical comments on various subjects were aired. Maruf and Farid tried to utilize this play space. Although Maruf was an educated and accomplished person, he was like an eyesore to many. He did not like excessive religious formalism, and he never made any donations for religious events and gatherings. There were many members of the Milad Committee here. What with the merit they earned by organizing these large gatherings twice a year, they did not have to pray or fast all year long. It was such programmes that Maruf was opposed to. But their reasoning was, ‘all this was fine’. According to them, Maruf was indeed articulate, but did he really know more than the imams? After all, when the imams were invited for the gathering, they never thought to ask whether us youths offered our prayers! That was why as soon as Maruf stood near the carrom board, many people looked askance at each other. Farid asked Maruf, ‘Abid Sheikh has fixed a redressal meeting tomorrow in the field in front of the mosque. Are you attending?’

Maruf decided to pretend a little bit. After all, it was to propagate their views that they had come here. He asked, ‘Arbitration on what?’

‘Hey, don’t you know! Laltu Da was slapped in that way in front of everyone – mustn’t it be redressed?’

Someone nearby commented, ‘Tell me, who will make amends? Is there any justice in this village?’

‘There is! Of course, there is! There’s justice all around. It’s we who don’t know. For instance, all these days the mosque committee has been merrily misusing the mosque property! Do any of us know how big this scam is? There have been no accounts for ages. There’s justice for this too. Did we ever ask for justice?’

‘Who are you referring to, Maruf Bhai? Haji Saheb? Do you think he is a thief?’

‘No. Why would I call him a thief? Just think about it. Mosque property means Allah’s property. If that property was made over to someone else, none of the village folk would come to know. Is that not theft? And where’s the theft? In the house of Allah. Won’t there be justice in this case? I’m going to ask for the accounts when I go to the mosque tomorrow. I’ve thought it all out, there’s going to be a grand furore tomorrow.’

Quite a few boys eagerly said out loud, ‘The accounts need to be asked for. Does the mosque belong to anyone’s daddy!’

Maruf looked at Farid. He signalled to him that the job was done. But Farid wanted to know about the matter in greater detail. ‘Maruf Bhai, can the property of the mosque be used by any other person?’

‘It cannot. But so many things happen in secret! Thieves don’t heed religious tales, do you get that!’ Their objective was to raise just one simple question in the minds of ten or twelve youths. That had now entered the minds of many. There was impropriety in regard to the accounts in the records of the village’s main mosque. There had been a violation. So tomorrow’s redressal meeting should be an exciting one.

At a short distance from the mosque was the Eidgah. The extensive, vacant space was surrounded by walls on all four sides. On the western face that looked towards the Holy Kaaba was the imam’s spot. Twice a year, during Eid, this place came to life. The fragrance of attar and rosewater made the whole environment heady. Sadnahati’s Muslim folk forgot about all their differences and joined breasts in embrace. There was an artificial, sweet smile on most faces. After that, for the rest of the year, their hearts and this Eidgah ground would remain bare and empty. Tufts of grass sprouted when it rained. Greedy to feed on that grass, Salekh’s Ma’s pet goat slipped in through the gap between the walls. How many times people had complained to Haji Saheb about that! Haji Saheb reassured them. Every time, he said, ‘All right, Salekh’s Ma will be told. Does anyone graze goats in an Eidgah ground? After all, the Eidgah is a holy and sacred place like a mosque.’ But that was as far as it went, she was never told anything. In the absence of that, the same picture obtained almost every day. Everyone had got used to tolerating that.

The night of the Eid moon was a long way off. That night, the youths would come to life to decorate the Eidgah. They would get back their monarchy for a couple of days. The Eidgah was also used for a few other purposes, on some special occasions. One of them was the arbitration meeting on the overall problems of the villages. This property that belonged to the mosque was not used for anyone’s personal ends. The arbitration meeting was to take place here today.

A hair-splitting enquiry was supposed to be carried out today into the fire of turmoil that burned in the mosque last Friday. Naturally, the crowd was overflowing. Sheets of gunny and shataranchis had been spread out in the middle of the field for the common folk to sit on. The band of boys and youngsters were sitting on the wall of the Eidgah, with their legs dangling. And in the middle, wooden stools and chairs had been arranged in a semicircle for the murubbis. The wooden stools were the ones that accompanied the sewing machines, on which the workmen sat and stitched. They had been picked up and brought from the nearby garment-making factories. Arrangements to serve tea had been made. In other words, Sadnahati’s arbitration meeting was in full swing.

Almost everyone was there; once just a few more people arrived, it could begin. In fact, Abid Sheikh and his companions had been sitting there for a long time. His brother, Laltu, who had been slapped, was sitting beside him. Meanwhile, Naushad Ali, who was on the side of the mosque committee, and against whom today’s arbitration proceedings were to take place, hadn’t arrived; Kalim Mirza and Kalu Miya hadn’t yet arrived either. Rafiq Ali, the deputy chief of the Panchayat, had arrived a long time ago. But the people weren’t impatient. The reason for that was the pleasant summertime breeze, and because they were eager to witness an arbitration meeting like this that hadn’t taken place in a long time. Maruf was sitting with his friends at a safe distance. Abid Sheikh respectfully gave up his chair for Comrade Hasan Ali. He glanced in the direction of Rafiq Ali, and also used the opportunity to signal to the boys of his party, as if to enquire, ‘Everything’s all right, isn’t it?’

People had come spontaneously to attend such an apparently fine social arbitration session. But in secret, a foul, sinful bloodthirstiness had nestled; perhaps many people had never imagined that. Bamboos and lathis had been concealed among a clump of bushes on the southern side of the Eidgah. Was it possible to keep this secret? Naushad’s hereditary power was great. Besides, he belonged to the Trinamool Congress, the party to which Rafiq Ali was affiliated. Would they be short of hot-headed youths? And so, they, too, had secretly prepared the battlefield. Those who didn’t know chattered away without a care. But in the eyes of those who did, there was fear and excitement. A bloody battle could break out at any moment.

The notables of the village entered through the gate on the northern side. Naushad too was among them. Just like Maruf didn’t know about the preparations for battle, similarly, all these esteemed folk too weren’t supposed to know about it. Once they arrived, they sat down on the stools. Chairs were provided for the mutawalli, Haji Burhanuddin, Kalim Mirza, Kalu Miya and Nasir Sheikh. They sat on one side. On the other side, facing them directly, were Abid Sheikh, Hasan Ali, Iqbal Ostagar and others. Kalim Mirza was looking at Maruf, who was sitting at a distance. He was thinking to himself, the fellow knows everything and yet pretends not to know. It was he, after all, who was the ringleader; Haji Saheb didn’t know that, but Kalim Mirza did. Kalu Miya stood up first, commencing with a brief introduction, and stroking his beard, said, ‘Respected village folk, you know that on Friday, a small incident took place in the mosque. I can’t understand why there was any need to call so many people…’

Kalim Mirza stopped him. He was of a grave nature. At one time, he was the president of the local Congress. He said, ‘Why do you say all that, Bor Da? We understand that Naushad did wrong. Let him hold Laltu’s hand and apologize. Let the matter be settled.’

And as he said that, he looked at Haji Saheb. Everyone figured out that they had discussed everything in advance. So they wanted to take the lead in judging the boy who belonged to their side. They wanted to trivialize the incident. As soon as Haji Saheb instructed Naushad, the latter stood up. He was suddenly in front of Laltu. But when Naushad held Laltu’s hand and apologized, someone from among the people present said out loud, ‘Why did you end the movie here, Naushad Bhai?’

The innuendo was intolerable for some of the youths belonging to the other camp. They responded, ‘Hey man, do you really want to see action? Picture abhi baaki hai! ’

Many people rose in uproar to stop the two. Even amidst the clamour, Hasan Ali stood up and began speaking. ‘That was the pronouncement about slapping him, but why was he slapped? Where’s the judgement on that?’

‘Judgement on what? Speak clearly.’

‘Let’s say, the way the mosque has been run all these days. Who will provide the accounts regarding that? If you can’t, give up the responsibility.’

At first, everyone was quiet following this direct attack by Hasan Ali. After that, Haji Saheb spoke. ‘Of course there are accounts. But who are you to ask for that, Hasan?’

Abid Sheikh stood up now. With an angry glare on his face, he began speaking, addressing Haji Saheb. ‘Will you not give up the post of mutawalli?’

‘No. It’s not the villagers who gave me this authority. It was given by the government. Under the Waqf law.’

‘Did the government give it, or did your Abba leave it for you? After all, the property of the mosque was donated by ordinary people. The property didn’t belong to your Abba.’

‘The property belongs to Allah. We have been given the responsibility by the government of looking after that property.’

‘But pray tell us how long that is for?’

‘It’s hereditary.’

‘What if your son is unfit for the purpose? Even then?’

‘Let’s hear who is fit now! You? Or is it Hasan Ali? But he doesn’t even believe in religion. Yet he’s come to ask for the mosque accounts today. Tauba, tauba!’

‘Listen, everything ought to happen through democratic means. Hand over the responsibility of the mosque to the young men. The property of the people—’

Abid Sheikh couldn’t finish. Was everyone still listening to his leader-like talk? Seeing that, Kalim Mirza’s head turned itchy. He roared out, ‘Hey Abid! I tell you, sit down! Do you know who you’re talking to? You were born just yesterday, and you’re trying to be a leader now! Don’t you dare try any tricks here. The one who is the mutawalli shall remain. What the hell can you lot do? Go and do whatever you like! You think you’ve become a big leader, have you! You lost the Panchayat elections, but you’ve still not come to your senses?’

Abid’s brother, Laltu, now heckled. ‘So what if he’s become a leader? Why is that bothering you so much, Kalim Bhai? After all, the days of your leadership are over. The cane is in the hands of Rafiq Bhai now. You’re a fused tube light!’

That made a lot of people laugh. In fact, Kalim Saheb was indeed a fused tube light now. It used to light up earlier, but not any longer. That’s why the village folk had discarded him, like leaving a used lamp in a corner below the stairs. But after all, even he had brothers and kin. Nazir Ali was his close cousin. Why would he tolerate an insult to his elder cousin? He jumped up and went to the other side. ‘Hey you bastard, be careful of what you say. I’ll smash your face right now!’

And at once he landed a few blows in quick succession on Laltu. ‘Hit him! Hit the bastard! Catch the bastard!’ These words triggered a commotion in the Eidgah field. The murubbis lost all control over themselves. The place echoed with the turmoil. There was no track of who was thrashing whom. People seemed to have become like animals now. No one had any idea where bamboo poles, lathis, stones landed up from in the hands of both sides. The shouting and uproar suffused the atmosphere of Sadnahati. The sacred Eidgah field turned into a battlefield.

Both sides were bloodied. But Nazir’s injury was the more grievous. He had severe wounds in two places on his head. One of his fingers had almost been sliced off. But the riot did not remain confined to the Eidgah field. One side broke the tiles on the roof of the shed in Abid Sheikh’s yard. The opposing side arrived via another route and vandalized the shops in the Haji market. The dance of destruction continued all night. At dawn, the police arrived and halted beside the Eidgah field. There was no one anywhere. Most of the menfolk were under their sheets. The muezzin had just begun chanting. ‘Assalatu khairum minannaum…’

thirteen

Maruf was shocked. The incident had a deep impact on people’s minds. It brought about a fundamental transformation in the lives of some. And then even if someone wanted to, he couldn’t reverse that. The incident left Maruf utterly confused. He realized what a vast difference there was between life as one read about it in a book and the difficult life that existed in reality. What he wanted was not accomplished at all. Rather, he had fallen into such an acute state of embarrassment that he was remorseful now. During the fighting, Maruf’s father, Nasir Sheikh, had received a jab on his leg from a bamboo pole. He suffered from diabetes. Diabetes patients always had to be very careful about where they placed their feet.

The police did arrive. They were unable to arrest even a single man. The officer was astonished. No one could explain to him exactly why the violence took place. But since there had been bloodshed and serious injuries, a case had definitely to be filed.

Nazir had been admitted to hospital. He received stitches on his head in two places. The injury on his finger was so acute that a part of it had to be amputated. His wife, Reshma, was weeping and repenting. ‘Why did you do it? Do all those problems have anything to do with us poor folk?’

The top half of the very finger whose dexterity had made him a skilled garment-worker was no longer there. Reshma swore at everyone inwardly. Nazir himself was unable to say who had attacked him.

Rafiq Ali and Kalim Mirza visited him in the hospital in the afternoon. They assured Reshma that they would take care of all the expenses for Nazir’s treatment. Money would also be provided for their household expenses so long as he was unable to get back to work. But when the case was being written up, the names of Hasan Ali, Abid Sheikh, Laltu Sheikh, and certainly that of Maruf, had to be mentioned. They had exceeded all limits. But Reshma was shocked. Maruf Bhai? Why on earth would he hit Nazir? After all, he had good relations with him. Did party politics drag people down so low?

‘Why did Maruf Bhai thrash him?’

‘Only he would know why he thrashed him.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘He did, he too thrashed him, my dear. Everyone saw it.’

Hearing her brother-in-law, Reshma didn’t say any more. She just kept weeping. There were so many people there, but it was only her husband who was wounded and admitted to hospital. She was getting infuriated with the idiotic man. But seeing his bandaged head, her heart trembled. She sat holding her husband’s hand, nursing a great sense of anger and hurt against Maruf.

Maruf dropped in at the hospital in the evening. Reshma Begum was sitting beside Nazir. She didn’t say a word to him. As soon as Nazir saw Maruf and extended his hand towards him, Reshma exclaimed, ‘Stop! Stop it! You don’t have to shake hands now.’

Maruf was astonished. He asked Reshma, ‘What happened, Bhabi? Why are you talking to me like this?’