‘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.
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?’
