‘No. Why should I file a case? Does anyone know who hit him? And how many people will you name?’
‘My brother-in-law said he would pay me, he said I should mention your name, Maruf Bhai.’
Maruf retorted in annoyance, ‘Follow whoever you believe and trust. If you think that Maruf did anything wrong, then file a case. I won’t object.’
‘I know who to believe. You can go now, Maruf Bhai.’
Just as Maruf was leaving the hospital, he spotted Maulana Tahirul. Maruf did appreciate this courtesy call on his part as the imam of the locality. He greeted him as soon as he saw him. Tahirul returned the greeting and asked him, ‘You here? Which side are you on exactly, Maruf Bhai? After all, your Abba…’
Inferring that the question was an innuendo, Maruf got into a rage. He glanced at Tahirul and shot back, ‘Which side are you yourself on? Please think about that. Can you take any side in all such fighting, rioting and disorder?’
‘Does that befit us? I am an imam. Should I get involved in all those problems?’
‘But when a city is on fire, it spreads to a Pir’s house as well. Keep something else in mind – it’s not just imams who possess the quality of humanity. Allah didn’t bestow something called a heart only in the breasts of scholars. The heart is a divine blessing of the progeny of Adam.’
‘Certainly, Maruf Bhai! I could see the quality of humanity in Sadnahati!’ And with that, he went in to see Nazir. Maruf stood there momentarily and then left.
A case was filed on the insistence of Kalim Mirza. Ten people were named. Meanwhile, led by Abid Sheikh, a counter case was filed, against ten people, including Kalim Mirza. On the advice of Hasan Ali, Haji Saheb’s name was excluded. Since twenty people were named in the FIR, all of them had to run to court. Salaam Miya was not afraid of the courthouse and suchlike. But now, he, too, was beginning to find out the hard way that a civil case and a criminal one were not the same. And that’s why he was saying, ‘Just see, I wasn’t even in the bloody village that day, yet I’ve been named?’
His remonstrations became unbearable. Kalim Miya got furious and said to him, ‘Why don’t you go and tell that to those who made the complaint! For now, the case is in your name. After all, everyone must pay equally towards the expenses, whatever they may be!’
Salaam Miya was anyway a bit stingy. On top of that was this headache. He kept saying, ‘It never leaves you! Bloody hell, I made sure I never went anywhere near the mosque in my life, and now I’ve got a case against me because of the mosque! Let it be, at least I’ll be able to give an answer to Allah that, while I never offered prayers, for sure, I’ve suffered a case for your house, dear Allah, please forgive me.’
Everyone laughed when they heard him. Kalim Mirza too was all laughter at this jest.
Maruf was sitting all by himself in his longed-for library room. He felt remorseful on account of the huge crisis that had befallen the village. He never wanted something like this to happen. He wanted the mosque committee to be reconstituted. It had never entered his head that Hasan Ali, Abid Sheikh and company would make an issue of this, and seek revenge for their old grievances. Just as he felt ashamed inwardly, he was also furious with Abid Sheikh for triggering off this riot. He thought that getting lathis and so on while keeping him in the dark was an act of great deception. His Abba, Nasir Sheikh, entered the room just then. As soon as he came in, he asked Maruf, ‘I heard a rumour that you dug up some papers regarding the mosque? And you then gave those papers to Hasan Ali? They’re lowly folk! They created such a nasty brawl upon the strength of those papers. And now all the blame is upon you. You’re grown up, my boy, you’re educated. Didn’t you learn to recognize people, son?’
‘Abba, I truly made a huge mistake. But no one really knows anything about the papers. That Eidgah field – wasn’t that donated by the Miya family?’
‘That’s what I’ve heard since my childhood. Why, what happened?’
‘And the big plot of land beside the road that Kalu Miya and Salaam Miya enjoy? Who does that belong to?’
‘That is their own land. Actually it doesn’t belong to them alone. That’s his cousin’s part. She’s dead. Doesn’t her daughter live in Salaam’s house? Her name is Riziya or something, the girl who studies with our Amina. The land belongs to her mother. That is as far as I know.’
‘You’re wrong, Abba, that land belongs to the mosque. It’s not under the Waqf. But the papers say, “Sadnahati mosque for the use of Muslim folk at large”. And the Eidgah too is not under the Waqf. But it is in their name now. The record is in the name of Jabbar Miya.’
‘Jabbar Miya was Salaam’s uncle. Riziya’s maternal grandfather.’
‘So tell me. Isn’t it a problem?’
‘Let it be a problem. Listen to what I came to tell you. Don’t get involved in any more trouble, my boy. Your Bor Da is also angry. And there’s no need to tell anyone else about all these matters. Please grant this request of mine as your father. I hope I don’t hear again that…’
Maruf had never heard his father speaking like this. So his heart wept. What fond hopes fathers nurtured regarding their progeny when they turned adult! Maruf resolved that he would not get involved in any more problems. He was not named in the case. That he wasn’t was because of Nazir and Reshma’s graciousness. Out of respect for Maruf. He ought to be beside them.
He had a book in his hands. On Sufi mysticism. Maruf submerged himself in the book.
fourteen
‘Wow! What a wealthy businessman he’s become! Cars coming, cars going, what a businessman my husband is! I say, we’ve gone and eaten in so many places, must we not do the same in return!’
It was early morning, and there was shouting. Hearing such a scornful idiom in the midst of the shouting, Tahirul suddenly halted. He cleared his throat and coughed a few times to announce his presence. There were the annual prayers for Iqbal Ostagar’s mother in his house today. One heard that when his Ma was alive, he never got the time to really enquire about how she was. In her final years, she lived in her daughter’s house. In order to escape from the acute mother-in-law versus daughter-in-law turmoil, she found shelter in her daughter’s father-in-law’s house; and that’s where the old lady died. Over the last ten years, Iqbal Ostagar had not been able to get over the grief of failing to offer her a final sip of water. That’s why he observed her death anniversary without fail, and very elaborately. Even if only once a year, he did it. People called that chollishar khana, or the fortieth-day repast. This function of a special meal or feast organized forty days after the burial used to be called chollisha. But now, notwithstanding the passage of time, the very name of the annual function had come to be chollisha. Some people called it kulkhani. So in that chollisha-kulkhani, there was a recitation of the Koran since morning, and arrangements had been made for a religious programme at night. Four or five hundred people were fed. Compared to last year, there were a few more items this year. Of course, there was biryani. And there was the owaj nasihat with the bigwig maulanas from other parts, complete with a pandal, flower arrangements, the sound system, lighting arrangements, etc. A full-fledged ostentatious function. In the midst of all those renowned speakers, Tahirul’s personality paled somewhat. It seemed to Tahirul that the people were behaving as though they were abandoning the village deity and embracing a dog instead because it was from a distant land! The moment such a thought occurred to Tahirul, he himself felt ashamed. He instantly stuck out the tip of his tongue, pressing it between his teeth in abashment, and repeated ‘Tauba’ thrice. There was a background to why such a thought had surfaced in his mind. Tahirul was the imam of the Sadnahati mosque, and so he had been invited only for the meal following the end of the recitation of the Koran, which had commenced in the morning. Another speaker from elsewhere was being brought to address the gathering. A lot of money was spent on them. Who knew better than Tahirul what kind of speakers they were.
The moment he opened the gate of Iqbal Ostagar’s house, Tahirul had been stunned upon hearing such a quarrelsome proverb. It wasn’t just the proverb that stunned him; the one who had delivered it was a woman. Realizing that the Imam Saheb had heard her, she drew an arm-length of ghomta over her face and rushed indoors as if for something very pressing. The person with whom she was having such a sweet conversation in the veranda was Iqbal Ostagar. Tahirul was certain that the woman herself was suspicious of her own husband’s business activities. She must be Iqbal Ostagar’s wife. Iqbal stepped out of the veranda, greeted him, smiled fulsomely and said, ‘Did you just arrive, Hujur? I was talking about you with your Chachi just now. I was wondering when you would arrive!’
Tahirul smiled. He had heard with his own ears the terms of endearment with which Chachi addressed Chacha. Nonetheless, he said, ‘Is that so? That’s nice. Right, so where’s everyone sitting?’
‘You can do the recitation in the living room. You see, the pandal decoration has not been fully completed yet. Besides, the decoration can only be completed after the evening prayer. You’ll see the splendid lighting my younger son has organized. He was really keen to get the lighting done by the famous Chandannagar experts. He told me, “I need money, Abba.” I gave him some money. And did you see the pandal beside that? That’s where dinner will be served at night.’
‘Can I ask you something, Chachaji? Was all this extravagance really necessary? Tell me, is it right?’
‘What do you say, Maulana Saheb? Allah has provided, and that’s why I’m doing it. After all, I observe my Ma’s kulkhani just once a year, isn’t it? And yet your Chachi gets so mad. She says I’m a miser! Now I have to invite all my in-laws. I’ll set out very soon, let me go and invite as many in-laws in one go as I can. You heard for yourself what an earful she was giving me because I hadn’t done so. Women! Is there any limit to what they say? They just blurt out whatever they feel like.’
Tahirul figured out the root cause of Chachi’s suspicions regarding her husband’s wealth and business affairs, why Chachi was flinging that proverb so early in the morning. She was of the view that however wealthy Iqbal Ostagar was imagined to be, it wasn’t really the case, because if he was, why wouldn’t he be able to feed a hundred or two hundred in-laws?
Maulana Tahirul entered the living room and saw a prayer mat spread over a divan. The Holy Koran had been placed on a stand and a mic-boom stand had been placed low before that. A bunch of incense sticks inserted into a slice of a cut potato had been placed in a corner of the room. They had not been lit. They would be lit after the Imam Saheb arrived. Tahirul was all praise for Iqbal Ostagar inwardly. Nice, he thought, notwithstanding everything, when it came to incense sticks, he did not like making wasteful expenditures. A punctilious man.
Nazir Ali entered the room a little while later with refreshments. After spending quite a few days in hospital, he appeared to be a bit slack. Neither was he his usual lively self. Part of the forefinger of his right hand was missing. Observing that, Tahirul enquired, ‘How are you now, friend?’
‘Allah has looked after me, Hujur.’
‘Hmm. How is your hand?’
Nazir looked at him despairingly and said with a slight smile, ‘It’s just the bit above the top knuckle that the doctor cut off.’
Gazing at Nazir’s doleful face, Tahirul wondered if this was the law of the world! The lame man steps only into potholes. He asked him, ‘What about your work?’
