‘I can’t stitch any more. I can’t pleat cloth, I can’t hold the hem. I’m thinking of selling off the machine.’
‘What are those?’
‘Those who know about stitching would understand. You wouldn’t know.’
‘How do you run your family now?’
‘My wife works now. Fixing buttons and hooks, she does all that. And I’m stuck in Iqbal Ostagar’s place. I handle the packing and so on. I run errands. He pays me something.’
‘And what about those for whom you got your finger cut off?’
Nazir remained silent this time. When he remembered the incident that took place some four months ago, he felt angry with himself. He kept thinking about the people for whom part of his finger had to be amputated and discarded. They had only provided the money for the legal expenses. After that, nobody really showed any sympathy. Maruf Sheikh had at one point given some money a few times. But how long could one ask even Maruf for money! Heaving a deep sigh, Nazir said, ‘After all, whatever Allah does is only for the good. If my forefathers were insulted like that, can one tolerate it, tell me? Laltu was making fun of Kalim Bhai. I was no longer in my senses, Hujur. It was I who first gave it nicely to that son of a bastard. After that, everyone jumped upon me. How was I to know that they were carrying knives? Anyway, I didn’t get stabbed on my chest or stomach. I covered myself with my arms.’
Tahirul turned grave when he heard him. He remembered something from the Hadiths. The Saheeh Hadith of the Prophet (PBUH). Some special characteristics of the age of ignorance would continue to be present in stupid folk until the Day of Judgement. Blind ancestral love was one of them. Tahirul was amazed to find that characteristic in Nazir. He was amazed at the relevance of the Prophet’s message.
Tahirul began reciting the Koran speedily. He had to finish the thirty paras, or components, of the Koran before the evening Maghrib prayer. He had already recited a bit before in his spare time. And so he started from the twentieth para today. Otherwise, would it have been possible for him to handle it all by himself? As he recited, he began feeling dispirited. Why was he reciting the Koran? Of what benefit was it to the faithful Muslim? After all, no one understood what it meant. And even if they did, it was next to impossible to derive the meaning when it was recited so fast. Nevertheless, it was a custom. People were continuously slaves to ritual and custom. And how amazing that his sustenance depended upon such ritual and custom. He was plagued by a sense of helplessness. He consoled himself thinking that this was after all the message of Allah the Almighty. Every letter yielded virtue tenfold. He continued reciting with greater speed. The faint sound of that rapid recitation of the Koran seemed to bring about a new dimension in Sadnahati.
Maruf gazed at the coloured sky of dusk. There was still time for the Maghrib prayer. The sound of the loudspeaker was absent for a little while for the azan. The constant sound of the loudspeaker ever since morning had been deafening. He had been in deep study yesterday.
He had thought he would finish the book today, but he hadn’t been able to read even a single page. The religious gathering would begin in a little while. Maruf was worried about that. The heavyweights would arrive, and after that the programme would commence very loudly. Maruf knew that there would be only a bit of talk about the fundamental aspects of Islam. But it was the supernatural tales of Pirs that would be spoken about a lot. Their illusory, imaginary tales would overwhelm the audience. The refrain ‘Allahu Akbar!’ would resound from Iqbal Ostagar’s jalsa. In that pause, the speaker would ask them to recite the verses in praise of the Prophet, while sipping and gulping some hot tea. Did people value the surreal more? Maruf was aware that the people didn’t merely hear all these vile tales, rather they swallowed them altogether. They digested them very quickly too. And believing that the tales spun by all these speakers were absolutely true, they grew in religious devotion. Illusory faith. Sometimes, unbeknown to them, that faith transgressed the boundaries of Islam. Maruf was opposed to this. But his opposition had a negative consequence in Sadnahati. They thought he was an irreligious person who was against their silsila. Maulana Tahirul had very skilfully applied the label of his irreligiosity in the minds of the common folk. Rahmat Bhai, the muezzin of the mosque, had asked him one day, ‘Isn’t observing one’s faith a duty?’
‘Absolutely! One must observe one’s faith!’
‘And what if someone says, I don’t believe in religion?’
‘How can he do that? If someone doesn’t believe, can he remain a Muslim any longer? We belong to the Hanafi school. We follow the religion of Abu Hanifa. Someone else believes in another religion. All the four religions are true. That’s the truth.’
‘But Nasir Bhai’s son Maruf goes around saying that he does not believe in any sects. The chap apparently says that he is only a Muslim. Belongs neither to Furfura nor the Tabligh.’
‘Do you know what I think? Maruf actually does not believe in any sects. He is a wahabi. After all, you do know a little bit. I too have talked to him earlier.’
‘Aren’t they Muslims, Hujur? Are they kaffirs like the Qadianis? I heard today that apparently wahabis are agents of the British.’
‘You may hear a lot of talk at religious gatherings, what can I say? But I read in history that the wahabis fought for freedom against the British. Have you heard the name of Titu Mir? After all, he was a wahabi.’
Rahmat Bhai had studied in the madrasa for some time. Tahirul realized that although he was poor, he did think about such things from time to time. Rahmat asked, ‘Then why are they demeaned by being called agents of the British? Why are they referred to as non-Muslim?’
This simple, straightforward question made Tahirul silent. As a child, while studying in the maktab and madrasa, he had heard the students and teachers say a lot of things against the non-sectarians. He had grown up hearing a host of complaints against the wahabis. He had also heard many call them kaffirs. Apparently they were enemies of Islam! Tahirul himself had not been able to come away from that illusory reformism. But when Tahirul grew up, and became a scholar and an imam, he had learnt to inwardly assess the definition of a kaffir. That’s why he could not tell Rahmat that Maruf was a kaffir, that he was a non-Muslim. Could there really be something called non-sectarian? It had often struck him that many of the Muslims in Bengal who believed in Pirs spoke in such negative terms, unjustifiably, about other faiths. That long-standing habit had steadily divided people. The Tablighi Jamaat too were Hanafi. He had heard so much pique expressed against them as well. So he toned down his reply to Rahmat Bhai somewhat and said, ‘No, why would they be non-Muslim? They are Muslims too. But the non-sectarians give less importance to pronouncements of scholars on contemporary issues and to unilateral decrees issued by individuals in authority. Many of them even believe in nothing except the Koran and the Hadiths. They are conservative when it comes to religion.’
‘But, Hujur, after all, Muslims will believe in the Koran and the Hadiths, wouldn’t they? Would they believe in the Ramayana and the Mahabharata of the Hindus?’
‘No. When the solution to a problem is not directly there in the Koran and the Hadiths, it is the ijma and the qiyas that have to be given importance. That is Islam.’
‘What are the ijma and the qiyas?’
‘When the major scholars of the world are of one view on some subject, that is called ijma. And if a scholar issues a fatwa on some matter in keeping with the times, and that fatwa does not transgress Islam, then that is qiyas.’
‘Hujur, I am older than you. I think there’s some trouble going on. Perhaps I’m not able to understand it. But there is a problem. After all, there wasn’t such a lot of sectarianism earlier, Hujur.’
‘It was there earlier, it’s there now too. Haven’t you heard the Hadith about the division into seventy-three sects? But, Rahmat Bhai, it’s all right even if you don’t understand all that. Just hold on firmly to the rope of your order.’
‘That’s true. But I also wonder whether our Pir Saheb and hujurs were wrong. Yes, if the rope of the order is rotten, it will surely break, Hujur. And perhaps it’s not seventy-three sects now, but seventy-three hundred of them.’
‘Hmm … you chat a lot these days with Maruf and company, isn’t it? I’ve seen it myself. Chat with him, there’s no problem. But don’t pay much heed to what they say. You’re a poor man, don’t you want to retain the job of muezzin? Rahmat Bhai, when you live in the water, don’t disagree with the crocodile. That’s what’s best for you, and for me too.’
fifteen
After the Maghrib prayer, instead of returning home, Maruf went to another hamlet. A group of seven people had come from faraway Karimganj, in Assam, to the new mosque in Sheikhpara. He had been specially invited to go there. Haidar Ali had taken on this responsibility. Whenever he got the time or the opportunity, he spoke against Furfura to Maruf. He thought that in this way he would be able to bring Maruf into their group. There was an underlying desire in his efforts to involve Maruf in the Tablighi Jamaat.
The ceremony would begin in a little while in Iqbal Ostagar’s house. After making his own hamlet tremble, the soundwaves would reach this hamlet too. This arrangement had been going on for the last three years. This was a means to deliver the correct religion to the ears of none else but the people of the Tablighi Jamaat in the new mosque. And of course, that called for seven more speakers. So what! It was vital that it reached their ears. After all, it was a terrible offence to spend the night in the mosque with one’s bag and baggage!
The Tablighi Jamaat was another minority in Sadnahati. And so, although they were embarrassed, they didn’t care. Loudspeakers were hung from every electric pole. The sound emanating from those robbed the infants of Sadnahati of their sleep, and flashed dreams of attaining jannat, or paradise, to the old and infirm folk. Maruf felt like springing out of there. He had set out with the intention of meeting a group of visitors from another place. The new mosque was a small one. The musulli, too, were few in number. There had been a lot of talk about Maruf’s monetary donation for its establishment as well. But perhaps money does not recognize any sectarianism or factionalism. Even if he was not a member of the Tablighi Jamaat, since he was a Muslim, the money he donated could well be used by the mosque – that was the pronouncement of the amir. Meanwhile, the musulli of the big mosque were of the view that since Maruf had helped in the construction of the mosque of the breakaway group, he too had become a Tablighi. There was no need to give him a place in this mosque. But no one had the audacity to actually say that. Maruf offered prayers at both the mosques. He got a little more respect in the new mosque. Spotting Maruf, Haidar Ali came forward. ‘Assalamu alaikum! Come, Maruf Bhai, come. You’ve come at the right time. A group has come to the mosque from Assam. Please come and join us for refreshments.’
‘No, Haidar Da. I don’t eat anything in the evening.’
‘It won’t do to say that, after all you must have tea and snacks. Come, let me introduce you to them.’
Maruf observed that there were two or three murubbis, and the rest were youths, and there were quite a few of the musulli from the new mosque. They were seated in a circle. The amir of the Jamaat had a sparkling white beard, and a long cap made of cotton on his head. They were deeply immersed in religious discussion. Maruf sat down silently in the gathering. The Amir Saheb was responding in his Sylheti speech. ‘It is Allah who is our Lord, nothing can happen without Him. He said “kun”, and at once everything came into being. We became ashraful makhluqat. He made us for worship. Owing to the doubts planted in our heads by the shoytan, we have forgotten our true address. We are intoxicated with worldly things. The world is an illusion. We have to forsake this illusion and proceed towards the hereafter. That is our true address. One has to leave home and family and set out on Allah’s path.’
Maruf was listening intently all this while. But what the amir finally said troubled him. If everyone left their homes, left their families, and set out, how would society function? After all, fulfilling one’s responsibilities towards one’s family was also Islam. Wasn’t that too a great act of worship? Taking one’s bag and baggage and setting off for chilla – it seemed he couldn’t quite accept that. A lot of Maruf’s experience was responsible for that. His own brother-in-law was a dedicated supporter of the Tablighi Jamaat. He had realized that the afterlife was the real life. And so, when Maruf’s Boro Bubu was eight months pregnant, he was firm in his determination to go for a forty-day chilla. He had resolved to go. Many people told him not to. But he said, ‘I’ll set out on Allah’s path, Allah will take care of everything. Don’t prevent me like fools.’
Boro Bubujaan’s tender, sobbing voice couldn’t prevent his journey that day. What happened after that? Thinking about that made Maruf shiver even today. He could not forgive his brother-in-law. And now there was no contact either. When his Boro Bubu herself was no more, how did his brother-in-law matter? Maruf was in Class Nine then. He had harboured a contempt for the Tablighi Jamaat ever since. When he grew up and began studying about religion, he became averse to the Jamaat once again. He couldn’t accept the necessity of their so-called sixth pillar of Islam, going out on chilla. He thought the Tablighi precept of the sixth principle was not prescribed in Islam. Thus when the discussion concluded, Maruf wanted to leave. The moment he got up and turned around to go, Haidar Ali signalled and called him. He said, ‘The loudspeakers will come on in just a little while. Our guests have come from so far away. No one will be able to hear anything any more. Just look at that, there’s a loudspeaker right in front of this mosque, can you see it? They have put it on purpose. Can’t this be resolved, Maruf Bhai?’
Maruf observed the loudspeaker. It had been placed close to a parapet of the mosque. This was really wrong. There, far away, was the religious gathering at Iqbal Ostagar’s house, and the array of loudspeakers ended here, in front of this mosque? Maruf knew everything. This was the handiwork of some overzealous boys in order to disgrace Haidar Ali. If he went and talked to Iqbal Bhai, he would surely remove it. But what if that led to contrary results? Had anyone forgotten about the riot and disturbance in the Eidgah field that had taken place just four or five months earlier? So Maruf didn’t want to get involved with all that. Turning Haidar Ali down, he said, ‘No, this can’t be resolved. Carry on your discussion somewhere else. It’s not as if it has to take place in the mosque.’
‘What do you say, Maruf Bhai, can’t we have a conversation in our mosque? We never went to their mosque, did we? After all, it’s in the mosque that a conversation about Allah’s religion will take place. Why should we go to some other place? What kind of justice is this? The matter would be resolved if they remove the loudspeaker. If you go and tell them, it will be done.’
The mosque no longer belonged to Allah. It now belonged to various sects, to various groups. The mosque of the Tablighi Jamaat, the mosque of the Ahl-e Hadis, the mosque of the Furfura folks. The funny thing was that all the mosques faced Mecca. Allah was worshipped in every mosque. Were they going to divide up the one Allah as well? ‘Perhaps your Allah does not look anywhere else but at your mosque, isn’t it?’
