‘Of course I have to. But I don’t consider marriage as my duty right now!’

‘It may not be your duty, but it’s definitely called for, isn’t it? You go on about the shariat, but you don’t have a beard – what kind of talk is this that you won’t get married? Aren’t these a part of the Prophet’s ideals?’

Maruf was silent after such a rebuke. He didn’t want to upset his Abba much. Or perhaps he was defeated by his father’s logic. He would slip away quietly from there.

Nasir Sheikh was frightened as regards his younger son. Would his son finally become a renunciant? It was his elder son Faruk who looked after the business affairs. Nasir had observed Maruf’s thoughtful nature ever since his childhood. For the life of him he could not figure out how the son born to him had become such a bibliophile! It occurred to Nasir that this was his Pir Saheb’s blessing. Maruf was not becoming worldly. If one had to be a businessman, the foremost requirement for that was being realistic. But Maruf didn’t have the slightest interest in that. From time to time, Faruk objected. He said, ‘Abba, what do you think about Maruf? Do you think he can do anything? He has no interest in business. How can I manage such a large-scale business all by myself?’

‘All by yourself? Why all by yourself, son? There are so many people working there! I haven’t become so old yet that I can’t carry on. And is Maruf really absent? Of course he’s there! Let him be as he is. Once he’s married, everything will be fine, just you see!’

‘I get it. So you won’t tell him anything, right? Let me tell you, it’s your overindulgence that allows him to think charitably about the whole world while doing nothing at home.’

Nasir Sheikh accepted his elder son Faruk’s complaint. He felt a kind of helplessness. But he hid that from Faruk and said, ‘After all, Maruf has been like that since he was a child. Let him be as he is. It’s not like he is doing anything bad. See, my son, he’s my lost treasure. Don’t you remember? He returned twice from death’s door. If your Ma was alive…’

He heaved a deep sigh. His wife had died as she gave birth to their younger daughter. A few years later, the elder daughter too died in the same way, at the time of her baby’s birth. That’s why Nasir Sheikh’s filial love was fierce. Faruk realized that telling him anything was meaningless. He didn’t say any more. It was not that he didn’t love his brother too. All he was trying to do was pull his truant brother back to the mainstream.

‘Terpol’ Haji had a proper name – that was Maqsood Lashkar. He had performed Haj thrice. So he was a ‘triple’ Haji. Whenever Maqsood Bhai spoke to anyone, he reminded people that he was a triple Haji. But he pronounced the English word ‘triple’ as ‘terpol’, which meant ‘tarpaulin’ in Bengali. That was the name people knew him by. In the midst of conversation, he would say, ‘I’m Terpol Haji, no lie emits my mouth.’ No one ventured to probe into whether this was a verbal tic of his, or whether he truly never lied. But regardless of whether Terpol Haji’s life was true or false, there was something for which he had drawn everyone’s attention. Maqsood Bhai was the only person in the village who was educating all his three sons in the school run by the Al-Ameen Mission. He believed that if there had to be real improvement in the lot of Muslims, such educational institutions were needed. His elder son had cleared the Joint Entrance Examination and was studying in medical college. If he qualified and graduated, he would be the first ever doctor in this dorji or garment-makers’ locality.

Chhappa Haji’s actual name was Alauddin. He was a man of very fine qualities. An aware citizen of a democratic country. He was always opposed to Abid Sheikh. He played a major role in making the Trinamool Congress victorious. He was a stocky man. His principal weapon was his indecent language. The great act that he had performed during the Panchayat elections was extremely significant for the country. He forcibly stamped the ballots on behalf of those who were late in going to cast their vote, or were certainly going to vote for the opposition. He believed that this was for the good of people. Standing in the queue unnecessarily was impractical. Didn’t people have other work to attend to? Besides, it was meaningless to vote for the CPI(M) now. A lot of people thought that was unacceptable. They opposed the action. The police arrived. There was trouble on this score during every election. Alauddin Bhai later, having entered the good books of the party, became a half-neta, and made a lot of money. He got contractor jobs from the Block Development Officer’s establishment. For affluent folk, performing Haj was a form of worship that was one’s duty. He fulfilled that too. And as soon as he entered the village upon returning from the Haj forty-four days later, his name changed at once and became ‘Chhappa’ Haji. ‘Chhappa’, meaning ‘stamp’, denoted the erstwhile forcible stamping of the ballot. But Alauddin didn’t like this name any longer. He had heard Maulana Tahirul say that it was written in the Hadith that no one ought to be called by a bad name, that it was a sacrilegious act. He had told many people about the Hadith that he had learnt about from Imam Saheb. But despite that, the name that he had been stamped with could not be erased from Chhappa Haji’s person. He was remorseful now. He read the Bengali translations of the Koran and the Hadith. That is why the mocking name pained him, and learning about the Prophet’s (PBUH) Hadith in this regard from fifteen hundred years ago pleased him enormously. Allah’s Prophet had said that no one should be called a derogatory name. But these bastards’ offspring didn’t know that. Even if they did, they didn’t comply. Alauddin often went around saying such things.

Of late, he was very intimate with Maruf. People could not figure out whether this was initiated by Chhappa Haji himself or by Maruf. It’s not that people needed to figure out everything under the sun, and so one more person was observed to have joined Maruf’s group. One who apparently said, ‘We won’t follow anything but the Koran and the Hadith.’

Although no one said anything to Maruf, the likes of Chhappa Haji, that is, Alauddin, or Farid, had to confront various kinds of questions. People joked about and ridiculed them.

There was an announcement in the morning made through the PA system in the mosque. ‘Respected village folk, a special announcement. Abdul Chacha’s mother has expired. Her namaz-e-janaza will take place at the Eidgah ground after the Asr prayer.’

Many people gathered there to recite the funerary prayer. Her bier had been carried on shoulders and had been laid on the ground in the field. Rows of people were standing in front of the bier. The Imam Saheb delivered a brief speech. ‘Everyone ought to forgive the dead person, if that’s necessary. And express your intention to pray – Nawaitu aan usallia lillahi ta’ala…’ Alauddin had never been able to learn to recite the niyat, or intention to pray, in Arabic. He got it all mixed up. He inwardly suffered an inferiority complex on this account. Maruf had told him it was utterly pointless to utter the niyat in this way. All one had to do was to have an inner resolve. Alauddin felt a sense of relief after that. Not many people knew this. He thought people ought to be informed. That’s why after the conclusion of the namaz-e-janaza, he said to a person standing beside him, ‘This prayer that everyone will now recite together is actually bedaat, it is not in accordance with the Koran and the Hadith.’

The man got annoyed at this. He shouted out, ‘Have you lot come to teach us religion afresh? Fourteen generations of my forefathers have been reciting the prayer after the namaz-e-janaza. And now he says, “This won’t do!” Bedaat indeed!’

Allaudin explained, ‘None of this is there in the Koran and the Hadith. I recited prayers at so many funerals when I went on Haj. Where? There was none of this there. This is actually bedaat.’

‘Did you manage to read the whole of the Koran and the Hadith? Why are you comparing us to the Arabs? Isn’t their religion different?’

But before Alauddin could say anything, some boy from the crowd sang out in ditty, ‘O byata Chhappa Haji, kore shudhu dhappabaji.’ This fellow Chhappa Haji, only bluffs his way to glory.

Alauddin’s countenance changed colour. He looked for the face in the crowd. He had fallen into a terrible fix ever since he became a Haji. He could no longer employ his terrific vulgarity like before. So he left the gathering and went away. He didn’t even wait to drop earth on the grave. Harbouring a hidden sense of humiliation, he skirted the crowd of musulli and departed hurriedly towards Maruf’s house.

twenty-one

Riziya was getting ready to go to college. Apparently she had to go today. She looked lovely in the long orange-coloured kurta she had worn over white pyjamas. Having just passed out from school, the pleasant-natured Riziya had a kind of look of purity on her face. Like a freshly bloomed shiuli flower on an autumn morning. Having been preoccupied with a few tasks since morning, she had been delayed. It was a long way from Sadnahati to the road on which the bus plied. And then the private bus service to Howrah Girls’ College. She usually went by a Trekker or an auto from the village. But all public transport services had been halted today on account of some problem. Yet she had to go. Salaam Miya called out to his nephew and summoned him. Raqib Miya had bought a motorcycle, a second-hand one. The old Hero Honda bike looked nice, but with age, its fuel consumption too had increased a lot. Raqib was worried about that. People likened it derogatorily to the makal fruit, which was lovely-looking but had an offensive smell. He never thought about whether they said that about the bike, or whether it was aimed at him. Raqib did not allow anyone else to use his bike. On Salaam Chacha’s request, he was going to drop Riziya at Howrah. He wasn’t reluctant to do that, rather he seemed to be quite eager. He had arrived with the motorcycle as soon as Salaam Miya had informed him. But Riziya turned recalcitrant the moment she spotted him. There was no way she would go with him. The more firmly she refused, the more desperate her uncle Salaam Miya became. He pleaded, ‘A fine mess this is! What’s your problem? Why won’t you go with him? I tell you, go. Is he a stranger?’

‘I won’t go. There’s no need to tell you why I won’t go, Mama. I won’t go with him. That’s all! I’d rather walk. But I won’t go with him.’

Their houses were next to each other. They saw one another every day. Raqib was Fulsura’s brother, he was Riziya’s cousin. He was much older than her. They had all grown up together. Riziya hated Raqib. She respected Rahman like an elder brother, but she never addressed Raqib. She didn’t speak to him either. No one ever worried their heads over this state of affairs between two people within the same family. That was how they had grown up. And the more Raqib brought disgrace and disrepute for his wrongdoings, the more pleased Riziya was. She thought to herself, look at him now, what a fine son you have! After all, it was Riziya that her Boro Mami, or elder aunty, had once blamed. Had Riziya forgotten what she had said?

There was an incident behind how matters stood now.

It had happened when Riziya had just stepped into pubescence and her budding breasts hadn’t yet swelled. She was plagued all the time by all the hatreds and fears of that age. A forbidden, curious panic occupied her mind. She had been jolted then. Her Boro Mami didn’t say anything to the one who was to blame, but although Riziya was not to blame, she had to countenance her aunty’s frown of displeasure. Boro Mami had also quarrelled furiously of her own volition with Chhoto Mami, the younger aunty, that day. She seemed to be on the warpath in order to cover up her son’s fault.

Riziya’s growing, restless body used to say something else then. That was the law of the age. That was what attracted Raqib, who tricked her and took her to the attic – and Boro Mami had observed that. Raqib’s Ma was always blind to her son’s doings. She heaped all the blame for her son’s misdeed upon Riziya, and went and complained to her sister-in-law. Chhoto Mami then said, ‘Why do you try to cover the fish with the spinach, my dear? Don’t I know your Raqib? This little girl of mine and he … Chhee, chhee! And then you come marching in to fight? Aren’t you ashamed?’

‘What? A little girl indeed! Don’t we know why you show such pity for her? Are you trying to pass her off as your own? Is this girl dearer to you now than my son Raqib? She’s already been spoiled by you at this age!’

Chhoto Mami was not able to tolerate such talk any longer. This poor girl was not to blame for her mother’s death, was she! She lashed out with quite a battle cry and said, ‘I don’t understand all that, but I’m warning you, if your son ever sets eyes again on my Riziya, just see what I do. I’m silent only because it concerns a girl. I’m not going round telling everyone.’ As she said that, she turned her face away contemptuously. She whispered under her breath, ‘Comes and fights about a worthless son! Chhee, chhee!’

Raqib’s Ma heard that. She began screaming abusively. ‘What did you say? Worthless? My son will do just as he pleases. If you can control your girl, do that! Hey, how do you think you’re raising her? She’s come of age, and yet she prances around brazenly! Don’t you see that?’

Nothing entered Riziya’s little head. The two sisters-in-law were fighting because of her. She was old enough to realize that the nasty things that were being said were directed at her. She knew that her Boro Mami was a bad-tempered woman. Nonetheless, Riziya could no longer remain silent. So she too flared up. She said, ‘Boro Mami, you’re saying terrible things. Let Chhoto Mama come, I’ll tell him everything. You are as rotten as your son.’

Boro Mami disliked the motherless Riziya for no reason. Although she was not a member of her immediate family, she still viewed her as unwanted in the larger household. Boro Mami was under the impression that Salaam Miya was raising her simply to appropriate Riziya’s mother’s property, and that her younger sister-in-law, Salaam Miya’s wife, was the one behind that. After Riziya’s Ma died, it was she who had embraced her in front of everyone. She had merely put on a show for all to see. That’s why Raqib’s mother could not tolerate Riziya. Another reason for that was Fulsura. Riziya was younger than Fulsura, and she was also prettier-looking than her. Boro Mami was overcome with jealousy. So when she heard such big words from Riziya’s tiny mouth, she was incensed. She said, ‘My blood boils at this whore’s cunning. The wretched girl goes to school, hasn’t she learnt anything? Playing innocent!’

‘Why are you saying all this rubbish to a little girl, my dear? Are you abusing her? Chhee! Don’t you have any sense? You say whatever comes to your head to a girl who’s younger than your own Fulsura?’

‘Yes. And I’ll do as I please. After all, she’s not a bull calf, but a heifer. Don’t you need to be careful?’

She stomped out as she said that. And at that moment, Riziya was transformed from a girl into a woman. The sense that she was not just a person but a woman was imprinted in her consciousness. A heifer.

She would never be able to trust any male person any more. She had to cover her bosom and her head now. She couldn’t go out on a whim any more. She had to be far away from the scorching touch of any man. Chhoto Mami carefully explained lots of restrictions to her. She had to remember all the time that she was a woman.

Riziya had not been able to understand whether Raqib really had any ill intentions. He had taken her along to show her the colourful rainbow in the sky. He had said, ‘Look, Rizi, see how the rainbow forms an arc in the sky. Come to the roof, you’ll be able to see it properly.’

Riziya was astonished to see the colours. She wondered where these colours began and where they ended. She was filled with curiosity.

Now that she had grown up, she realized that the rainbow could have been shown from downstairs itself. After all, it was not a different sky one saw from there! Was the secluded attic required for that? What would Raqib have done if Boro Mami had not arrived just as he had grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him? Remembering that now made her hair stand on end. But besides this, there were many more reasons for which she disliked Raqib.

Coming back to the present, perhaps Raqib had felt offended because Riziya had not clearly explained why she would not ride with him. He had been standing in the courtyard. He had heard the conversation between uncle and niece. And he had turned the handlebar of the bike at once. He made to start the old vehicle. It didn’t. He tried again, but it didn’t work. When the bike remained stationary despite repeated attempts to start it, Raqib felt ashamed. The poor chap was perspiring. That provided an opportunity for Salaam Miya to express his annoyance. ‘You go and buy an old vehicle! That’s why Rizi didn’t want to get on it. Did you think you could go to Howrah in this? Wouldn’t there have been an accident?’

Raqib didn’t say anything to his uncle. He gazed at Riziya with a terribly ugly look on his face. Riziya was terrified of that look. She decided not to go to college and went back to her room.

The problem pertaining to the land was getting worse by the day. Salaam Miya and Kalu Miya had devised a fabulous scheme. So that they could have the cake and eat it too. Sending Riziya to college with Raqib was a part of that scheme. The two brothers had come together after seven or eight long years and decided that a part of the land would be sold and Fulsura’s marriage would be concluded. Riziya’s share would not be sold. Her share would be given over to Raqib as joint property. They had decided to get Riziya married to Raqib. The household property would remain within the household. The girl too would remain in the household. There was no longer any need for Raqib to go to Dubai. That land was extremely valuable, that would take care of his future. Raqib knew of the decision, but Riziya did not. They didn’t think it was necessary to tell her.

It was only Muslim men who got married. Women did not. They were married off. She simply had to say ‘I agree’, deferring to the murubbis. There wouldn’t be a problem even if she didn’t say ‘I agree’, although someone like a grandmother would keep pinching the girl’s back behind the screen. If the girl was silent, often it was they who uttered ‘I agree’ promptly. If anyone from the groom’s side protested, they said, ‘Don’t you know, women never open their mouths even if they are bursting to say something.’ Everyone in the gathering would burst out in laughter at the joke. The sobs of the unwilling girl in the forced marriage were inaudible amidst the guffaws. So it was difficult to even think that Riziya needed to be informed. Although, actually, Islam had made marriage into a contract. The complete agreement of the man and woman was required under that.

twenty-two

Tahirul returned from his visit to his village home. There were two more days to go before the Ramzan fast. As soon as he reached the mosque, he saw for himself the ill effects of his absence. The mosque committee had inducted a hafez for the special late-night prayers that were held during the month of Ramzan. The Hafez Saheb was a callow youth with a few strands of hair sprouting on his chin. But whatever his beard may be like, his memorization of the thirty paras of the Koran was supposedly excellent. The people of Sadnahati were practical folk. The one- or one-and-a-half-hour-long Tarabi prayer troubled them immensely. Nobody could recite it. But this Hafez Saheb recited the Koran so speedily that he completed the entire book even before the most special night of Laylat al-Qadr, on the twenty-seventh day of the month. He took only half an hour each day. The hafez, who had been there earlier, was so slow that people were irked. But Tahirul himself was an expert hafez. He led the prayers all five times of the day. So why was someone else doing the twenty rakats of the Tarabi? Besides, he was the imam of this mosque. So, was a hafez employed without his knowledge? Had his importance shrunk so much in just ten days? From his room he spotted Abdul Chacha. He called out to him. When Abdul Chacha came, he asked, ‘What’s the news, Chacha?’

‘Hujur, the news is not good.’

‘Why is that?’

‘You left, and meanwhile I heard a lot of things. That apparently you visit Salaam Miya’s house all the time.’