Tahirul looked at him and smiled sweetly. But inwardly, he was a bit startled to see his own image in another.
The youthful Hafez Saheb didn’t have the courage to say any more. He had said something unintentionally. If the imam of any mosque also happened to be a hafez, he was the one who had the first right to lead the night prayer. He had accidentally admitted that he had snatched that right away from the imam through clever oiling. He was ashamed. Hafez Ansar took out a neem tooth-twig from his pocket and began brushing his teeth. This was a very important obligation. He purified his mouth intently.
twenty-five
It was not yet dawn. The call of the azan could be heard emanating from Nurul Huq’s house. Not the metallic sound of the mosque’s mic; the Fajr prayer had concluded a while back! So why this azan again? Riziya woke up. Hearing the azan from the house next door, she paused to think for a few moments before she understood what that meant. After all, Nurul Da’s wife was in the family way.
Apparently Nurul’s wife gave birth every year. But that wasn’t actually true. She had given birth to five children over the course of twelve long years. A child was not a danger, it was a resource – perhaps this couple were the greatest believers in that philosophy. They wanted to nip in the bud the slogan of Hum Do, Humare Do – ‘We Two, Our Two’. The fifth child was born today. From the outside, one could think a lot of negative things like this, but actually, the matter was different when seen from the inside. The funny thing was that even after having so many children, they were considered to be childless. They did not have a son. Who would carry the torch of the family! After all it was a male child who was a true descendant. That was Nurul’s Ma’s plaint. She cursed her daughter-in-law all the time. But at the same time, she hoped a male offspring would be born of her womb. Nurul’s wife lived a life of self-reproach. She was seized with a false sense of guilt. She thought that it was because of her that the family had no bearer of light. As if that was a vital duty of hers. She had failed in that duty. The poor thing cried in solitude. They had as many as four daughters. That’s why this serial endeavour had been continued towards producing a male offspring. They had visited the court of a living Pir, as well as the majar of a deceased one. She had worn amulets and drunk blessed water. That didn’t work. They had set a flower afloat in the flower pond at the majar in Ghutiari Sharif and then waited for hours. The flower was supposed to go around the pond once and return. But it didn’t, it got stuck. In order to console Nurul, his wife rose cheerfully from the bank of the pond. She had a flower in her hand. It was another flower that she had slyly carried, not the one of the vow. She put on a perfect act and reassured her husband. She smiled at her apparent success. Nurul saw the light of hope. He bought some of her favourite elephant-apple pickles from Ghutiari Sharif.
It seemed they were set on seeing the matter through. Riziya knew about all this. It was from Reshma that she had heard of it. All these private matters were gossiped about by womenfolk.
So Riziya sat up out of curiosity! There would surely be good news this time. Whose voice was calling out the azan so early in the morning? She was curious about that as well.
When a baby was born in a Muslim household, the azan was recited in its ear. So that from the moment of arrival on earth, the true Lord’s name could be planted in the tender heart. Only Allah would reign supreme in the throne of its heart. That baby became old in time, and when he was in a terminal condition, the Ayatul Kursi and the Surah Yasin were recited. But only Allah knew when and how the shoytan Iblis – the one who had enticed Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge – entered the life cycle of the Muslims, in this world of theirs that was directed towards Allah.
Riziya sat up in bed in nocturnal languor. She gazed through her swollen eyes. She asked her Mami, ‘What’s the matter?’ Mami answered from the kitchen, ‘Nurul’s had a baby again, my dear!’
She didn’t ask whether it was a boy or a girl. She hadn’t combed her hair. Her plait was a bit scraggy. She wrapped a thin odna over her head. After that she put a toothbrush to her mouth and walked slowly towards Nurul’s house. The womenfolk from nearby had gathered there. As Riziya reached the house, she heard Nurul’s Ma saying, ‘Hey Nurul, why did you call Maulana Saheb? Doesn’t anyone else know how to recite the azan? Why didn’t you call Fulsura’s father?’
She then rose from the veranda and walked towards the kitchen, declaring in a stage whisper, ‘The boy’s wasting money! And he’s run to fetch honey! Where was the need for all that? I knew what would happen!’
It was customary for a drop of honey to be put into the mouth of the newly born baby by some virtuous, pious person. Nurul had gone out to fetch the honey. Nurul’s Ma was annoyed about that. Observing that, Riziya understood, no, there was no good news this time either!
There were a few women standing in the courtyard. Nurul signalled to them to move aside. The Imam Saheb was coming that way. Riziya felt cheered up. After all, it had been a long time since she had met Hujur. Even after all the boys and girls moved away, she took the initiative of talking to Nurul’s mother. As Maulana Tahirul emerged after reciting the azan, he was startled, and halted. He was astonished to see Riziya there, and was at a loss for words. He was a maulana, her teacher, and so he made the well-practised query, ‘Assalamu alaikum! You! How are you?’
But he couldn’t wait for Riziya’s response, because he was astonished again, and so he donned a counselling air. ‘What’s this! Aren’t you fasting? Brushing your teeth at this time? Don’t you have a neem tooth-twig?’
Riziya’s mouth was covered in foam. She spat that out at once. She smiled wryly and replied artfully, ‘So I did! What’s it to you? Allah forbid me from keeping the fast. That’s why I didn’t.’
And she turned her face away bashfully, smiling to herself at her riddle.
The cascading sway of Riziya’s dishevelled hair and the smile on her face combined to produce a feeling of unthinkable delight in Tahirul’s breast. But Riziya’s retort brought him back to his senses. A woman was forbidden to keep the fast if she was menstruating. That was natural. There was nothing Tahirul could say after Riziya’s reply. Changing the subject, he said, ‘Classes will start two days after Eid. Tell everyone. No more skiving! All right?’
‘Isn’t there a week’s leave for Eid? Do you think anyone will come two days after Eid? Maybe they’ll all go, but I won’t!’
‘Why not?’
‘Just like that! Won’t I go out a bit during the Eid holiday?’
‘Go out, meaning?’
‘What meaning! I’ll roam around here and there. Visit the fair.’
‘What do you say! You’re a woman, and you’ll roam around?’
‘Yes! What of it? Is it only you lot that can roam around?’
In the course of this conversation, a wondrous, beautiful smile was observed on their faces. There was an intoxicated quality to those smiles. Maulana Tahirul left at Nurul’s call.
Nurul’s mother was incensed to hear an unmarried girl speaking so unabashedly with the imam of the mosque. She had been standing at a distance so long, with a ghomta over her head. As soon as Tahirul left, she turned towards Riziya and said, ‘You’re an educated, girl, that’s fine. But why were you speaking like that with Maulana Saheb? Don’t you know about modesty?’
‘Why, Chachi? How did I speak?’
‘What do you mean “why”? Is it right to be coquetting with a man?’
By then, many of the women had gathered again. All of them heard the conversation. Riziya asked Nurul’s Ma, ‘Chachi, I suppose the coal-seller and the street-vendors are womenfolk? Don’t they have eyes and ears too? Are they all hijras? When everyone talks to them in just about any which way they like, doesn’t it catch your eye?’
Nurul’s Ma was already in a foul mood. It wasn’t just one or two, but as many as five girls had been born in her house. She flared up at Riziya. ‘Shut up, you wretch! Get out of here! Comes and gives lectures to me. Get out, I say!’
Riziya left the place. But a question kept going round and round in her head. Why did people decry the birth of a girl child so much? Why did their faces turn grumpy? Had the people in her house welcomed her arrival on earth in the same way? She felt dejected. But she felt a bit better for having met Tahirul. Returning home, she washed her face and entered the kitchen. She felt very pleased that Hujur had fallen terribly in love with her. Since her childhood, she had felt the paucity of genuine, unalloyed love. Not in exchange for anything, but simply out of love for her being Riziya. Someone for whom her existence was necessary. Riziya could glimpse such love in Tahirul’s eyes. Reshma Bhabi had told her, ‘He may be a Maulana Saheb, but I tell you, Rizi, he’ll never cheat you. When someone is God-fearing, Rizi, he can never do anything wrong. If Maulana Saheb wants you, give yourself over to him. Get married. You’ll have a peaceful family life, I can guarantee you that. You’ll be a Maulana Saheb’s bibi!’
Did she know how to give herself over? She wondered about Hujur’s likes and dislikes. Wouldn’t it be nice to give him a present for Eid? That should convey the message.
Salaam Miya’s son was only eleven. He called Riziya ‘Aapamoni’.He studied in Class Six. His name was Ayan Miya. Riziya tutored him. While teaching him one day, she said to him, ‘I’ll give you something, my dear, can you go and give it to Hujur?’
‘Which Hujur, Aapamoni? The Hujur in the mosque?’
‘Yes. But you mustn’t tell anyone, or else…’
‘I swear on Allah. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll go and give it to him.’
‘Not now. Only when I tell you. There’s ten days left for Eid, isn’t it? I’ll give it to you on the eve of Eid. Will you remember?’
During the night prayer today, Hafez Saheb erred in three places. Tahirul ignored it the first two times. After the third instance, he couldn’t remain silent. He made a lokma. This can be done while the regular prayers are in progress. Once the prayer was over, the musulli were looking askance at one another. Counting this, there had been corrections seven times. Was it because Hafez Ansar was distantly related to Kalim Mirza that he had been given the responsibility to be the imam for the night prayer? That question had now arisen. Wasn’t the chief imam capable of leading the special night prayers? Hafez Ansar was offended by that. But could one be an imam due to someone’s favour? Wouldn’t everyone’s prayers be rejected owing to the imam’s inadvertent error? The lokma had definitely to be made. After all, humans were bound to make errors. It wouldn’t do for Hafez Ansar to be angry!
It was one family’s turn to provide a meal that night. And they had packed meals for two. So both the hafez and the maulana sat down to eat. As they ate, Hafez Ansar said to Maulana Tahirul, ‘Hujur, the first twenty days of Ramzan are over. Only ten more days remain. So why are you making a lokma now? Did I do something wrong in your eyes?’
