"Talashnama" by Ismail Darbesh

‘What are you saying? Is religion child’s play? If that hadn’t been done, perhaps no one in Sadnahati would be the wiser. But don’t we have to answer to Allah?’

Hafez Ansar knew for certain that he had no answer. He thought the maulana had some other intention. Perhaps it hadn’t been appropriate for him to say the other day that it was by oiling that he had been appointed the imam for the night prayer. One could earn as much as sixty thousand rupees in Sadnahati as an imam leading the night prayer. On the day of Eid, everyone’s hearts were as wide as a river. And all that money was raised within an hour. What was Tahirul Hujur’s motive? To divide that money? It was best to speak directly to him and settle the matter. So as Ansar sucked on a bone, he asked, ‘Hujur, may I ask you something?’

‘Let’s hear you.’

‘How much exactly do you want?’

Tahirul reacted to that disconcertedly. He wanted to get the measure of him. There was no need to speak in riddles in such matters.

As Tahirul wiped his hands after finishing his meal, he said, ‘One-third. And if you think I ought to lead the prayer the next few days in return, I’ll do that. I’ll tell the committee that you aren’t able to do it on account of ill health. I don’t mind reciting the night prayer for the remaining ten days. You can go and spend some time at home. I don’t like taking anything without putting in the work.’

‘No! Let me lead the night prayer instead. If you’re silent…’

‘No. I can’t do such a terrible thing, Bhai. After all, we are talking about the Holy Koran. How can I remain silent, tell me? You make lots and lots of mistakes. It’s a sin to be aware of that and yet remain silent.’

The next day, it was announced at the time of the Fajr prayer itself that on account of Hafez Ansar Saheb’s ill health, he had given the chief imam the responsibility to lead the night prayer. He would return on the twenty-seventh day, the day of Laylat al-Qadr. He would conduct the prayer. The last special prayer of the month.

Maulana Tahirul’s Arabic pronunciation was immaculate, and his recitation style was different. Even though it took a little longer, the musulli felt pleased to hear his Koranic recitation.

Hafez Ansar returned after only two days. Of course, he didn’t seek to reclaim his right as imam for the night prayer. He said to the musulli, ‘Since he’s doing it, let him continue. I feel a bit better now. What would I do sitting at home? And so I came back.’

There was no change in Ansar Saheb’s conduct. Like before, he spoke respectfully to Tahirul. Rather, he was trying to deepen their friendship. Tahirul was surprised to find that Hafez Ansar was all right. He was not of a crooked bent. Tahirul inwardly decided that he wouldn’t take a third of the collection but whatever Hafez Ansar felt like offering. He felt somewhat ashamed before Hafez Ansar.

The human mind had an amazing dynamism. If there were any feelings building up inside, they were expressed in various ways. If all of it remained inside, there was mental anguish. They had to be brought out then. The imam and hafez had become well acquainted within three weeks. Maulana Tahirul had referred to Ansar as an assistant soldier. He could speak his heart to him.

It was a meeting of the Bengal Imams’ Organization. The Left Front was in power in the state. The imams were demanding that a minimum dole be provided. Tahirul was an important member of this organization. There were to be several discussions in the Waqf Board in Kolkata. Papers had to be submitted. Tahirul took Hafez Ansar along. After concluding the meetings, they offered their prayers at the Tipu Sultan mosque. As they wandered along after that, they passed by Siyaram Market. Tahirul spent three thousand rupees there, buying a churidar-kameez. Hafez Ansar was an astonished but silent spectator. However, his inquisitive mind didn’t permit him to stay silent. ‘Hujur, why did you buy such an expensive thing? And who did you buy it for?’

They had to return to Sadnahati before it was time for the Maghrib prayer. They took a taxi. As they sat in the car, they chatted freely. When it came to the question of the churidar-kameez, Tahirul blurted out the truth. The matter regarding Riziya had been discussed a lot. It was natural that Ansar, who was younger than Tahirul, would be drawn to talk about love. Nonetheless, he didn’t think it was appropriate. Advising him to exercise caution, Ansar said, ‘When the mutawalli himself has taken up the responsibility, why are you complicating matters unnecessarily?’

‘Complicating matters how? It’s only after I give this that I’ll know! Don’t I need to find out whether the girls here like boys with beards and caps?’

What on earth could he counsel Hujur about? He remained silent. He only said, ‘Do I need to help?’

‘I’ll tell you when the time comes.’

twenty-six

A peaceful but dense throng of people. The midday Zuhr prayer was in progress. This silent gathering calmed the hearts and minds of the fasting folk. The sun was fierce. The electric fan whirled overhead. That somehow made everyone drowsy. The mosque was a piece of heaven on earth. So it was not unnatural to fall asleep in comfort.

After the prayer was over, many people tarried in the mosque premises. There was no meal coming in the afternoon. There was no hurry to go home. Each one was imagining the plans for the mosque renovation in his own vein. The mosque was to be expanded; it would be extended a lot on the north and south sides. Amidst various speculations, Maqsood Lashkar, who was well known as ‘Terpol Haji’, declared, ‘Where’s the need for such a luxurious mosque? I’m Terpol Haji, no lie ever emits my mouth. At the Fajr prayer, there’s only half a row or at most one row of musulli! Why such a big mosque then?’

His words found support at once. Affluent people had one advantage. No matter what they said, some flatterers gathered around them. Although they only provided momentary support. As soon as they left, they took the opposite line again. One such person said, ‘Haji Saheb is right. It’s a sign of the Day of Judgement, dear, do you get that! Can the Hadith of the Prophet be false? The mosques and the houses shall all be large but the number of musulli will be small!’

Terpol Haji squinted in his direction. Furrowing his brows, he enquired, ‘You’re in the committee, too, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, they’ve just put me there. If they are courteous and request me, can I say no? They put my name in the committee simply to lend support.’

‘Then why do you go on about the Hadith so much?’

‘It’s Allah who selected me for the work in Allah’s house. After all, it’s Allah who is the Honourable Lord.’

Terpol Haji left the place. He was muttering something. How could he tolerate it if someone bragged about honour in front of him! He didn’t think it was necessary to stay for the meeting to constitute the committee. It was lowly folk who had already been selected in advance.

The mutawalli, Haji Burhanuddin, had been unwell for a few days. After all, he was very old. He was the oldest murubbi of the area. He had sent word to the mosque to constitute a committee. This committee would oversee the work of mosque renovation. The mutawalli would give his consent to all the tasks. The committee would be constituted today after the Asr prayer in the afternoon. It wasn’t really constituting a committee, it would simply be announced. The work would commence after Eid.

Muslims had to save up an allowance for their afterlives. An important means of such savings was donating to the mosque. Painting the mosque every year, breaking down the old wuzu-khana, or washing area, and building it anew, and so on. Changing the design of the pulpit and so on. So much to do. Donations from the faithful folk were needed for all that. Such donations were not in vain. On the Day of Judgement, this donation would become a shadow of Allah’s throne and please you. That’s why beautiful mosques, with their minarets and domes, sprang up in every locality. The more mosques there were, the more were the number of sects. Let that be. Divisions and conflicts were the work of the shoytan, not of faithful Muslim folk.

Everyone in the locality was keen that young folk enter the committee. Old fogeys were out this time. But has any task on earth been accomplished by excluding them entirely? Hadn’t the light of the sun fallen on their eyes first? They were experienced, elderly people. And so it was decided that some people would be in the committee, just to lend support.

The name of Maqsood Lashkar, aka Terpol Haji, was not on the list. The main reason was that he was of a cavilling nature and terribly arrogant. Allah had bestowed him with everything; perhaps it was only the quality called humility that He had failed to provide him. Maqsood Lashkar was also a bit modern-minded. He was of the view that there was no need to spend so much money on the mosque. People remembered, they ought to, that this was a mosque. Muslims sacrificed their lives for the house of Allah, and he refused to give a bit of additional donation? He had been on Haj as many as three times for sure, but he could not abandon his miserliness. Although this was only the view of the nasty and the foolish. Actually, it was not that. What he wanted was a school in the village – a school of modern standards. But one couldn’t have a school merely by wishing for it. After all, he had no jinn, like in the Arabian Nights, who would appear with a terrifying laugh, once he rubbed a lamp, and say, ‘Mere Aka, kya chahiye, bolo’ (My Master, tell me what you wish for!), to which he would say, ‘Let there be a school!’, and that would immediately come to be. One could say a lot of things, but doing something was difficult. Who would provide the land for the school?

But no one said such things to his face. How could anyone insult someone like Terpol Haji! He was a distinguished person in Sadnahati by virtue of his son being the only one to study medicine. Everyone knew that this was no achievement of his. The credit went to the boy’s uncles. They were highly educated men from Murshidabad. They had moulded Jasim since his childhood and raised him. And now Haji Maqsood felt proud. That was natural too. Did being well educated in Muslim society mean only being educated in madrasas? Jasim was at home now for the Eid holidays. He observed prayers and fasts. People could go and meet him, to see for themselves whether he had learnt about Islam as well! Haji Maqsood was of the opinion that there was no boy in the locality who was as fine as his son. And, of course, neither a parent like him. No one liked to hear Terpol Haji’s self-praise. Behind his back, people gossiped. ‘We know your son is brainy. Everyone likes his own son and another’s wife. But do you have to go on bragging about that all the time, dear Terpol Haji!’

Haji Saheb had not been able to visit the mosque for the last few days. He prayed in his own room. In these final years of his, he was living with a lot of grief and anguish. No one really kept in touch with him. He sat with the account ledger of his long life and examined each transaction closely. Sometimes they balanced and sometimes they did not. Had he been able to fulfil the responsibility of a mutawalli that he had inherited from his father? Such thoughts pecked at him all the time. After the insults he had been subjected to by Hasan Ali and Abid Sheikh, there were many occasions on which he had thought that it would be best if he voluntarily gave up this post. But that would only lend credence to talk about embezzlement of funds. A fifth of the income of the mosque could be spent by the mutawalli on himself. Perhaps the accounts for the whole year were not in order. Perhaps there had been some misappropriation by committee members. One could not be certain about anything. But there had been a time when a lot of people used to borrow money from him. They ran to him in times of need and calamity, and he never turned anyone away. Many secret financial woes of poor folk had been solved with the help of the fund. Had he ever announced their names in public? Abid Sheikh was so vocal now, but if his father were alive, the number of times he had been able to buy provisions to feed his children with the money from the fund would be revealed.

He felt terribly lonely because he was simply unable to make it to the mosque. He woke up in the middle of the night. He had palpitations. He felt an intense dread within. Haji Saheb knew that this dread was actually the dread of death. He thought Angel Azrael would appear before him at any moment! And later, would he be able to reply correctly to the two angels at his tomb? Once he got through the test at the tomb, it would become easier to get through all the other places. His whole life had been one of dignity and honour, influence and prestige. And having arrived at his final days, he now had to be subject to the angry scowl on the face of Hasan Ali, the atheist without religion! He felt stricken by that.

Haji Saheb’s sleepless night was spent worrying about various things. He had not been able to keep the fast these few days – the doctor had forbidden him. However, he was really keen to do itekaf, that is, go into seclusion. He had sat for itekaf once, ten years ago. He used to think of himself as a man of another world then. Sitting under a mosquito net in a corner of the mosque, he would be rapt in worship. But he was homebound day and night now. He remembered the itekaf again and again.

Was it morning yet? There were curtains on the windows and the door. He looked at the clock on the wall in the hazy darkness. Not being able to make out the time, he turned to another side. Just then, someone opened the door and entered the room. ‘Dadaji, are you awake?’

Haji Saheb replied in a phlegmy voice, ‘Who is that? Oh, Jasmin? I couldn’t sleep all night.’

‘The doctor had given you sleeping pills. Didn’t you take one?’