On the evening of Eid, Riziya went to Reshma’s house. She was the only person to whom she could speak her heart. Although she was not educated like Riziya, her experiential knowledge appealed to Riziya. Reshma was busy feeding her infant then. Not seeing her in new clothes, Riziya enquired, ‘It’s just evening. But you took off your new sari already, Bhabi?’
Noticing her, Reshma welcomed her. She smiled dryly and said, ‘Come, come, Rizi! Where were you yesterday? You didn’t come this side all day!’
‘Oh, it was just like that. Achchha, where’s your girl?’
‘Why? Why are you looking for her?’
‘Hey, won’t she get anything from her Fufu! Isn’t it Eid today? I bought her a make-up box. Just a little girl, and loves to doll up! Whenever she comes to my room, she demands that.’
But Riziya’s banter didn’t make Reshma gleeful. She said hoarsely, ‘The girl’s poor, and she has fancies!’
Riziya was struck by the tone of Reshma’s words. What was the matter? She hadn’t observed her face so long. Why was Bhabi’s face so gloomy on the day of Eid? Had something happened? Does anyone like to see the people one is fond of looking dejected on a day of joy! So Riziya asked her, ‘Bhabi, tell me what’s happened to you.’
‘Where, nothing’s happened!’
‘Are you hiding something?’
‘Not everything can be kept secret, Rizi dear! Can it?’
‘Will you tell me honestly what’s happened? Or else I’ll leave just now, I’m telling you. I won’t have any simui-ruti in your house! I won’t see the sari you bought!’
Reshma stared at her for a moment. Ever since yesterday, she had been feeling laden with grief inside, like a pomegranate tree drenched in morning dew. All it needed was a bit of shaking, and then the tears would rain down gustily. Riziya seemed to have done the shaking unwittingly. At the mention of the sari, Reshma covered her face with her anchal and began weeping. She blurted, ‘Eid is not celebrated in all households, pagli. The joy of Eid is not for everyone. I didn’t prepare any simui-ruti.’
Riziya was shocked. She asked, ‘Why? Did you quarrel again with Dada? What quarrel did you have on Eid day, dear?’
What quarrel! Why the quarrel! With what face would Reshma tell Riziya that! This wasn’t a quarrel that had to do with the secret tussles or love and intimacy between husband and wife. Even if she spoke about that kind of a quarrel, it actually had a ring of well-being. But this was a matter concerning their hapless fate. What was the point of telling Riziya about it? So Reshma wanted to conceal the matter entirely. She coughed to halt her sobs, wiped her nose. ‘Forget all that. Like to have some tea? Shall I make some?’
But Riziya had become despondent. She didn’t want to prolong the matter. She realized that there was no way she would have an enjoyable chat with Reshma Bhabi today. Although she had so much on her mind. So she listlessly put the make-up box she had brought into Reshma’s hand and said, ‘Give this to Nilufa. I’m off.’
twenty-eight
Sadnahati was like any other Muslim-majority village. There was nothing noteworthy here, nothing to invite people to see. Poor roads. It was difficult to fathom whether that was on account of government apathy, or because the village folk did not have any demand for that. If a traveller arrived at the Hindu hamlet and enquired, ‘Dada, is Sadnahati this way?’, the reply would be, ‘Just go straight ahead. Follow the tarred road, there’ll be a turning. The tarred road ends, and the bad road begins. The Muslim hamlet begins there.’
For a very long time, there had been no individual in this village whose name was discussed in other villages as well, one about whom the Sadnahati folks’ chests swelled in pride. Maulana Tahirul was their imam. Although he was not a son of the soil, he belonged to the village now. Tahirul had done something unimaginably audacious. And just as he had been hailed for his audacity, he had also given rise to a controversy in Sadnahati.
Every year, the Sadnahati Social Service Association organized a variety programme to mark Eid. What was that programme like? It was an anti-Islamic programme. People were rapt in song and dance. As the night advanced, indecency and rowdyism reached their peak. Most of the mosque imams were on leave at this time. But Tahirul had not left for anywhere. He was stunned to hear the lurid way in which the programme was being publicized.
After the Isha prayer at night, Tahirul was sitting with Hafez Ansar in his room and discussing the matter of the collection for the special night prayer. Tahirul had led the prayer for the final ten days. So he was entitled to a third of the amount. A lot of money had been donated this time. It seemed Allah had poured money into this locality of tailors. And behind that lay the Imam Saheb’s fervent prayers. Every Friday, they performed the monajaat ardently – ‘Oh Allah, shower your blessings on the business affairs of this village!’ Allah had evidently granted their prayers. The proof of that was now in the hands of the two imams. But just like the Muslims of Sadnahati donated generously to the mosque and madrasa, they did not think twice about spending on the indecent programme. Of course, many people were forced to donate against their will. The secretary of the association was so powerful that even the officer in charge of the police station seemed meek in front of him.
The orchestral instruments arrived from Kolkata. It was rumoured that apparently this year, not one, but as many as three female dancers were going to perform. The excitement in the hearts of the young men was of mountainous proportions. The special attraction was a famous singer who sang in the voice of Mohammad Rafi. In this regard, it was believed that Muslims were of a communal bent. It was not Kishore Kumar but Mohammad Rafi who they loved. But they didn’t look down upon Kishore Kumar on that account. Rather, they felt an allegiance to him, too, as Bengalis.
Although Tahirul was talking to Hafez Ansar, his ears were straining to hear the announcements of the variety programme. ‘Joyful news! Joyful news! It is our pleasure to announce the all-night variety entertainment programme organized by the Sadnahati Social Service Association on the occasion of Holy Eid. The dancers performing in this programme are Miss Mou, Moushumi Das and Miss Priya…’
Tahirul could simply not fathom how in a Muslim locality, everyone could enjoy watching women dancing for them in public. He remembered the Okaj fair of Arabia fifteen hundred years ago, in the era of darkness. A culture of such sinful denigration of womanhood had developed there as well. After all, the movement of the Prophet (PBUH) was against such ignorance. It was through the axe-blow of tawhid at the very root of the depraved culture that world revolution was proclaimed. Witnessing the same ignorance in Sadnahati now was an affront to Tahirul’s defiant spirit. He felt like vandalizing the whole thing.
Tahirul took leave of Hafez Saheb and set out. He met Maruf’s friend Farid on the way. Taking Farid along, he suddenly arrived at the venue of the variety entertainment programme. Although some people in the crowd there noticed him, most did not. The programme had reached a crescendo. He saw many locals in the rapt audience; they also visited the mosque regularly. Tahirul was not bothered the least bit about that. He pushed his way through the crowd and advanced. A teenage girl was dancing on the stage, to the accompaniment of a song. That sight, in psychedelic colours, entranced the audience. So they failed to notice Tahirul. Ignoring the organizers, Tahirul suddenly went near the stage. Those who spotted him were astonished and embarrassed. The unexpected arrival of the Imam Saheb left them bewildered. As soon as Tahirul hopped on to the stage, the music stopped. And when the girl came to a standstill, the audience looked on in stupefaction. Everyone returned to their senses after the light-man turned the light from psychedelic to white. ‘Hey, it’s the Imam Saheb of the mosque!’
All of a sudden, Tahirul picked up the mic being used on the stage and began speaking. ‘Are you all surprised? There’s nothing to be surprised about. You must give me a chance to dance on this stage too. I want to be with the people of Sadnahati village. If those of you who are the organizers of this programme go to hell, why should I be spared? Am I not your imam? Why should you go alone?’
The frenzy of a few moments earlier was suddenly stilled. The whole venue became silent. Not a word on any lip. Using the opportunity to speak as loudly as possible, Tahirul said, ‘Nara-e-takbir!’
The people present there still seemed to be under a spell. No one responded to the slogan. He issued the call again. Only a few people chanted in reply, ‘Allahu Akbar!’
‘Nara-e-takbir!’ he called out again. This time, the Imam Saheb got quite a significant response. And something untoward happened just after that. The secretary of the association, Rafiq Ali Sheikh, saw this as a terrible arrogance on the part of the Imam Saheb. As he tried to snatch the mic away, he said, ‘What madness is this?’
‘It’s you who’s responsible for this madness. Is this the social service of your social service organization?’
The mic was still operational. All the village folk overheard their argument. The audience now split into two. As soon as an uproar ensued, Farid somehow managed to rescue Tahirul and bring him outside. Rafiq Ali was screaming then, ‘Do you think because you’re the imam, you’ve bought us? The mullah’s ambit is only till the mosque! He steps outside the mosque and tries to be a leader! Huh. No one’s leadership will work in Sadnahati, I’m telling you!’
Needless to say, the variety entertainment programme was almost foiled. It concluded after a few songs in the voice of Mohammad Rafi. But where were the listeners? Seeing that something had gone wrong, the singer forgot all about Mohammad Rafi. He began singing a song of Shabbir Kumar so that the Muslim audience would calm down.
‘Mubarak ho tum sabko Haj ka mahina … Madine wale se mera salaam kehna…’
Abid Sheikh and Hasan Ali were the happiest about the thwarting of Rafiq Ali’s programme. A lot of people who had supported the Left for long had lost their footing and gone the Trinamool way. Abid Sheikh and Hasan Ali now said to them pitifully, ‘The CPI(M) is an orderly, value-driven party, do you understand? This rise of the Trinamool Congress is only because they are winning youngsters over with temporary gimmicks. Didn’t you see for yourself? Do you know what the state of the community is because people have fallen into the clutches of Rafiq Ali Sheikh? The Maulana Saheb of the mosque himself had to come on stage.’
The truth was that the CPI(M) did not possess the power to resist Rafiq Ali and his ilk. Imam Saheb had fulfilled that task with a single shove. They went on praising him. Loud, heated arguments continued through the night. But no one on any side could directly badmouth Imam Saheb. The reason was that the imam of the mosque had not done what he had for any personal reason. He had done it on behalf of the religion and the community. And when it came to religion, whatever else there may be, there could be no badmouthing. Because all of them were supposedly upright believers of Islam.
But the association refused to view the matter in religious terms. They thought this was nothing but a conspiracy by Hasan Ali. So the attack was directed on them. An organization in the doldrums by the name of ‘CPI(M)’ had got a gust of wind on its sail and become relevant again. Many people had started speaking in their favour, like those who supported the Imam Saheb’s attack on the stage. But why would the mosque committee be in favour of such quarrels? Wasn’t he employed only to lead the prayers, and not create a revolution!
Right since morning the following day, the incident evoked a mass response. A few people from nearby villages, those endowed with thoughtfulness, arrived to meet Tahirul. The committee members surrounded Tahirul, seeking an explanation. ‘Why did you go to stir trouble there? Did anyone ask you to do that?’
Tahirul was silent for a while. And when he nodded, everyone was stunned. So was this indeed a controversy then? Who asked Imam Saheb to do such a thing?
‘Say the name. Who asked you to create trouble in the village? You have to tell us the name.’
Tahirul remained silent. Questions from various people floated towards him. Tahirul suddenly stood up and said, ‘Shall I tell you who told me? Do you want to know? Will you be able to fight against him? My Allah told me. My Prophet (PBUH) told me. Isn’t it one’s duty to oppose wrongful acts? Let me tell you again. My conscience told me.’
No one said anything after that. That was not just because of Allah or the Prophet, it was the crowd of people from other villages – their astonished queries. Is it true? Is the imam of your mosque so brave? In fact, their intervention led to the mosque committee reversing its decision. They, too, began to feel pride about their imam. It was also indeed a matter to boast about to people from other villages. Consequently, a lot of people came to know about Tahirul. His job became more secure and stable.
