Riziya was embarrassed as soon as she said that. She never spoke in her native dialect with anyone except her close kin. She tried as much as possible to speak in chaste Bengali. But she had forgotten about that in a moment of emotion. In jest, Tahirul at once responded in the same dialect. ‘Really? Had you come here before, Riziya? Who did you come with?’

Riziya suddenly came to a halt. She widened her eyes, bit her lip, and feigning anger, replied, ‘I don’t know! I’m not going to go with you!’

‘Why? What happened to you?’

‘Because you mocked me!’

‘There you go! This is the common fault I’ve observed among the people of Sadnahati. They get angry when anyone else talks in their lingo.’

Tahirul wanted Riziya to carry on with her affected annoyance. The sight was a very rare one, he thought. He gazed at her all the while. Riziya then said, ‘Everyone has a slip of the tongue like that. But does that mean you should laugh at me? I’ve heard Maruf Da use the same speech. But he’s an educated man. So what do you make of that?’

Both of them laughed heartily at this trivial matter. The people around them looked at Tahirul and Riziya curiously. Riziya fell into embarrassment. She suddenly touched Tahirul’s hand gently and said, ‘Come, let’s go!’

It wasn’t that Tahirul went frequently to Boipara, or the book district, in College Street. Whenever he needed to buy any Islamic books or publications, he made his way straight to two shops: Mullick Brothers and Lekha Prokashoni. When Tahirul crossed the road and brought her in front of the former, Riziya was astonished. So many books! She gazed at the rows and rows of books. There were the books Knowledge Quiz of Islam and Sagor Secha Manik by Mohammad Hadiuzzaman. She had read those. They were in Maruf’s bookshelf as well. Tahirul asked her, ‘Tell me, what books do you want?’

‘When you are gifting it to me, you should decide on that. But, Hujur, one book only. I’ll be happy with that.’

‘Why? Why only one? You’ve got to take ten!’

‘Tell me honestly, did the mosque committee increase your salary?’

Tahirul was stirred by that. He became thoughtful. It was customary to gift something like a love story on such an occasion. Tahirul thought for a long while and bought three books. He picked up one of them and wrote something on the first page. He got the books wrapped and handed the package to Riziya. There was an innocent smile on his face. As they emerged from the shop, Tahirul asked, ‘Do you want to go back right away?’

‘No. How can that be! You gave me a gift, so shouldn’t I roll around in joy on the thoroughfare? Shouldn’t I shout out and inform everyone, “Come, look, Imam Saheb Hujur of our mosque has given me a gift! He’s set out to roam around with me in Kolkata!” How can I be at peace until that reaches the ears of the mutawalli! Hee hee hee!’

Tahirul was dumbfounded. What was the girl saying! Lots of people had said that it was extremely difficult to truly know a woman’s character. He realized that was very true. Tahirul was speechless. Riziya suddenly began to giggle. She said, ‘Come, let’s go in that direction. Won’t you treat me to something?’

They walked slowly and reached the bank of the swimming pool in College Square. Pairs of lovebirds were huddled together on all the benches. Finding an empty bench, they sat down too. Tahirul felt very uncomfortable there. Teenage girls were learning how to swim there, clad in swimming costumes. How terrible that was! He was unable to look Riziya in the eye. He mumbled embarrassedly, ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’

Riziya laughed. Putting down the bag from her shoulder beside her, she said, ‘Hey! What kind of imam are you? Why do you want to leave this place? You just have to look westwards rather than eastwards. You won’t observe anything. As simple as that!’

Tahirul did that like a reluctant boy. After being silent for a while, he said, ‘Riziya, I want to marry you!’

Riziya expressed astonishment, as if she didn’t want another word to be spoken. After a long pause, she said, ‘But I don’t want to!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘What do you want to say?’

‘I don’t want just a “husband”; I want a life companion.’

‘That’s only possible through marriage.’

‘No. It’s not. Haven’t you seen, many people can’t be life companions even after getting married. Have you heard about Fulsura? They rushed to get her married seeing they were wealthy folk. And now her household is in turmoil. Apparently her husband is not a nice sort. He suspects her.’

‘I didn’t hear that! So Fulsura tells you everything?’

‘No! Women don’t talk much about such things. Besides, they are all not on speaking terms with me. But I still get the news. I feel terrible about Fulsura!’

Many people were staring at Tahirul’s maulana garb. A sense of guilt seized him. The imam of Sadnahati was sitting beside a young, unmarried woman and chatting with her. He began to panic. It wasn’t just an ordinary human fear, it was the fear of the religion of one’s faith. Shame. He removed the cap from his mane of hair. Riziya noticed that at once. Eesh! What was this! The hair was thick outside the cap, but why was the portion under the cap so sparse? Was he getting bald, or what? She remembered a picture from the Life Science book in Class Eight. When a stone is placed over green grass, the grass underneath turns yellowish or pale for lack of chlorophyll. That’s because of the lack of exposure to light. Riziya was in the mood for jest. ‘Hujur, you have no chlorophyll. Keep the cap on. It doesn’t suit you to be without the cap. Since that protects you from sunlight!’

‘Chlorophyll?’

‘Yes. But you won’t find that in texts on Islamic jurisprudence. It’s there in the Life Science book.’

‘I know. We studied it too. It’s taught in the madrasa. What do you think of madrasa students, tell me? But am I a plant that you’re looking for chlorophyll? That’s what I want to know.’

‘Are you annoyed? Forget it. But tell me about marriage.’

‘I told you, didn’t I! I want to marry you.’

‘Hmm. All right, let me think about it.’

‘Riziya, you know very well that I like you.’

‘Does one have to get married just because you like someone? Don’t you have to think about the past and the future? I like you too.’

A smile appeared on Tahirul’s face now. He shook himself. A tea seller was walking by. He got a cup of tea from him. Riziya didn’t want any. Sipping the tea, Tahirul said, ‘How many people know about it?’

‘Only Reshma Bhabi and Fulsura.’

‘Amina? Isn’t she your class-friend?’

‘No. I don’t discuss such things with her. She’s a blabbermouth!’

thirty-six

Maulana Tahirul was not like the average imam of a mosque. He was an articulate speaker. People from various villages knew him. He had been an ordinary member of the Bengal Imams’ Organization. But the committee had been reconstituted. Shah Alam Saheb was the president and Maulana Tahirul was the vice president. They held meetings frequently, towards their objective of making the organization stronger and more widely accepted. It was not just about doles for imams; they had many demands. They said this was the smallest endeavour on their part, of the vast canvas of their objectives. But religious conflict arose even in this. These couldn’t exactly be called religious differences, because, actually, all of them were alems, or scholars, of the Hanafi school. But there were many differences even within such a group. Tahirul and his associates were unable to put an end to this conflict. Out of necessity, an unwritten rule had been decided upon in the organization. Which was, whatever might be the religious differences, the imams had to arrive at a consensus. All the imams had the same worldly needs. One imam had a debate with the famous speaker Shah Alam. He did not think it was correct to haggle over the money paid to speakers at religious gatherings. How could scholars who had supposedly dedicated their lives to the propagation of Islam accept this as a profession? That was his question. Together with various kinds of evidence, Shah Alam Saheb tried to explain that this was legitimate. And Tahirul, too, along with many others, supported him. And so, within the organization itself, various kinds of differences were clearly evident. However, one could not deny that the economic plight of the imams was dire. The dole for imams that they were getting organized for was not without basis. And they were not asking for it to be paid out of state funds. They wanted funds from Waqf and Mohsin, which had been set up to serve Muslims, to be used for this purpose. The funny thing was that the munificent Haji Muhammad Mohsin was a Shia. There was no problem about that. So was this demand of theirs wrong?

Although Tahirul met Maruf only infrequently, he kept in touch. When he got the news that Maruf wanted to stand for the Panchayat elections, he was most surprised; perturbed too. How could a young man of conscience like him stand against the Trinamool with the support of the Communists! So far, Tahirul had emphasized that Sadnahati was a Trinamool bastion. The party would fully support their Imams’ Organization. In turn, they too would help the party in finding new ground. That was the understanding. Would he have any face if just the opposite transpired in the place where he himself was imam? Would he be able to uphold the honour of the important post that the organization had conferred upon him? He needed to talk to Maruf. Tahirul went to his house. But he didn’t find Maruf there. He felt despondent, a mild sense of resentment. He had considered Maruf to be an intelligent person, but now he thought that wasn’t so. He had misread and overestimated him. Tahirul regretted that. He needed to speak to Maruf and explain to him how important the unity of the Muslim ummah was. Tahirul set out. The mosque was his destination.

When the Fajr prayer concluded, there was pleasant daylight. Some of the musulli recited with prayer beads, while others recited verses from the Koran in praise of the Prophet. Tahirul hummed the recitation of the Koran. He usually set out for a morning walk, with either Abdul Chacha or Rahmat Saheb. There was a vast field on the western side of Sadnahati. There were dewdrops on the green grass of the uncultivated land. Every once in a while, Tahirul came here to breathe in the fresh air. Many others came here too. They walked and exercised. But he was alone today. And he met Suman there. Suman nodded at him in greeting. They walked side by side.

‘Did you hear the news about your friend Maruf?’

‘What news?’

‘I believe he is entering politics. I can’t understand how someone like him can be excited about the dirty business of politics.’

‘Really? I didn’t know that! So which party has he joined?’

‘It’s difficult to say. But I hear that it’s against the Trinamool.’

‘Maruf’s family are diehard Congressmen.’

‘But he has joined hands now with Hasan Ali.’