‘I can’t believe that!’

‘Don’t you agree that Maruf is making a mistake?’

Suman was silent. He smiled wryly. And then he asked, ‘Do you have a problem with that on religious grounds? After all, it’s a democratic country. Let people do what they wish. What’s the problem? But I don’t know what Maruf stands to gain from this.’

‘That’s what I had in mind. Do you think he will gain in any way? The political climate favours Trinamool now. Would it make sense to go against that? It’s because he’s a friend that one is worried. You should speak to him as well. A widely respected person could fall in the eyes of many people. Don’t you agree? Decent folk don’t get into politics. It’s not for them.’

‘I don’t know about that. But I’ll definitely talk to Maruf. In general, I have an aversion to politics and suchlike.’

‘But they might like you. Trinamool wants a good candidate this time. They want to bring about a change in the state. Everyone seems to be favourably disposed towards you. They may well knock at your door.’

‘There’s a long time left for the elections. Why are these things being discussed now? Please don’t mind, but don’t you think such discussions are confined only to Sadnahati? I wonder why these people are so excited about such matters. It’s only in Muslim localities…’

‘You’re right.’

Perhaps Tahirul was a bit embarrassed. He left after speaking with Suman. Although he was a non-Muslim, Suman was well informed about the imam of Sadnahati. That he was a scholarly man. Suman respected him. But he was amused by what he had said. Although he had said that there was no place for decent people in politics, he had encouraged Suman to become a candidate. Because he was a good man! Why such double standards? It was puzzling to him.

Abid Sheikh was fed up with Hasan Ali’s anti-party activities. He pondered over the matter. The CPI(M) was still ruling the state. Comrade Hasan Ali had announced that the CPI(M) would not put up a candidate in Sadnahati. But the CPI(M) had not become such a political untouchable as yet. One would have thought that they would definitely put up a candidate, even if it was a banana tree. The CPI(M) stood for the hammer-and-sickle on the red flag. People voted for the symbol of the labouring folk. The individual in question was secondary. How could Hasan Ali take such a major decision without discussing it at the branch and zonal levels? Wasn’t that against the party?

But Abid Sheikh was aware that the party would not listen to any complaints regarding Hasan Ali. He was the Comrade Kaka Babu of this locality. They had immense faith in him. The legislator, Moloy Chatterjee, had declared so in quite a few public meetings. ‘There is a Kaka Babu in our constituency, he is our Muzaffar Ahmad. That is Comrade Hasan Ali.’ After that, many people referred to Hasan Ali as Kaka Babu. Any criticism of him would simply not be heeded.

What was Abid Sheikh to do now? Would he vote for the independent candidate Maruf? He was exasperated.

But it was him that Hasan Ali had come to meet, accompanied by Maruf. Hasan Ali was aware of his grievance. And it was because he was aware that the proposal was made to put up a strong fight in all the five constituencies in Sadnahati. But not under the hammer-and-sickle symbol. And Abid Sheikh would be one of the five candidates. That placated Abid Sheikh. After the names of the five candidates were announced, they had to go to the office of the Election Commission. A symbol had to be decided upon. There was lots to be done. But, of course, there was a lot of time for that. Maruf was not aware of all these things. Yet he knew that support for them from the people of Sadnahati was steadily growing. But Rafiq Ali Sheikh was not one to sit quietly either. Although the fact that he had not yet become active was something to think about. Maruf asked the same question. ‘Why is Rafiq so quiet, Chacha?’

‘He’s not quiet. Actually, everyone is ready internally. They have decided on their candidate too. But there is a problem, Maruf. And that’s a problem for us too.’

‘What is that?’

‘Constituency no. 52 is reserved for women.’

Abid Sheikh nodded. He didn’t appear to be too worried. Because he had already recommended his brother’s wife’s name to Hasan Ali. Two candidates from the same family! Hasan Ali was not pleased about that. He asked Maruf, ‘Is there anyone suitable? A woman who is smart and a social-worker type? Women in the Muslim community are terribly reserved, you know. We have a really tough job finding women candidates every time.’

‘We need to discuss that and find someone. We’ll get someone, Chacha. We need to decide soon.’

Abid Sheikh said no more about the matter. Meanwhile, a secret stir was going on in Sadnahati. After all, the CPI(M) was finished. But Sadnahati had not yet become opposition-free. Against the backdrop of the Trinamool Congress’s slogan, ‘Don’t think twice, just stamp on the flower!’, the counter-slogan, ‘Don’t think twice, just knock them down!’ had been initiated. Clearly, there were two camps. The veterans, Kalim Mirza and Rajek Sheikh, who had been Congress warriors, were disgruntled with Rafiq Ali and his party. Could a party function like this? They tried to explain matters to Nazir, Maruf and others, whom they considered to be their own, but they could not convince them. They were determined to turn the tables in the forthcoming Panchayat elections.

Rafiq Ali Sheikh was the deputy chief of the Panchayat. But that was not his sole identity in the party. He was one of the craftsmen who propped up this locality through financial assistance. The much-gossiped-about infamy with which Rafiq lived was largely false. Political leaders had to be very cautious. There were some wrongful demands that could never be tolerated. And whenever they were turned down, they began badmouthing him. Rafiq had observed that a family had five brothers and three sisters. They wanted a succession certificate. But it was the names of three brothers and one sister that had to be recorded. Weren’t the remaining two brothers and two sisters heirs? Did they have to be wrongfully excluded? When such questions were asked, they would retort, ‘Then why did we vote for you and make you Deputy Chief? And do you yourself strictly adhere to the law, Rafiq Bhai?’ He was in a big fix then. They were determined to get the succession certificate. If this had to remain a pocket borough, he would have to agree to such a demand. And that was when it occurred to him that if he did that, that would mean indulging them. They would think, oh, this was a very simple matter! They would later ask, what did you do for us, after all? So Rafiq Ali then demanded money. Money talked, and no one was an alien then. If you wanted your job done, you had to pay for it. He had to spend a lot of money to become Deputy Chief. That’s why Rafiq Ali was never contrite.

But the birth of the party and its growth had been through honest means. Against the CPI(M)’s corruption. Because of the incompetence of the Congress. That was not unknown to Rafiq Ali. He had almost destroyed the CPI(M)’s nest in Sadnahati. They were unable to assert themselves. They couldn’t even organize public meetings and rallies. The last five years had gone by with a smugness on that account. But Rafiq Ali had never imagined that people’s grievances and despair could assume such a form. He thought, after all, Maruf belonged to a family of traditional Congress voters. How could he ally himself with Hasan Ali? It wasn’t correct to look down upon an enemy. So Rafiq Ali, too, had commenced preparations for the great battle with all the strength at the party’s disposal. The elections were about six months away. The formal announcement by the government was yet to be made. After all, the master revealed his true colours only at the last moment. Let Hasan Ali do all the jumping around he wanted to. There was enough time for setting his house in order.

Rafiq Ali’s main concern now was the land belonging to the Miyas. An advance had been received for the thirty-kattha plot. If he didn’t resolve that problem, it would have an impact on the voting. That Riziya was a stubborn scoundrel. She was simply refusing to come around. However, under Islamic personal law, if someone did not have a son, the daughter inherited the property; but his nephews too inherited a small fraction of that property. So Rafiq Ali got ready to buy the sale rights individually from each of the heirs. His first target was Kalu Miya. Once he purchased a portion of the property, the other two heirs would eventually be compelled to sell.

thirty-seven

Allah was the Lord of Guidance. But it was difficult to say who would receive the guidance and when. Salaam Miya, who was never spotted in the mosque other than on the days of the two Eids, was parked in the mosque from the time of the Maghrib prayer in the evening right until the Isha prayer at night. He was reciting prayers. Many musulli prayed using prayer beads or performed zikr when the prayer concluded. But Salaam Miya joined the row of musulli only for a single day. His life was transformed. This was an astonishing incident in the Sadnahati mosque. It wouldn’t have been astonishing if Salaam Miya, too, had left with all the musulli. But he didn’t. One gate of the mosque always remained open. Allah’s worshipful servants voluntarily recited the special Tahajjud prayer in the wee hours of the night, when everyone else was asleep. Salaam Miya was still rapt in prayer. He did not speak to anyone. He was engrossed, muttering with his head lowered. What’s this! Had his eyes also shed a few tears! It wasn’t easy to be tearful unless one was a serious worshipper. After all, being God-fearing was the distinguishing feature of a believer.

All the people returned home late at night. The last one to leave felt a sense of shame when he noticed Salaam Miya. His inner arrogance was shattered. He believed that it was he alone who worshipped till so late into the night. He thought to himself that it was impossible to say when Allah would grant guidance to a person.

There was still some time for the dawn Fajr prayer. Tahirul woke up. If Rahmat Bhai was unable to come on any day, the responsibility for calling out the azan was Maulana Tahirul’s. He would do so today. He had just left his room. But something he saw suddenly terrified him. It was very dark. Yet in the distant light, Tahirul clearly saw a female form clad in a white borkha. Something he had believed since his infancy startled him. Was this a jinn? Tahirul himself rid people of jinns. He handed them amulets. But he had never experienced the real existence of a jinn. All Muslims believed that jinns existed, but they didn’t know how, where, and in what shape. That was beyond them. A shiver ran through him. It was true that jinns frequented the mosque in the dead of night. Tahirul remained motionless. He froze as a wave of terror rose up his spine. He began praying inwardly. He thought he ought to go back to his room. Just as he turned around to leave, he suddenly heard the female jinn whispering, ‘I tell you, rise! I’m warning you! You’ve been missing since yesterday evening. I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I thought you had got angry and gone to your in-laws’ house. And then I heard that…’

‘I’m not going. You can leave.’

‘Why won’t you go? What on earth did I tell you, eh? Listen, this is a mosque, the House of Allah. One oughtn’t to quarrel here. Just come along quietly now, or else it might become a scandalous affair.’

‘You know it’s a mosque. So why did you come here? How come you, a woman, entered the mosque? Leave this place now.’

‘Am I unclean that you’re driving me out? Is it only menfolk who can enter the mosque? Come now, come home, I tell you. Or else it’ll be terrible. You have nothing to do with prayer and fasting, and here you are lying in the mosque!’

After that, she spoke in a placatory tone, as if in explanation: ‘You’ve not eaten anything all night. I’ll explain everything to Riziya. I haven’t told her anything yet. Except that I am not agreeable. But does that mean that you’ll get angry, leave home, and come here like this? Think about the girl, Miya! Come, let’s go home. One shouldn’t talk so much in the mosque. Someone might see us.’

Through the gap in the door, Tahirul observed Riziya’s Chhoto Mami, that is, Salaam’s wife, holding his hand and exiting the mosque cautiously. He laughed inwardly at the conversation between husband and wife. So had the divine guidance that Salaam Miya supposedly received, which the musulli were telling him about after last night’s Isha prayer, not really happened? The Miya had simply got angry and gone to the mosque!

But one thing struck Tahirul. What would they explain to Riziya? Why had Salaam Miya got angry and taken refuge in the mosque? This was indeed an interesting problem! He ought to talk to Riziya about this.

As Tahirul pondered over such things, he remembered that he had to call out the azan for the Fajr prayer. He came out of his room, now fearless. He was not supposed to be afraid of a jinn. He himself was a perfect maulana who had attained the power to control jinns. The entire populace of Sadnahati believed that.

It was the month of Falgun. The air always pleasant, the weather always sparkling. It was this time that was selected for conducting an important ritual – the khatna. Villagers referred to that as ‘mosolmani’. It was customary to perform the khatna when a child was between three and five years old. It wasn’t a problem if the age was a bit more. The khatna had a special significance in the Muslim community. Maruf had no idea how the excision of skin had come to be called ‘mosolmani’. This was a ritual of Muslims, and this ancient ritual coming down from Prophet Ibrahim was also prevalent among Jews. So why was it called mosolmani? Did that mean that one could not be a Muslim unless he was circumcised? A discussion was going on in the Eidgah field on exactly this subject.

People came to this vast field around night-time to enjoy the breeze. This was the only place in Sadnahati where one could take in the fresh air. Small groups, each comprising like-minded people of the same age, sat in circles on the green grass. There were four people in Maruf’s circle. Farid, Maruf, Suman, and a friend of Farid’s from another village, who was also Muslim. The Eidgah field was their hangout.

It was Suman who had asked them the question, because he had received an invitation from Kalu Miya’s household – an invitation to the mosolmani feast. That was like a wedding feast. But the number of people attending was fewer. The custom of doing the akika and the khatna together was also prevalent. Animals were slaughtered at the akika. Two animals if it was a male child, and one when it was female. That also involved a feast at lunchtime, and at night, there was a discourse on the Prophet and lectures by speakers. Of course, Suman had not received an invitation for the night programme.

The following day, the male child bathed and, putting on a new vest and small lungi, waited for the expert hajam. The hajam and the butcher were supposed to be pitiless. Neither of them was affected by bloodshed. Bloodshed was their profession.

A person held the boy carefully. After that, using a sharpened razor, the hajam cut off with ease the skin at the top of the penis. The audience of family members recited the kalema then. ‘La ilaha illallah Muhammadur Rasoolullah.’ The little child burst into sobs. ‘Oh Allah!’ The only person who could be observed to be also crying then was his mother. But she stayed behind; she wept in secret. After applying medication with great care on the excised spot, the hajam exclaimed, ‘Why do you cry, boy? The mosolmani is over, it doesn’t hurt any more, does it? Go and lie down. It will heal. Do boys cry, eh?’

Suman asked, ‘Why do you people get circumcised?’ He really wanted to know. Farid replied, ‘Since you people are Hindus, you aren’t circumcised. But we are Muslims, so we have the mosolmani. That’s the simple truth! Is this any kind of question, Suman!’

Suman burst out laughing. He said, ‘You are a donkey, and shall always be one! How can Muslims have mosolmani? Were you all Hindus then before the circumcision? So do the religions depend upon that?’ And as he said that, he pointed towards his groin. Farid too began to laugh. He thought, yes, that’s right! How stupid of me! He praised Suman inwardly. That’s why he was fond of educated folk. He hung out with them. One could learn a lot thereby.

Suman was aware that the biggest problem among Muslims was that many people belonging to the community did not possess a thorough knowledge of Islamic law, rules and regulations, rituals, or even history. They were like this Farid. After all, not everyone was like Maruf, who could provide a simple explanation for everything.

The khatna created a permanent identity. This was something very normal. But why was it called mosolmani? Why was it accompanied by all these arrangements? After all, the khatna was not essential to becoming a Muslim. It was an important sunnat. Sunnat-e-Ibrahim. Circumcising male children was a ritual coming down from ancient times, a religious custom. But Maruf disliked the fact that this was observed with unnecessary expenditures.

Female children had their ears and nostrils pierced so that they could wear ornaments. But there was no fanfare on that occasion.

Were there any instructions in the Koran and the Hadith regarding organizing such religious gatherings and feasts? Was it laid down somewhere that the kalema had to be collectively recited while the khatna was performed? If a non-Muslim surgeon performed this task in a hospital, was that wrong? Maruf told Suman whatever he knew about the khatna ritual. He also explained that it was a symbol of civility. ‘People cut their hair and their nails, don’t they? Why do they do that, Suman?’

‘That’s a different aspect. But I was thinking about something else. You know what, don’t you think circumcising a male child is like our thread ceremony? A father’s responsibility. When we have the upanayan ceremony, it is perceived as a second birth. That’s why a brahmin is called a dwija. The dwija are those who are born twice. The boy enters brahminhood. Although the two things are completely different, don’t you see a similarity at some level? Perhaps a Muslim boy becomes a Muslim through the khatna. Perhaps just like the gayatri mantra is recited for us, the kalema is recited for you people. These come from our imagination.’

‘Why do you always try to find parallels between these two religions, Suman?’

‘I feel happy seeing parallels rather than differences. It makes me think that we are all actually one. That’s all! We’re the offspring of Adam, whether Hindu or Muslim!’