For the last ten years, she had hidden an enormous truth. That was her greatest wrongdoing as regards Suman. And this wrongdoing wasn’t insignificant in any way. But what was her wrongdoing as far as the village community in Sadnahati was concerned? The educated Riziya had expressed her disgust at some people, and at their false beliefs. After all, she wanted to live with her dignity intact. She had wanted to enter the inner core of religion. And finally, at the time of her grief and humiliation, who had come to stand beside her? It was Suman. Had Suman, too, been subject to injustice? Or had he himself atoned for his sin? Riziya was unable to understand that even today.

Suman had departed from her life for ever. During their married life, once when there was a disagreement and quarrel, she had said to Suman, ‘It’s haram to drink water from a kaffir’s hands. It’s your good fortune that I’m living with you. Remember that.’

Perhaps Suman had felt insulted by that. He ought to have been. Suman had said, ‘Reena, do you think I’m a kaffir? I don’t worship idols. You know that. We are Naths. The Naths, too, believe in the one God. Although we are brahmin by caste, we are known as Jogi brahmins. But we are very liberal-minded, you aren’t unaware of that either.’

Riziya had replied, ‘But didn’t you say that you would become a Muslim? Didn’t you? Then why are you so absorbed in your own religion? Aren’t you a member of the Hindu Jagaran Samiti?’

‘I told you I would become a Muslim, didn’t I! I still want to. But tell me, what kind of Muslim shall I become? Shia or Sunni? And if I become a Sunni, then exactly which kind of Sunni? I too did a lot of study, re! After much reflection, I thought that when there are so many divisions within Muslims, it’s best that I don’t get involved in those divisions! And the matter of Hindu awakening is more political than religious. But you won’t understand that.’

‘You could have recited the kalema and offered namaz prayers. There are no differences among any sect of Muslims when it comes to that.’

‘Do all the Muslims in the village offer namaz prayers? Did your Chhoto Mama do that? Did Hasan Ali? He’s a diehard atheist. If they can be Muslim without offering namaz prayers, what’s my fault?’

Riziya didn’t say any more. Suman, too, wasn’t ignorant about religion. Nonetheless, he had an arrogance about the Hindu way. The educated woman’s eyes didn’t miss that.

Riziya remembered something else. What had she really been for these ten years? Hindu or Muslim? She had misgivings about many illogical customs of the Hindus. It had occurred to her so many times that, since she had come away, she would become a part of this community. She would finish off the very identity of Riziya. She would live her life as Reena. But she couldn’t. The main reason for not being able to do that was her faith.

She had once gone for an outing with Suman to the Dakshineswar temple. He had told the priest there, with quite a bit of joyful pride, about Riziya’s antecedents. Hearing that, the priest had turned grave. The man had spoken extremely insultingly. ‘You married a mlechchha? It’s not so easy, boy! No one can be converted into a Hindu. One can’t become Hindu either. You have to be born a Hindu. We don’t accept anyone and everyone like the mlechchhas and yavanas do. We’re proud of that!’

Both of them were shocked. Riziya got very angry with Suman that day. Where was the need to tell him that? However – did Suman want to boast about his bravery for having married a Muslim girl? After all, she had left with Suman of her own will – although there had been no plan to set up home with him! It could be said that she had forsaken Sadnahati in order to be free, in order to get back at the scurrilous folk there. She used to be remorseful for her impulsiveness. And in those times too, whose face was it that floated before her eyes? Maulana Tahirul’s. It was he who had taught her about the essence of life. Committing suicide was no solution. One had to survive. Riziya had never spoken even to Tahirul about why Suman wanted to take his own life.

A change came about in Suman, too, after what the priest had said. He became even more attached to his religion. Was it true that someone couldn’t be accepted in the fold! And Riziya felt a sense of disgust regarding Hindu religion and culture. It was from that time onwards that she felt an acute sense of loss for the community, the religion, the family, and everything she had left behind. Inwardly, it was Allah that she called each day. She used to shut the door of her room and offer namaz all by herself. Shedding copious tears, she used to raise her palms and pray for long. But it seemed her prayers couldn’t billow past the tallest minaret of the mosque in Sadnahati, pierce the seventh heaven and arrive at their distant destination.

The youths returned after cremating Suman’s body. It was late afternoon by then. Subala Pishi came and held Riziya’s arm. Affecting empathy that couldn’t quite conceal contempt, she said, ‘Come, dear, let’s go to the pond now. There are many rituals to be completed. If those aren’t done, our Suman will come to harm.’

Lack of sleep and food had made Riziya quite weak. She didn’t even feel like standing up. But she managed to say, ‘There’s no need for any of that. You carry on, I’ll do everything myself.’

Subala Pishi flared up, as if fuel had been ignited. She burst out in fierce protest, ‘Just look at the pluck! Hear what this nede offspring says! Don’t you have to perform the customary rites? After all, you aren’t Muslim now!’

When Riziya emerged after bathing in the pond, she saw that a whole crowd of Muslim boys and girls was gathered there. Their eyes were lit with the eagerness of looking at a wild animal in the zoo. She spotted Nazir’s wife in the crowd. Her name was Reshma Begum. Riziya felt a tinge of shame seeing her. Reshma used to be her mate, her most intimate friend. She became very close to Reshma, who had arrived in the village as a new bride. She called her ‘Bhabi’. Riziya thought that, at long last, someone who was her own, really her own, had come to her side, that all the lamentation and wailing accumulated in her heart could now flow out. She went up, pushed away the crowd and, clinging to Reshma, wept. But Reshma shoved her away and shouted out, ‘Shut up, you whore! Aren’t you ashamed to cry? Allah should have killed me before I saw your face!’

Although she hurled insults at Riziya, Reshma’s voice choked. It had been ten years since she last saw her friend. After that, both of them clung to one another and began to weep. She went into a whispered soliloquy, ‘How much you wanted to become a Maulana Saheb’s bride. And you return now as an impure malaun! A non-believer, robbed of Allah’s mercy! Why did you do it, Rizi? Why?’

ii

the beginning

four

It had been three days since the Imam Saheb of the Sadnahati mosque had lost his job. Taking a morning walk at dawn after offering the Fajr prayers had been his main failing. The mosque’s Imam Saheb’s job being lost on account of various such trivial reasons was not at all a strange and isolated incident. That is why it was nothing for the Muslim folk to be particularly surprised about. Even if some of the musulli were disheartened, why would the committee pay any heed to them?

There was no imam; but would there be no assembly in the mosque because of that? In Islam, the significance of the assembly was boundless. It had been declared, be in a group. Don’t move away from each other.

The Imam Saheb would have a day off at the end of the week. On that off day, the muezzin, Rahmat Bhai, was supposed to be the acting imam. But many of the musulli disliked him. The saying that a bumpkin mendicant never got alms applied to him. He was a frugal man. He was, however, the only semi-moulovi in the moholla. Rahmat Saheb had studied for some time in a madrasa. Yet no one paid him any regard. Perhaps the main reason for that was his poverty. His family comprised as many as five children. He went around all year long collecting the zakat al-fitrah, or the obligatory alms, and borrowing money from people. He had to put up with people’s remarks about his debts. He was Rahmat, or mercy, only by name; the door of mercy as regards wealth had never opened for him. He still had the responsibility for calling out the azan only because of his melodious voice. He would be somewhat well-off at a particular time of the year. That was at the time of Eid al-Adha, or Qurbani Eid. He was on the move constantly, right since morning, going from one house to another where animals were sacrificed. He was paid in cash, and his cooking pot was full of fresh meat.

Was it forbidden in the religion for such a man to be an imam? Rahmat Bhai nursed a suppressed sense of pride. If nothing else, he could recite the Holy Koran better than Haji Saheb or any of the other musulli. He knew more prayers and blessings. The cloak of poverty concealed his humiliation. It was not in his fate to be appointed imam.

For the past three days, sometimes Haji Saheb and sometimes Kalu Miya had acted as temporary imam in the imam-less mosque in Sadnahati. The Holy Koran was being defiled with a grotesque rendition in their hoarse voices. They too realized that. They suffered remorse. But they seemed to be helpless too. No one else could fulfil the conditions for becoming an imam. Haji Saheb or Kalu Chacha were compelled to take up the responsibility. As murubbis, it was upon them that this responsibility devolved.

But it was Friday today, the day of the Jumma or mandatory collective prayer. The responsibility of the imam today was not merely to offer prayers. He had to deliver the owaj nasihat, or exhortative sermon, then the khotba, or sermon, with references to the Koran, and finally perform the monajaat, or praying with hands raised in supplication. A lot of responsibilities. Many of the mosque’s musulli were quite disheartened at the Imam Saheb suddenly losing his job. They could not protest. The mutawalli, Haji Burhanuddin Saheb, was a lot like a constitutional president. He was the chief as far as managing the affairs of the mosque of this village was concerned. That was what he was on paper. But of late, it seemed that he did not really wield that power. Kalim Mirza, Kalu Miya and Rajek Sheikh were the ones who mattered. The village was growing, and new problems too had begun to surface. At one time, the entire village consisted of the disciples of a Pir. That unity no longer existed. There were cracks in the village society. In Dokkhin Sheikhpara, a small Waqtiya mosque had come up, ignoring the one in Sadnahati, thereby disregarding the authority of Haji Saheb too. Jumma prayers too had commenced there a few weeks back. So why was there a new mosque? Couldn’t the old mosque accommodate the crowd? Did it mean that the people no longer accorded Haji Burhanuddin the respect that they earlier did? Was there some disharmony somewhere?

The imam was changed thrice in the space of a single year. Vexation in this regard slowly grew in the minds of the musulli. It was after sensing their unease that Haji Saheb decided to send the muezzin Rahmat Ali to a faraway madrasa. Perhaps some scholar could be found there; but this Jumma’s prayers would be handled somehow.

The imam’s job was not such a financially attractive one. But what else would the hundreds of students in West Bengal who had graduated from madrasas do? Peddling a van-rickshaw after graduating as a hafez or maulana was as humiliating for the religion as it was for them. Muslim village hamlets in Bengal were swarming with such hafezs and maulanas. All these educated and devout folk could neither do any petty jobs nor indulge in fraudulence. Where would they get the capital that was required to take up any business or commerce? Taking a loan from a bank was not permitted. Interest had been declared to be haram – forbidden – in Islam; but business was permitted. After having studied the Holy Koran and the Hadiths, how on earth would they have the audacity to conduct business with interest-earning money and seek to buy themselves a place in paradise? It was far better to be a professional reciter of the Koran and earn a meagre amount. There was Koran recitation, there was telpora-panipora, or faith healing, by blessing oil, or water, and there were amulets and talismans. They managed to get by somehow. That’s why one frequently observed their utterly impoverished condition.

The state government had given students who had passed out of government madrasas the opportunity to take up jobs in schools and madrasas. But even there, other things besides capability were required. The conscience of all these madrasa-educated boys, who had grown up within a religious atmosphere, was then awakened. They were unable to commit any major irregularity. The Almighty Allah was closer to one than one’s own temple. He observed everything. Am I to begin my working life by paying a bribe, one wondered. Will I run my household all my life with forbidden earnings?

But some people were so bright and capable that they eventually got the job. They felt proud and kept telling themselves that the one who possessed light would shine even in darkness. After all, the government didn’t give someone a job because it liked their face! And as soon as he got the job, he would begin to receive a salary; right at once, he would fulfil the divine commandments. He would get married. And then constantly lecture his new bride about the proud history of the madrasa students’ movement. He would keep talking vainly about his own capable leadership in that glorious history. After that, they would confine their lives to their family and their job. In time, they would begin to forget that they had a responsibility towards the qaum, the community that is. Relations with the others who had fallen behind steadily became weaker. And so, becoming an imam in a mosque turned out to be the only dignified occupation for all the failed hafez-maulanas. Although the financial aspect was meagre, it carried respect in the eyes of the entire community. The desire for respect is one of the characteristics of human life. It was none other than Allah who had granted them the right to this respect and honour. They then became naibe Rasool – the lieutenants of Rasool, the Messenger – the driving force of Muslim society.

Every mosque committee knew very well that if one scattered rice, there would be no shortage of crows as far as Muslim society was concerned. Just as it was true that it was they who finally decided whether a scholar who had qualified as a maulana became an imam, so was it easy for them to reduce the Imam Saheb to the status of the common folk through the motion of a finger. That seemed to be the final destiny. Word had been sent to quite a few places towards recruiting a new imam.

A number of people arrived at the mosque by morning on Friday. Through service by way of dusting, sweeping and mopping the place, many became claimants to immense reward. Kalu Miya was at the mosque then, as was Nasir Sheikh, a big businessman of the locality. There was a discussion going on about installing a shade in the open space outside. Spotting a stranger inside the mosque all of a sudden, they stopped the discussion. They observed a handsome youth dressed in freshly laundered pyjama-panjabi. He had a bushy beard and shoulder-length hair. He wore a beautifully embroidered round sunnati cap on his head, the kind of cap that the Prophet used. It was difficult to ascertain the age of bearded men. Nonetheless, one could figure out that this youth was no older than twenty-six or twenty-seven. Nasir Sheikh always had a weakness for maulanas and moulovis. At first glance, he thought that perhaps he was the eldest son of his Pir Saheb. He had not gone there since the Pir Saheb’s demise; he had not been in touch for a long time. He felt a kind of awe when he saw the youth approaching. Both Kalu Miya and Nasir Sheikh felt a sense of hesitation. Who was he?

‘Assalamu alaikum!’ the youth greeted them with a lovely smile.

Returning the greeting, Nasir Sheikh enquired deferentially, ‘I didn’t recognize you. Who are you?’

‘Sir, I’ve come from Hingalganj, in 24 Parganas. I set out at dawn today as soon as I got the news regarding the position of imam in this mosque.’

Kalu Miya had interviewed plenty of imams in his life. A particular day was decided upon in that regard and, sitting in a room or on the veranda of the mosque, the necessary conditions pertaining to the position of imam of this mosque were declared. The kerat had to be recited before them. That meant something from the Koran in perfect pronunciation. They were asked about the silsila, or order, they belonged to. He wasn’t pleased about someone just directly landing up in the mosque and asking to become the imam. And so Kalu Miya asked him, ‘Can you tell us who gave you the news? Who sent you?’

‘Sir, a Hujur Saheb from Furfura sent me. He said, “If you mention my name in Sadnahati…”’ 

Kalu Miya did not want to prolong the conversation. That would be impolite. A hujur from Furfura had sent him. So where was the need for any further questions? He courteously asked him to take a seat. Turning towards Nasir Sheikh, he said, ‘Shall we call Haji Saheb then? What do you say, Nasir?’

Nasir Saheb was still in a state of astonishment. He had come across very few such personable and charming people. He said enthusiastically, ‘I’ll inform him at once.’

Haji Saheb came rushing, despite his advanced age. By then quite a few other namazi musulli had gathered there. The youth guessed that this was the mutawalli. He got up to offer his respects to him. As soon as he advanced and greeted him with a sweet smile, Haji Saheb took a liking to him. Returning the greeting, he said to Kalu Miya, ‘Hey Kalu, has Rahmat left for the madrasa? Tell him not to go, my dear. Let this gentleman address the assembly today, what do you say, Nasir?’

Nasir wished the same inwardly. His reasoning was, ‘pehle darshandari, baad mein gun bichari’, meaning, let’s see the man first, his merit could be evaluated later. He responded to Haji Saheb cheerfully, ‘Yes, let him address the gathering today.’

Kalu Miya seconded him. The youthful maulana merely said with a smile, ‘Alhamdulillah!’

Haji Saheb instructed them to make arrangements for refreshments. Nasir Saheb took on that responsibility himself. He was always happy to feed maulanas. The youth had the refreshments, performed his ablutions and got ready to perform his duties as Imam for the Friday prayers. He decided on the subject he would talk to the gathering about. His job depended on this sermon.

Getting a job in a mofussil locality of ostagars, or garment-makers, in the district of Howrah meant an end to his anxieties regarding meeting his basic needs. He had been acquainted with people of this region from his childhood. All these semi-literate folk were as ignorant as they were pious – that was his view. And so, he had to be very cautious when he delivered his sermon. He had been alert from the moment he set foot in the village. Most of the folk here were Pirponthi, those who believed in Pirs, or divines, and in visiting the majars or shrines around their tombs. He had found out about that before arriving here. That was the reason why he had prepared his sermon. A sermon that they would remember, something that would leave an impression on their minds. The people ought not to be annoyed; if they were annoyed, they could not be won over.

Observing their exuberance, he realized that the entire musulli were impressed with his Jumma khotba, his recitation from the Koran, his perfect rendition, and his sermon. Many people came to shake his hand. They behaved as though they had become his fans. The maulana was pleased.

The time for the Asr prayers found the masjid committee sitting around him. He then began, ‘Gentlemen, my name is Tahirul Islam. After qualifying as a hafez, I qualified as a Momtajul Mohoddeshin from the Aliya Madrasa. Here’s my certificate.’

And as soon as he said that, he made to pick up the bag beside him. Haji Saheb stopped him and said, ‘Let it be, what’s the point of looking at all that paperwork! We are going to employ you. But you can’t take too many holidays, my dear.’

Maulana Tahirul smiled and replied calmly, ‘I don’t need too many holidays. As it is, I don’t go home much.’

‘Why? I suppose you aren’t married?’