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.’
‘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.’
