‘Why must you think that a majar necessarily means it will support polytheism, Maruf Bhai? I have instructed them to put up a signboard with a warning. That doing sejda, or offering flowers, or doing any other be-shariati acts here is haram. Committing shirk will not be permitted.’
‘But that board will become old one day. And neither will you be around permanently. So what will happen after that? Did you think about this aspect? Forget about ignorant people’s talk, but at least you ought to understand!’
Maruf’s rebuke made Tahirul very thoughtful. Would what was possible to arrest in the soil of Furfura be possible to achieve everywhere in rural Bengal? Who would exercise such a strict watch? Had he really made a grievous error? If Allah so desired, all sins could be forgiven, but not the sin of shirk. Was he therefore responsible for that? But what was the option now? After all, the construction of the majar had already begun! Rafiq Ali was building a majar for his own political interests and bearing all the expenses. The young men in the Haji’s household had consented to that because that would enhance the glory of their lineage. But what about Tahirul? After all, he was an imam, the guardian of people’s faith and deep beliefs. Dragging people away from shirk and towards tawhid was his first and foremost task. Maruf Bhai was right. What was this that he had done, merely to be popular and accepted?
Tahirul had engaged in deep self-critique, but he wasn’t able to express that to Maruf. It was exactly like putting a hot potato into one’s mouth. He couldn’t swallow it, and didn’t want to throw it out either.
‘Maruf Bhai, you are very erudite. Tell me what can be done. Was Dada Hujur against all this?’
‘Hujur, Allah’s Prophet (PBUH) himself was opposed to all this. He only placed a stone marker beside the grave in order to be able to identify it. And I know that Dada Hujur of Furfura, too, had been against erecting a tomb.’
‘What do you say? I never heard that mentioned in any discourse!’
‘Yes. Mozaddede Zaman Abu Bakr Siddique was the foremost scholar of his time. The king of the Arabs then was Abdul Aziz. In order to eliminate shirk, that badshah embarked upon a programme of demolishing the majars that had come up in his country. There was an exchange of letters between the badshah and Dada Hujur during that time. In one of his letters, Dada Hujur had apparently mentioned that by demolishing the tombs of elders, the badshah had undoubtedly followed the Hadith. In other words, the badshah had done the correct thing. But Arab people were not keeping beards of late. He had expressed his regret in this regard to the badshah.’
‘Where did you come upon such information?’
‘It is true. Try to find out. You’ll get it. How can you know anything merely by hearing about it? Won’t you read up about it?’
It wasn’t known whether Maulana Tahirul found the time to do the digging up. A beautiful majar was established in Sadnahati. Stringent measures were taken to ensure that no be-shariati acts were committed around it. A musulli was given a tea shop nearby. His sight was always trained on the majar. So that no one flung any coins at it, or displayed untoward reverence.
thirty-nine
Tahirul was most dejected now. Whenever he was stressed out, he would go away to some faraway place, and return feeling somewhat refreshed and fit. For quite some time now, there had been a feeling of heaviness inside him. He had not yet been able to repair the strained relations with Riziya; rather, the distance had only grown. He had gone to her house to teach, and the girl had sat down as usual to study too, but both of them were like strangers to one another. They did not utter a single extra word. If their eyes met, both of them lowered their heads at once.
Actually, Tahirul was nursing a sense of hurt regarding Riziya. Although the whole village had accorded him the greatest honour, Riziya’s audacity was causing him distress. He felt an almost irrepressible urge to win Riziya over. But, somehow, he was not able to do that! A kind of stubbornness steadily came over him as well. Tahirul wanted the girl to be pushed to grant him a place in her heart. He wanted to prevail over her through patriarchal power. He wanted to subjugate her through the authority of religious leadership too. But no, he was unable to get her under his control. He wondered how a woman could be so intractable. An intractable life companion would only create problems all his life! Why wouldn’t Riziya agree with him? After all, Riziya too ought to have imbibed his beliefs and wisdom. Didn’t love mean effacing oneself in the desired one!
Tahirul never took the weekly day off, so the committee agreed to such sudden leave requests from time to time. Besides, with the demise of Haji Saheb, the committee was greatly weakened. And so Tahirul enjoyed considerable freedom now. After the departure of Haji Saheb, Kalu Miya too didn’t visit the mosque very often. The mosque seemed to be bereft of a guardian.
After Salaam Miya took shelter for a night in the mosque owing to a disagreement with his wife, he really found inner guidance. Following the incident, he became a mosque-goer. The apathy that he had regarding religion had mostly gone. He expressed remorse to Tahirul from time to time. Tahirul was glad to see that the fear of the grave had begun to concern him. Fear of the grave, of the afterlife, arose when the person believed in that deeply. It brought faith. That faith was developing in Salaam Miya.
Salaam Miya got his son, Ayan, admitted to the Hifzul Koran Madrasa in order to make him a hafez. But the son refused to go there, and Salaam Miya wouldn’t bend either. He wanted to compensate for the irreplaceable loss of religiosity in his own life through his son. Either become a scholar, or be the father of one – the moment he heard Tahirul say this in a lecture, he had taken a firm resolve. He would make his son a hafez, come what may. It was his son who would be his stairway to heaven.
But a problem had come up. Riziya was very fond of the boy Ayan. How would he stay without his Riziya Aapamoni? After all, he did his homework every day with her by his side. Who else but his Aapa would explain the Maths and English of Class Six to him?
Poor Ayan didn’t know that once he commenced his education to become a hafez, he would be free of Maths and English. There was none of that in the madrasa! Learning Arabic was sufficient to build a stairway to heaven! Wasn’t Arabic the language of the grave and of heaven! When becoming a hafez meant going to heaven without being subject to any calculation, of what value was learning arithmetic sums?
It was regarding Aapamoni that Ayan was most upset. He did errands for her. She told him stories. They teased one another. So Riziya, too, was upset about Ayan. She didn’t want him to go away to a madrasa to study. She had protested, too, saying, let Ayan continue his schooling, there’s no need to make him into a Hafez Saheb. Ayan’s mother too, that is Riziya’s Chhoto Mami, didn’t want her son to be sent somewhere far away. When Maulana Tahirul heard about Riziya’s reluctance, he felt even more vexed. He thought Riziya was obstructing religious education. It was not good to be stubborn in matters of religion. So Tahirul wanted to punish Riziya. He had explained to Salaam Miya, ‘Why should you worry about someone objecting? Be firm. You want to make your son a hafez of the Koran. You want to be the father of a Hafez Saheb. The shoytan always stalks students, obstructs them from going to the madrasa. After all, he is your son, and it’s you who will have to answer for this in the afterlife. Isn’t it? Riziya won’t come along to answer on your behalf!’
Finally, fearing for the afterlife, Salaam Miya handed over custody of his son to Tahirul. He did not heed Riziya’s opinion. He didn’t listen to his wife’s objections either.
Tahirul had admitted the boy in the madrasa a fortnight back. It was as if Tahirul had forcibly admitted him there simply because Riziya had objected to it. Was this an outward expression of his ire against Riziya? Or was it to prove to Riziya how powerful an imam was! That even if you were unwilling, they could take away your near and dear one from you! But only the mind knows what it thinks, as does Allah!
Hirapur, where the khareji Hifzul Koran Madrasa was located, was quite far away from Sadnahati. A moulovi of the madrasa was a childhood friend of Tahirul’s. That was where Salaam Miya’s son was admitted. After all, didn’t Tahirul have a responsibility! So he was going there to find out how the boy was, and how he was getting on with his studies. His friend in the madrasa, Hafez Shariful Amin, had been calling him over the phone the last few days, asking Tahirul to find him a good job. A sani, or an assistant imam, was required in the Sadnahati mosque. Tahirul decided to pay him a visit. He could hand over the responsibility for leading the Maghrib and Isha prayers to the muezzin, Rahmat Bhai.
It was a long way there. He met Maruf at Zuhr time. He had a motorcycle. How would it be if he requested him! Maruf Bhai would certainly agree to take him. Tahirul got the sense that Maruf liked the company of scholars and theologians, although he disagreed with them on many matters. Despite that, he didn’t think Maruf would refuse.
There were fifty or sixty students, dressed in white panjabis and pyjamas. Of course, not everyone wore pyjamas; many of them were wearing lungis with small checks. They were all students of the Hifzul Koran Madrasa. There were four or five rooms. Rows of beds were laid out on the floor in the rooms at night; they were all moved to one side and rolled up for the room to become a classroom. The boys were sitting in a row. In front of them, on a wooden bench a foot high, was a copy of the Holy Koran. Maruf observed that the small boys were rocking back and forth as they read the Koran. There were classes in the morning as well as in the afternoon. They sat down to study in the evening. They memorized a new lesson then. Next morning, they recited that to the teacher, without looking at the book. After that they once again recited from beginning to end the section of the Koran that they were currently studying in class. In the evening, they recited sequentially, a quarter, or half, of each of the paras memorized earlier.
Maruf gazed at them with a strange sense of wonder. They were memorizing the entire Koran with flawless pronunciation! It could take them between three to five years. Some boys memorized it in two years, while it took some of them seven or eight years to memorize the Koran completely.
Most of them were the sons of impoverished families. After all, they could spend a few years here almost entirely free of cost! After that, they returned home, with newly sprouted wispy beards, and turbans on their heads. The turban was a kind of certificate of having become a hafez. It was presented at the convocation ceremony, and was known as ‘dastarbandi’ in Farsi. Maruf was amazed at the extent of their memory. Even the boy who forgot where he had left his cake of soap managed to remember the massive thirty-chapter Koran.
Maruf asked the teacher, Hafez Amin Bhai, ‘Hujur, how do you run this place?’
‘Allah runs it.’
‘Yes, Allah runs it, but how?’
‘The zakat of wealthy Muslims, donations, and fistfuls of rice.’
‘What do you mean by “fistfuls of rice”?’
‘All the poor folk who can’t afford to pay the one-time donation, and those who can’t give zakat, gather one fistful of rice from their cooking pot each day. They donate the rice at the end of the month to the madrasa. That sees us through the whole year. Do you understand?’
Maruf gaped in disbelief. Here was a religion, and the constitution of the religion was the Holy Koran. Memorizing the Koran meant keeping it voiced. The entire community had such a significant role in that attainment. The zakat of the wealthy and the rice of the poor? Maruf was amazed when he learnt that. He wanted to know more. ‘Where does your salary come from? I saw that there were two more teachers, theirs…’
‘We manage somehow. It’s Allah’s kindness.’
Maruf noticed that Hafez Amin Bhai was embarrassed. He wanted to change the subject to conceal their sad plight. Maruf didn’t probe any further. He didn’t want to hear once again about the penury of the hafez and maulanas either. But Tahirul asked him, ‘What are you thinking about? Isn’t this Howrah district?’
They were invited for dinner at night. Once they sat down to eat, Maruf realized how unbearable things were! Although they had made some additional arrangements for the visitors, the food seemed to be reluctant to go down his throat. Unnoticed by anyone, Maruf’s eyes glistened as he cast them at the plates of the students. Could one survive in this way? The people of a community struggled in this way solely to be custodians of the Holy Koran! Where did they derive that strength from? Didn’t he need to do something to improve their predicament? He felt terribly helpless.
Tahirul called Ayan and hugged him. Some food items had been sent for him from his house, so he gave him those too. And he gave him some advice. Work hard, don’t be naughty … all that. Ayan neither smiled nor cried. He didn’t say much either. He began to leave with the packet of food, in the same way he had come, silent, with his head somewhat lowered. Maruf was observing them from a little distance. He thought the boy nursed a deep sense of hurt, as regards the Imam Saheb. As soon as Tahirul called him back, the boy turned around and retorted, ‘Just you see, Hujur, I won’t deliver what you give secretly to Aapamoni! Never!’
