"Talashnama" by Ismail Darbesh

‘What’s your great hurry? Why don’t you stay a bit longer, Niyamat! We can’t begin until the transport people arrive. You can drop these ten sacks. I’ll give you a thousand rupees immediately after that. Is that a meagre amount?’

But Niyamat was obstinate. He wanted to leave at once. He was only waiting for Maruf’s assent. Maruf was annoyed now. Didn’t the man have a sense of responsibility? Whom would he find now in a market that was nearly closed? He said, ‘Look, Niyamat, there are plenty of porters in the market. But why do I call you? Because you are poor, and a Muslim.’ And then, teasing him playfully, he said, ‘Even though you neither pray nor fast. Do you? Why do you think I call you and give you work? Because you are from our Imam Saheb’s village.’

Perhaps Niyamat was a bit embarrassed by that. In fact, Maulana Tahirul’s village was far away from his village. Someone or the other had recommended him to Maruf. That was the extent of his acquaintance with him.

Niyamat began trying to think of a justification for not observing prayers and fasts. And then he said, ‘I know that. I can’t fast when I work as a porter. I get very thirsty. And we are ignorant folk. What do we know of prayer?’

‘Forget about that. Why don’t you stay on for a while? You said you earned twelve hundred rupees in the last two days. How is that enough? If you stay on for a couple of hours, at least you’ll earn a thousand rupees. You’ll go back home with twenty-two hundred rupees. All right?’

‘No, Dada, I don’t want to disregard you, but I have a lot of work at home. My daughter and son-in-law are all coming to visit. I have to make purchases. After all, Allah granted me a thousand or twelve hundred rupees the last two days! That’s enough for me! I’m off.’

‘Why are you in such a terrible hurry?’

‘There’s a programme in my village! A Pirzada Hujur will be coming. It’s the biggest gathering in our village. Didn’t I tell you about it last week? I’ve been assigned the responsibility of cooking. So there’ll be a problem if I don’t go. Twenty-five pots of biryani will be cooked today. It must have begun by now.’

‘Is it only you who will do the cooking?’

‘Is it ever done by just one person? What on earth are you saying! There will be lots of people. I’ve been given the task of fetching things. Bringing water, firewood, and so on. I don’t know how to cook!’

‘How much will they pay you?’

‘Pay me? Why would they pay me? It’s the village programme. The hujurs will be coming. How can one ask for money?’

‘Hmm. All right, go.’

Niyamat left. Maruf sat all by himself in his shop. He kept pondering over the reasons for Niyamat’s poverty. Why was he in such a dire state when he worked like a mule? Was it because he was injudicious? Or was it fate? How could he engage in any financial planning with his meagre earnings!

Niyamat was present at the haat the following week. Observing the hard work of a porter was a hair-raising experience. He was drenched in perspiration. Porters carried loads far heavier than their own body weight. Niyamat hovered around as Maruf was shutting his shop for the week. He swept the shop without being asked to. He fetched tea from downstairs. And then when he thought it appropriate, he said, ‘You have to lend me a thousand rupees this week. I’m in a terrible fix.’

‘Why? What do you need the money for?’

‘I promised to pay five thousand rupees!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When I sat down to hear the programme, I saw that the Hujur was collecting donations. They are going to build a madrasa somewhere. Everyone put up their hands promptly. The Hujur spoke so wonderfully that I couldn’t help myself. I too put up my hand and promised to pay five thousand rupees in the name of my father. After all, I can’t do anything to honour his name. My father left this world ten years ago. I wonder how he’s doing in his grave. That’s why I donated in his name, so the merit would protect my father there. After all, the money isn’t going down the drain! It’s getting recorded in God’s ledger.’

After a slight pause, he continued in a low voice, ‘The good thing is that I don’t have to give it all at once. Hujur said that those who can’t pay it in one go can pay it in instalments to Osman Bhai. He will deliver them to the madrasa.’

Maruf was stunned. He was reminded of the Bengali adage about giving away one’s pot of stale rice to get a pinch of salt to eat that with, to refer to a hand-to-mouth existence. The fear of aajaab, or punishment, of one’s father who was lying in his grave, was put into the minds of these folk in order to…

‘If you want to make a donation, that’s fine. But why are you borrowing it from me, Niyamat?’

‘But I’m not using that for the donation! I’ve already donated a thousand rupees, in cash, from the money I got last week. I bought provisions on credit. So don’t I have to repay that?’

Maruf gazed speechlessly at Niyamat. He felt terribly angry. But for some reason he couldn’t direct his anger at Niyamat. His rage was transforming into compassion. He gave Niyamat a thousand rupees. He said, ‘Here you are, Niyamat. You don’t have to give it back. But give me your word that you won’t pay the remaining four thousand rupees of the donation you promised them.’

Niyamat was silent. It seemed he was in a dreadful dilemma for having been told to do something so untoward. He couldn’t figure out what to say. He took the money and said, ‘It’ll be a big sin, Dada, it will mean going back on my word! I gave my word to Hujur. Would it be right?’

forty-five

After the gathering at the mosque for the Asr prayer in the afternoon, Maruf went to the Imam Saheb’s room. He had come just like that. Imam Tahirul had just concluded the prayer and entered his room. There was anguish writ large on his face. But Maruf ignored that. He plopped down on a chair. He mentioned the incident with Niyamat at Monglahaat yesterday. And in that context, he said, ‘Can you tell me what the fundamental problem in the Muslim community is, Hujur?’

Maulana Tahirul couldn’t display much interest in Maruf’s query. He removed his cap and almost flung it away. He wished to be alone now. But it was Maruf Bhai who had come to his room. Although he didn’t wish to talk, out of courtesy he replied, ‘Why don’t you tell me, Maruf Bhai!’

‘I think the fundamental problem in the Muslim community is a lack of understanding as regards what constitutes their fundamental problem. Everyone should first come together and agree on the problems underlying their plight. It’s only then that the fundamental problem can be solved.’

Maulana Tahirul was getting annoyed with Maruf. He was having to suppress that annoyance as much as possible and listen to Maruf. He was talking about problems and suchlike, but it was as if Tahirul couldn’t hear Maruf. He did hear him, but he was unable to devote his mind to what was being said. He inwardly wished Maruf would leave his room at once, but he couldn’t say so. He had no interest in discussing religion, or in exchanging courtesies or pleasantries. Didn’t Maruf realize his state of mind? Perhaps he did, or perhaps most people didn’t want to pay heed to the Imam Saheb’s state of unhappiness. Imam Sahebs spent the whole day in thought. Their thoughts had to always be directed towards Allah. So could they afford to be unhappy? Or perhaps Maruf had a clue regarding the cause of his unhappiness; but unless Tahirul said something from his end, how could he probe into that? What was wrong with Tahirul?

Tahirul excused himself on the pretext of a headache.

Riziya was not informed about the proposal by people at home. Salaam Miya didn’t think that was particularly necessary. Riziya learnt about it from Fulsura. Fulsura had come to her father’s house some days back. Her life, too, had turned stormy in the last few days. Now she was setting up home anew.

Riziya’s marriage to Raqib was almost a certainty. Durga Puja was two months away. On account of the workload before the Puja, a major event like a wedding couldn’t quite take place in Sadnahati. So it would be carried out after Durga Puja.

Riziya was stunned to hear about it. It was like someone had poured molten lead into her ears. She felt agitated inside. After hearing about it yesterday, she didn’t get even a wink of sleep all night. She felt terribly helpless. She suddenly remembered that she was an orphan, sheltering in the Miya household. She was motherless, all alone, bereft in every way, and cursed by fate. Fulsura understood her state of mind. She consoled her. She said, ‘We accept what’s in our fate, Rizi. Just watch, it’ll all work out. Perhaps you will make a man of Chhot Da. That’s what Allah wishes. Don’t be sad. After all, you’ll be in the same household. What’s wrong with that?’

Fulsura left. Perhaps she felt embarrassed in Riziya’s presence. Riziya sensed an anguished appeal in Fulsura’s consolation, so that she would agree to the marriage.

In the dead of night, her Chhoto Mami came and stood at her bedside. Riziya was still awake. Her Mami patted her adoringly. She gazed at her for a long while. After that, she said tenderly, ‘Are you viewing me too as an enemy, child? But I’m not in favour of this marriage. As soon as word about Imam Saheb got around, your Chhoto Mama was furious. He decided on your marriage in a hurry. After all, it’s what Allah has in store for you that’ll happen, isn’t it, child?’

Riziya didn’t say a word. Not even when her Chhoto Mami began to weep as she spoke. After a while, her Mami left. Riziya wondered – Raqib was going to be her husband! She not only feared him, but he also produced a sense of revulsion in her that made her nauseous. Would she have to marry the same Raqib and spend all her life with him? Is this what was called fate? Had humankind unwittingly submitted itself to the workings of fate? Or did the creature endowed with intellect, that was called a human, possess its own free will? Through which one could control oneself? Riziya could not understand why everyone viewed her marriage to Raqib as her fate, or destiny. Was fate itself man-made? What would happen if she was unwilling?

She was acquainted with his character from her childhood. Whether anyone knew it or not, the fact was that Riziya felt terrified every moment she was in his presence.