‘What about college? It’s just a year more before you graduate. Can you tell me why you people are so taken up with the business of marriage? Are you in a hurry?’

‘Yes.’

Suman was astonished. He couldn’t accept that such a clever student would drop out of college like this. As it is, the girls in Muslim hamlets paid no attention to education. Riziya was an exception. So had she, too, finally got obsessed with the same old marriage-and-family routine? Suman said, ‘So it’s the end of your studies after marriage. But listen, when you people have decided to get married, you could have avoided all the disgrace. You don’t step out anywhere, so you don’t know. I don’t like what I hear.’

‘Why? Why don’t you like what you hear?’

Suman was silent. How could he explain to Riziya why he was anguished by her disgrace? Suman’s mind was suddenly filled with softness. He stopped eating and merely said, ‘Are you really going to marry Imam Saheb? Won’t you stay any longer in Sadnahati? I mean, here I am talking to you, is this the last time then? The very thought pains me!’

Riziya was surprised to hear such emotional talk from Suman. Why would the anguish of separation over her getting married or leaving for her in-laws’ house affect Suman Da? After all, so many hundreds of his female students had got married. When those girls came from their in-laws’ house to visit and encountered Suman Da on the road, they smiled and enquired, ‘Dada, how are you?’, and Suman Da only smiled back and replied that he was doing well – that was all. But when it came to Riziya, he seemed to be acting differently in response to what she had said. Riziya thought, oh, so I’m not so insignificant, at least someone will be sad when I go away. The thought pleased her. She said, ‘Why should it be the last time, Dada?’

‘Oh my God! You will be the Imam Saheb’s borkha-clad wife. I’ll only be able to see your eyes. I won’t even be able to recognize you. Besides, we are Hindu. And if you speak to any Hindu…’

‘Is that what’s on your mind? What rubbish! Of all the things … Won’t I be able to recognize you? Dada, do you think anyone thinks of you as a Hindu? Why do you say such things? The girl who gets a man like you will be truly fortunate.’

Suman and Riziya’s conversation could not continue. Salaam Miya suddenly entered the house in a flurry. There was a look of panic on his face. He sat down with a thump on the floor of the veranda. He held his face in his hand and said, ‘You’ve ruined us, Rizi. Ruined us.’

Suman was dumbfounded. He asked, ‘What happened, Kaka? What’s the problem?’

‘Unbelievable! This girl has devoured every shred of my dignity! There’s a terrible commotion at the mosque. Abid Sheikh and Rafiq Ali are fighting it out. I think it’s turned into a CPI(M) versus Trinamool matter. It’s about Imam Saheb. And at the root of it all is this wretch, my niece, dear Teacher. There’s trouble at the mosque regarding Riziya. What am I to do now! Alas!’

Riziya stood still, like a statue. Suman gulped down a glass of water and hurried out of the house. Riziya observed his departure. But the very next moment, she felt saddled with shame, fear and diffidence. She somehow managed to slip into her room and latched the door.

Abid Sheikh had been furious with Tahirul anyway. The imam of a locality ought to be impartial always. Everyone was equal as far as he was concerned. But Imam Saheb had an excessive weakness towards Rafiq Ali, who was the main leader of this area. And so, even if one kept aside religious matters, no one had the courage to say anything against Tahirul. But Abid Sheikh had the courage. Notwithstanding the fact that he was the leader of a defeated party, he did his best to keep up the pressure, however marginal that was. It was he who caused the first public explosion, at a tea shop. He screamed out, ‘He declares fatwas! Rubbish! No funerary prayers for Hasan Ali, no to this, and no to that. All that is supposed to be against religion. Then what about an assignation with a woman at night, eh! Let’s hear who will declare a fatwa now! Can people pray behind him any longer? Why are all your lips sealed now! Give me an answer!’

There were all kinds of people at the tea shop. One of them said, ‘You can’t say such nasty things about Imam Saheb. What proof do you have?’

‘What the hell do you mean by proof? Don’t two and two add up to four? It’s as simple as that.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’ve got an axe to grind with him, Abid Bhai.’

‘Yes, think of it like that. But I’m telling you clearly, we can’t have this Maulana Saheb in Sadnahati any longer. Those who support him will also be doing wrong.’

‘Who are you to decide that?’

While this argument was taking place out in the open in the evening, Tahirul and Rafiq Ali Sheikh were sitting in front of each other in Tahirul’s room. He asked him directly, ‘Hujur, you tell us. What do you have to say about this?’

Tahirul seemed to have lost the power of speech. What kind of test was Allah subjecting him to! He was in this predicament today because of greed and infatuation. He had wept copiously in prayer and supplication. But today, it was the first time he broke down. He held Rafiq Ali’s hands and kept saying, ‘I’m completely innocent. Believe me. That is if you believe me.’

Rafiq Ali was moved by his tears. He said, ‘I’ll pull out the Adam’s apple of those who are going around spreading falsehoods and indulging in character assassination, just you watch!’

‘I don’t want there to be any trouble on my account. Listen, Rafiq Bhai…’

Rafiq didn’t pay any heed to his words. He rushed out of the room. He suddenly appeared at Chacha’s tea shop. Abid Sheikh was still blustering there. He was much older than Rafiq, and a political rival. Once Rafiq arrived, Abid was quiet. Rafiq said, ‘What happened? Let’s see you telling me. You were saying all kinds of things about Maulana Saheb, let’s hear that.’

‘Why should I be afraid of anyone when I’m telling the truth? We can’t have a Maulana Saheb who lacks character. That’s all.’

Rafiq Ali Sheikh was incensed. He grabbed Abid Sheikh’s collar. He said, ‘“Lacks character”? Who was that again? Let’s see you saying that again!’

Factionalism had afflicted the majar of Haji Saheb. But this time, it wasn’t exactly political. It had to do with clan conflict, a bit of politics, and most of all, religious sentiment. Taken together, Bakri Eid in Sadnahati turned out to be an extremely noisy affair.

Meanwhile, after examining everything, Suman again rushed to the Miya house. He went to Riziya’s door and called her, ‘Riziya! Rizi! This is your Teacher, Suman Da. Please open the door.’

Suman banged on the door again and again, but there was no response from Riziya. He was dumbfounded. Suspicion took wing in his mind. Had the girl done something terrible! She was too young to decide on right and wrong, and her situation too was a complicated one. He called out to her a few more times. There was no response from inside. Suman wondered where Salaam Kaka or Kakima were, but Kakima came rushing just then. She was upset and began howling. She had come running from the kitchen, hearing the banging on the door and Suman’s cries.

‘What’s happened, Teacher? Why isn’t my Rizi opening the door?’ She too kept knocking on the door. ‘Rizi, hey Rizi, please open the door, child.’

Suman asked Rizi’s Kakima, ‘Shall I break open the door?’

‘How can you do that all by yourself? Wait, let me call Rahman from the other house.’

The window of the room suddenly opened as they were conversing. Suman and Rizi’s Mami turned to look. They saw Riziya’s face through the open window. She looked stoic and serene; there was no sign of any dangerous panic on her face, as if nothing serious had happened to her. But Suman was overly curious, and also annoyed. He went closer, and with an air of demanding explanation, said, ‘Didn’t you hear me calling you? What were you doing, eh?’

‘I was calculating, Dada.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You taught me algebra, arithmetic, theorems and proofs. I learnt all that too. But the balance sheet of life is extremely complicated, Dada. Why am I not able to reconcile it? Can you tell me that, Dada?’

But before Suman could say anything, Riziya broke down in tears. However, the distraught look on Riziya’s Mami’s face was gone. It was now turning angry. She moved forward and, addressing Riziya, said, ‘Will you stop this drama now, Rizi? I don’t like it. Why are you making all this fuss? I used to boast so much about you to everyone. I used to say, Rizi is our scholar girl. And then you turn out like this! Chhee, chhee!’

Riziya had never imagined her Chhoto Mami glowering at her like this. She had always taken her for granted. That her Chhoto Mami would only continue to love her at all times and under any circumstances. Riziya neither hated her, like she did her Boro Mami, nor respected her like her own Ma. But her Chhoto Mami was the only person in the family on whom she had utmost trust. A naive housewife. Hearing her Mami foul-mouthing her like this, Riziya was hurt, and she pushed the open window shut with a bang. Turning to Suman, who was a witness, Chhoto Mami exclaimed, ‘Did you see that, Teacher! Did you see that! Did you see her temper? That’s why I could never say anything. Do you think I didn’t know? She digs her own grave, and then shows me her temper!’

Suman did not reply. He exited the house slowly. He felt terribly depressed.

fifty-six

Discussions and vilification continued all night long. Altercation. Conflict. Rafiq Ali Sheikh’s party was now in a position of strength. So Abid Sheikh had to eat humble pie. But he had to take revenge, and he was successful in that regard. What had to be decided upon now was whether Maulana Tahirul could carry out his duties as an imam following such a loss of face.

After attending and blessing the ritual slaughter in one household after another all day and conducting the Maghrib prayer at dusk, Maulana Tahirul had just sat down for supper. Rafiq Bhai arrived. And that made Tahirul’s heart palpitate in panic over impending ignominy. Did he really have any inkling about the Muslim populace? Most of them were given to indulging in rumours. He knew that no one would try to get to the bottom of the matter. Perhaps it was very easy to mislead them. Stones could well be hurled at his door at any moment – together with abuses. They would not worry about the imam’s dignity and honour then. Their only rationale being, whatever else befell a person involved in a scandal, he was definitely not worthy of being an imam. And such thinking was quite natural. After all, it was true that an imam had to be spotlessly clean. Alas! What a calamity Riziya had caused! Perhaps Tahirul had submitted to her love for so long. But what ought he to do right now? He was cloaked in gloom. As if all his strength had finally been snatched away by someone. Was all his knowledge and wisdom of no avail now? Had the immense hypnotic power that the position of imam carried been destroyed! He needed to exit Sadnahati. But he was scared to leave as well. He was scared to leap once again, in all uncertainty, into the ocean of life. It was uncertain indeed! There was no dearth of mosques on the soil of rural Bengal. But where would he get the kind of financial assistance that he did in Sadnahati? Besides, although one could continue to live with the bad name, there was no way he could be a counsellor to the community. But he wanted to live with his head held high. He wanted to live life as one should.

Maulana Tahirul Islam was the imam of Sadnahati. He arrived at a decision in his mind. No! No longer in Sadnahati, by no means. He could have candidly admitted to being at fault in Riziya’s stead. But in that event, he would have to forfeit his position as Imam. After a lot of thought, Tahirul sat down to write two short letters. One was addressed to the ordinary musulli of Sadnahati, the other one was to Maruf Sheikh. There was still a week left for Maruf to return. He could hand over the letter for Maruf to the muezzin, Rahmat Bhai. He felt he ought to explain matters to Maruf – only he would understand. He was certain about that. But Tahirul did not want to flee. He only wanted to leave. There was a vast difference between fleeing and leaving. Fleeing was tantamount to destroying and wiping out all the esteem and respect that he had earned in Sadnahati. And if it had been a case of simply leaving the place, even if some people resented that, he was certain to get the sympathies of some others. That’s why Tahirul was waiting for the Fajr prayer. He tore up the letter addressed to the musulli. There was no need for it. It was Friday today. He would instead provide his explanation during his sermon at the mass gathering for the noontime prayer.

Tahirul was most relaxed in the morning. Some of the musulli wanted to come up to him in a show of obsequiousness. Tahirul could infer a lot of things from the curious look on their faces. His face turned red in embarrassment. But he returned their greetings with a smile.

There was a huge crowd of Sadnahati folk at the mass prayer at noon today. Whether in honour of Eid which concluded yesterday, or out of curiosity regarding the Maulana Tahirul yarn, the mosque was bursting at the seams. Many people had come for the prayer well in advance. Standing at the pulpit, Tahirul cast a glance at the crowd. He recited from the Koran first, before beginning his regular sermon, or speech. The subject of his speech was slander. Character assassination. Gossip. If a Muslim gossiped about another Muslim, that was akin to devouring the flesh of his dead brother. If a person who was overcome with suspicion made up false allegations about someone, then he was deemed to have committed a major sin. He would certainly be a denizen of jahannam – hell. The time available for a speech at the Friday prayer was very limited. After that would come the sermon. But even within the limited time, Tahirul’s voice steadily turned ever more euphonious. It seemed this was the spectacle the musulli had come to witness. They stirred and sat upright. Perhaps they were fortunate to have been present in the mosque. They wanted to listen to him with full attention. All that Tahirul said, in an impassioned voice, was:

‘I have something personal to say to my beloved brothers of Sadnahati. I shall be brief. I want to take leave of you. Explaining why and so on goes against my sense of dignity. Please don’t ask me about it. All I want to say is, please don’t request me to stay on here. If I was at fault, I would not have taken your leave and left, I would have fled in the darkness of night.’ After saying just this much, Tahirul broke into tears as he stood at the pulpit of the mosque. The very man who, all these days, had himself wept as he described the unseen and faith-based horrors of hell, and moved others to tears thereby, was weeping today for wholly worldly reasons. Many regarded this as very real and poignant. Many were touched deeply by the imam’s tears. A conviction was born in them: our Hujur is sinless, clean and pure.

Once Tahirul had conducted the Friday mass prayer, he did not want to remain in Sadnahati for even a moment. A long time ago, Hafez Ansar Saheb had told him, ‘Hujur, you shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you. Be alert.’ Tahirul remembered that today. He had no appetite at all. The tiffin carrier with his meal lay unopened. He finished packing. There was quite a crowd in front of his room. Many of them were eager to get to the secret. But Tahirul did not utter a single word. He had no complaint against anyone. Neither was there any outward expression of his grief over leaving Sadnahati. Although he felt ravaged inside – terribly – he was able to suppress it. There would be no end to the things people dug up about him if he stayed on. His final message to the musulli who were present was: ‘If God Almighty so wishes, this slander will be done with. I will return that day, Inshallah! Please pray for me.’

Everyone felt a sense of incompleteness. People wanted things to be conclusive. Whether it was a coming together, or a separation. But in this case, something had just happened out of the blue. It was like a short story which left the reader mystified even after it ended. Many people wondered whether his innocence could be proven. Many of those who supported him said that he was truly a scholarly man, that he was averse to playing around with shit, and that it was because he was a good man that he paid no heed to anything and simply left – that was best.

Tahirul left Sadnahati. He had spent quite a while talking to Rahmat Saheb before that. As he departed, he did not turn to look at the mosque in Sadnahati for the final time. There had been an air of mystery when he entered the mosque for the first time. Now, his departure, too, was surrounded in mystery. It seemed no one wanted to stop him. No one stood in his way. As soon as Tahirul exited the mosque and got into a vehicle, he broke into tears. He thought someone ought to have stopped him. But no one came forward to persuade him to stay. He felt deeply hurt by the musulli of Sadnahati. Did it mean that everyone inwardly wanted him to leave! Had everyone found out about him then? Did everyone really hate him deep down?

Rafiq Ali had been absent from the mass prayer today. He had a party meeting to attend. When he arrived and heard about what had happened, he felt angry with Imam Saheb. Couldn’t he have met him before he left? Waited for him? All his ire was suddenly directed at the wretch of a girl by the name of Riziya. She was the one who had refused to sell her land and embroiled him in a legal suit! It was because of her that he had to return a few lakh rupees that he had received as an advance towards the sale of the land. He had only been humiliated when he met her face to face. She was stubborn and irascible. And now it was because of her that the innocent Imam Saheb had left Sadnahati. She was really something!

He wanted to utilize this problem for his own ends, through diplomatic means. Riziya needed to be put under pressure. So that he could have his way.