‘No, it’s not exactly fear. You are so much younger than me, dear Farid! But Rafiq and I are of the same age, so I know him thoroughly. At the time of the last elections, he had promised me something if he won. I spent a whole lot of money and helped the bastard win after a lot of roughhousing. But he forgot all about the promise. Have you seen the plot next to my house? It’s lying vacant. He had told me that he would arrange for me to get that. That land belongs to the government. It can’t be bought or sold. So it has to be occupied, by paying off the leaders and the party men. The land was sitting unused. I could have put it to such good use. You tell me, isn’t there a huge problem with parking cars? Instead of giving it to me, he’s now planning to put up a party office and youth club there. What a big betrayal, just think about it!’
Farid laughed to himself at Iqbal Ostagar’s outburst. He could figure out why Maruf had stayed away. One could jump into the fray with such selfish people in the interest of the community’s development, but one could definitely not bring about a revolution that would shake the community. He said, ‘Oh! Yes, so you must have been put to a lot of inconvenience then! I can see he’s a big fraud.’
‘Tell me about yourself. Why are you angry with him?’
‘No, I’m not angry or anything. Why should I be angry? How has he harmed me? There’s no government land next to our house that I want to claim. Maruf Bhai says that illiterate folk can’t do anything for the community. Our leader should be an educated person. We need educated people.’
‘But your own educated man Maruf Bhai has withdrawn! So what will happen now?’
‘What can happen! Things will carry on as they were! As far as I know, Maruf has something on his mind. I don’t know what that is. He’s thinking. But he stopped talking about all this immediately after Hasan Chacha’s death! He’s been stuck at home, working. And the rest of the time, he’s reading books. He doesn’t come much to the mosque for prayers either. Let’s see what happens.’
Hasan’s Ali’s death, his funerary prayer not being conducted, Rafiq Ali Sheikh’s exuberance about that, and Imam Tahirul’s tacit support – taken together, all this had thrown Maruf into distress. As Maruf pondered over these matters, the point that he could simply not figure out was what he himself should actually do. Religious reform? Or reform of the community? Where exactly was the knot located?
The globally accepted stream of thought called ‘Islam’ from faraway Arabia hadn’t dropped down accidentally from the heavens! It hadn’t spread in this landmass through the efforts of Arab merchants, or the followers of the Prophet in his lifetime. Islam was preached, and it was spread, by Sufi darbeshes. Most of the Sufi darbeshes had come from Arabia, Iran and Iraq. Islam arrived in this country after traversing so many countries, cities, languages and centuries – like a river. Maruf compared Islam to a river. It had a source, but not an estuary. When it flowed speedily, it was full of waves; but when it slowed down, the waves were quieter. The river carried along gravel, pebbles and garbage with it. These pebbles could be likened to the customs and conduct of various countries and communities. Sometimes, like a tributary, a divergent philosophy, which was in conflict with Islam, joined this river. Gradually, those too became a part of the religious and cultural heritage. In time, these acquired such a sacred status that they became as essential as the other duties under Islam. Consequently, the religion became terribly burdened. It couldn’t run any more, like it used to. It couldn’t do battle. The real face of the religion was concealed, and something ugly came to be instituted. People then regarded that to be the religion; some were afraid, while some tried to mount and ride it like a vehicle. This religion turned into a hurdle for the advancement of the civilization. Was this the religion chosen by Allah? Was this the straight and simple path? Was this that religion in which, on the last day of the Haj, standing at the foot of the mountain, in front of hundreds of thousands of people, the Prophet had asked, ‘Oh my co-religionists, did I succeed in bringing Islam to you?’ Maruf’s stream of thought kept meandering.
A lot of people regarded Terpol Haji’s son, Jasim, with respect. That was because he was the first Muslim youth to have studied medicine, not just in Sadnahati, but also in the nearby villages. A change had come about in his garb and speech. This was a positive change. It wasn’t arrogance, but a humility that his face expressed all the time, as well as a desire to get established. A collective consciousness had developed among the people. Bengali Muslims were awakening. Jasim was a representative of the awakened Muslim. The widespread belief that the general stream of education wiped away all religiosity was false. Jasim protested at once when he heard such talk.
Every kind of learning had to be accepted in order to keep one’s values contemporary.
Maruf believed that, like the Pole Star, this bright boy from the Al-Ameen Mission could show the way to the community. That’s why he was especially fond of Jasim. Maruf had felt mentally devastated the last few days, he was feeling terribly lonely. When he heard that Jasim had come to the village, Maruf rushed to his house to pay him a courtesy call. After all, with whom in Sadnahati could he share his thoughts and his views regarding the community?
‘How are you, Jasim? Are you on leave? How come you’re home suddenly?’
‘Yes, I got a few days’ leave. And there’s the Panchayat election just after that. I thought I should go and cast my vote. It’s supposed to be my democratic right!’
‘Did you come specially to vote? What are you saying, Jasim!’
‘The last time I was here, I had heard that you people will put up an independent candidate. But I can’t see any of that, Maruf Bhai! I came specifically to vote for you people.’
‘No, I drove all such ideas out of my head! It’s not possible, you know! Not this way. So let me share my thoughts with you. You know, Jasim, all these disorganized battles are damaging. They only lead to the demise of protest. Who will you have on your side when you battle? I thought the time was not ripe. I could not hear the call of my inner Bilal, Bhai! I thought something else ought to be done, not politics.’
‘Maruf Bhai, the business of politics has become so vital that you can’t do anything that you are capable of unless you associate with those in power. Look at the field of medicine itself; the students have graduated, they were supposed to be posted in their respective places, or districts. But unless you pull strings, you will be sent to a remote hospital in a faraway district. How can one attend to the sick when the roars of tigers and elephants are enough to terrify your very spleen!’
Maruf laughed at that and said, ‘You’re absolutely right! But you know what, I have no personal qualms about Rafiq Ali. Do you know, though, why I still oppose him? I think they themselves are unaware that they are leading the community in the wrong direction. They have become intoxicated with power.’
‘What is the correct direction? You have to take the responsibility of explaining that. That would be the logical response, Maruf Bhai. I’ve seen you from the time I was a boy. Your thinking is different from that of the others. But why doesn’t anyone understand that?’
‘It’s not as if everyone has to understand everything right away, Jasim. Did you yourself understand? After all, you are a doctor of the human body. Both the sickness of the human mind and that in the body collective of the community have to be diagnosed. That medical practice has become most vital today, brother. The Muslim community in India faces an imminent crisis. The most effective path in addressing this crisis is that of a silent revolution. By your kind of revolutionary.’
‘What can we do, Maruf Bhai! After all, we aren’t alems. I am just a doctor who went through the general education stream. Why should people listen to us?’
‘Jasim, tell me, who coined the terms “general education”, “alem”, and so on? They make me laugh. Things can’t be made simplistic like that. Divine knowledge was directly revealed by Allah to the Prophets, and the Angel Jibreel was the intermediary. Won’t you call that education ilm? Humans used to wear tree bark and animal skins earlier. Prophet Idris arrived. Allah granted him the knowledge of tailoring. Now if someone studies fashion technology, isn’t she following in the footsteps of that Prophet? Isn’t she an alem in that subject? Or take the example of Prophet Daud who I believe was granted mastery over metallurgy. If someone studies engineering and graduates, that person is an alem too. Ilm does not refer to just the knowledge of whether uttering “talaq” thrice does or does not mean divorce. Humble subservience to the Almighty Allah and obedience to the Prophet of Allah are required. It is one’s duty to undergo religious education. It is one’s duty to learn whatever one must so that one can follow Allah and the Prophet, by adhering to the laws of life. This duty is obligatory for all. It’s common to all. Rather, this is what “general education” is. So, seen in this way, where do we stand?’
Jasim was profoundly influenced by Maruf’s words, he was thrilled, and his respect for Maruf grew. He said, ‘Maruf Bhai, sometimes I am amazed when I hear you. So are you all planning to boycott the elections?’
‘No. I didn’t tell anyone that.’
Abid Sheikh was finally fighting. Unexpectedly, people were responding too. Many people wanted to vote, not for the CPI(M), but against Rafiq Ali Sheikh. Jasmin herself was a factor now. Nonetheless, some people were furious with Rafiq. After all, Jasmin was a puppet in his hands. Because there was no other candidate, the CPI(M) was in a position to take full advantage of that. Abid Sheikh could not imagine how he had been able to cause such anxiety in the rival camp despite the lack of people as well as funds. Was that a matter of small satisfaction?
Meanwhile, Rafiq Ali Sheikh too was worried. People could not be trusted. They said one thing, but behind the scenes, in the dark, they voted for someone else. One had to move forward very cautiously. The night before the election was the most important time. A lot of things happened then; the chess game could be reversed. That’s why Rafiq Ali treaded with caution. He instructed the party boys and youths to be alert. After all, there was no dearth of people who were not CPI(M) supporters but wanted Rafiq Ali to suffer humiliation. They wanted to see him defeated. It was they who would secretly give money to Abid Sheikh – the votes of the lowly folk had to be purchased. ‘You people have to win, Rafiq must be defeated.’
Rafiq’s boys stayed up like nocturnal creatures. They went to people’s doors, especially to the doors of the people who had attended a meeting in Iqbal Ostagar’s house, with Maruf.
It was very late at night. Rafiq Ali Sheikh had arrived at the muezzin Rahmat Bhai’s door, together with seven others. Rahmat Bhai’s wife stood holding the door. There were five votes here. Rafiq Ali asked, ‘So, Rahmat Bhai, what do you make of things this time? Do you think we’ll be able to win?’
On this night, the majority of the voters became perfect actors like Shah Rukh Khan. It was very difficult to gauge where they stood. Rahmat Bhai assured him, ‘Don’t worry at all. I’ll vote for the same symbol that I do every time. You don’t have to tell us anything.’
‘Tell me, which symbol will you vote for?’
‘What do you mean, “which symbol”? Do I have to say that, Rafiq Bhai? After all, it’s only you who’s there when we are in trouble or danger. Go now, get a good night’s sleep assuming you’ve succeeded.’
But Rafiq Ali could still not believe him. Abid came here yesterday. He had spent quite a bit of time. A lot of people were secretly against him. Rafiq Ali asked Rahmat’s wife, ‘Bhabi, may I enter your house? Can you move aside a bit please?’
But before she could respond, he made his way into the room. The Holy Koran, wrapped in cloth, was placed on a shelf. Rafiq Ali Sheikh picked it up. He devoutly knocked it on his forehead and kissed it three times. Holding it to his chest, he said, ‘Rahmat Bhai, put your hand on the Holy Karan and say that all your five votes will go to our symbol.’
Rahmat Saheb was confounded. A hateful gleam sprang out of his eye. Nevertheless, a helpless and terrified hand touched that book. Rafiq Ali cheerfully put back the Holy Koran with due reverence.
When Maruf heard about this incident, he wasn’t surprised. This was an ancient trick. But as the election day approached, he almost swooned when he heard about something else. The fresh youth, Jasimuddin, who had brought about a revolution in Sadnahati and the ostagar locality, would become a doctor in a few days. This well-educated Jasim was going to act as the election agent on behalf of Rafiq Ali Sheikh’s party, and apparently, this was the latter’s masterstroke!
Maruf realized that some kind of pressure must have been brought to bear on the young Jasim and he hadn’t been able to say ‘no’. Maruf decided to put the subject out of his mind.
forty-nine
