Suman’s house lay as silent as a crematorium. His sick Ma was weeping continuously. Abhijit could not fathom the matter, nor could he believe it. He was certain that his elder brother, Suman, could never do such a thing. Suspicions began to enter his mind. Sandip Da and his motorcycle were also nowhere to be seen. So who had Riziya left with? She wasn’t acquainted with Sandip. The level-headed Suman could never have done anything to throw them into danger like this. But he, too, was missing since last night. So how could he deny anything! It didn’t look like the Muslim youths would let them off! What ought they to do now? Abhijit wanted to run out and sprint to Abid Sheikh. They had always been with the red party. Observing Abhi leaving, someone shouted out, ‘There’s Abhi running away! He knows everything. Catch him first!’

Abhi ran into his uncle Akhil Nath’s house in fear. The uncle and nephew did not really get along. But because of this incident, they were suddenly reunited. Akhil and his sons stood in resistance. So the threat seemed to abate after a bit of a scuffle. The mob’s demand was that Abhijit was needed in order to find Suman. He would lead them to the culprit. They would cure Riziya of her Hinduphilia once and for all! But Abhijit said he did not know Suman’s whereabouts. After a while, the Muslim mob left. Sadnahati was seething in rage. Even the elders could not accept the matter of the writing on the mosque wall. They had to get hold of Suman. The matter could not be resolved unless he was found. Some pressure had to be applied now.

In a short time, the youths of Jogipara too were prepared. The elders there did not hinder their efforts towards self-defence. Let the sons of nedes arrive! Let them try to touch a single person if they had the guts! This news reached the Muslim hamlet.

When the mob of Muslim youths reached the Shiva temple at the Jogipara crossing, the hamlet was silent. Everyone was astonished. They could not figure out what line of attack the Jogis had adopted. They all had lathis and suchlike in their hands. A person was spotted at a distance. He was not armed. It was a man wearing a lungi and panjabi. When they went near him, they saw it was the old man Sadek Ali. Trembling visibly, he was shouting, ‘I am Sadek Ali. You have to kill me first if you want to enter Jogipara! Kill me! I’m staying alive only to be killed in such a riot. My parents were killed during a riot, this Hindu–Muslim business consumed all my neighbours. I swear on Allah that as long as I am alive, I won’t allow this to happen.’

The youths from Sadnahati seemed to have turned to stone. Sadek Ali’s grandson, Anwar, came running to move his Dada away from the danger. He said, ‘Dadaji, why have you come here? You are an old man, go back home.’

‘No. I won’t go home. I guessed from what you said earlier that there was going to be a Hindu–Muslim riot. I won’t allow that to happen as long as I am alive. Step away.’

The situation changed all of a sudden. The mob of youths turned peaceful. Jogipara’s youths emerged from behind bushes and clumps. Akhil Nath was the main elder of Jogipara. He, too, emerged from somewhere. He embraced Sadek Ali and wept. The tears of two aged men infected the youngsters. Meanwhile, someone had informed the police. At the sight of the police vehicle, the youths who had gathered to protect their religion sped away to their respective places. The youths of Jogipara concealed their weapons.

It wasn’t so easy to draw curtains on the scandal relating to Riziya in Sadnahati. The police took photographs of the writing on the mosque wall. A complaint was registered. A police picket was posted there for a few days. There was no demand from the people of the locality to file an FIR. After all, who wants to get involved in any trouble with the police! One by one, everyone looked the other way. The amusing thing was that something important suddenly came up, which Rafiq Ali Sheikh had to attend to. He went away to Bardhaman.

More surprising to people than the outburst of a woman against her religion was the investigation into the course of events. They were more curious about that. The girl first got a bad name in connection with Imam Tahirul. Word spread that she had been seen talking to him in front of his room in the middle of the night. The Imam Saheb then left Sadnahati. But she was also carrying on secretly with Suman, and ran away with him too. Amazing! What was behind the mystery? There was only one name on the lips of the Sadnahati folk, whether they were men, women or children, young or old – and that was Riziya. But they were unable to verify the facts of the matter. They considered such verification as their prime duty. They devoted all the time in the world to it.

After a time, they turned dejected and returned to the regular rhythm of their lives. They paid attention to their work. Only Farid, who had apparently got thrashed for no reason, was unwilling to drop the matter. He simply had to prove that he had not been involved in any way. Of his own accord, he assumed responsibility for this. Where could they have gone? That was the only thing on his mind, all day and all night. He speculated on the matter with some youngsters in Sadnahati.

Farid waited for Maruf to return. He found out from the Tablighi Jamaat’s mosque in Dokkhin Sheikhpara that Maruf and the others were in the district. Their tour would conclude in three or four days.

fifty-nine

‘Where are we, Suman Da? Have we come very far?’

‘Yes, very far.’

‘Where will we go now?’

‘I don’t know! You wanted to get out, so I’ve brought you out.’

‘Where is the Dada who saw us off on the bus? I couldn’t even make out his face at night. Did he not come?’

‘He’s a cousin of mine. He didn’t come along. His name is Sandip. Come, do you want to go to their house?’

‘How far away?’

‘No, let it be, it’s quite a distance away. We can’t go there either.’

‘Won’t you drop me to the train going to Pune?’

‘Are you out of your head, Riziya? Have you ever gone anywhere beyond Kolkata? You are a frog in the well. Or else you wouldn’t say something like that. Where’s Pune and where’s this Bengal!’

Riziya was taken aback to hear this. She also felt a bit embarrassed. She was slightly relieved that she had been able to come away from the closed circle of her life in Sadnahati. Actually, all her thoughts and worries had come to be focussed on the secret growth in her womb. She had managed to largely overcome the fear of being the subject of slander in Sadnahati. But she was shocked to hear what Suman said now. She listened to him quietly.

Suman asked her, ‘Are you feeling hungry?’

Riziya nodded. She wasn’t only hungry, she wanted to have a wash as well. She wanted to use the toilet. Suman took her to a dhaba by the road. He pointed her to the toilet. It was twelve noon then.

Sandip had dropped them to Howrah on his motorcycle. From there, they went to Dharmatala, in Kolkata. They had boarded a bus around dawn, with no clue as to the destination. When the bus left Kolkata, Suman realized that it was bound for Siliguri. The bus sped along. They had not sat next to each other, nor really spoken. Riziya had reclined on the push-back seat. After a while, she dozed off and was in deep slumber for several hours. There was another woman beside her, so she had no worries. When she woke up, she looked out of the window and saw that the bus was moving slowly on a bridge over a river. Such a huge river! There was a traffic jam. She thought to ask Suman which river this was. He was sitting on the seat behind her. But she didn’t.

The bus crossed the Farakka bridge and halted somewhere at eleven. They got off. That was the first time they got the chance to talk. Riziya looked quite cheerful when she returned from the toilet. Her hair was no longer dishevelled. Suman was pleased. He said, ‘Come, let’s eat something.’

As soon as the food was ordered, Riziya whispered into Suman’s ear, ‘Cancel the chicken, Dada, they don’t slaughter it in the right manner. They simply behead it. I can’t eat that, it’s haram.’

Suman smiled and ordered fish instead. A single glance at Riziya’s face was enough to entrance Suman. He said, ‘I’ve never been to these parts either, you know! I got to come, thanks to you. Have you thought about what is happening, or what might happen, in Sadnahati?’

‘No. What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘But you can’t return there. Shouldn’t you think about what you are going to do now?’

‘Who have I come with? You should be the one telling me what I ought to do.’

‘Do you think I’ll be able to return, pagli? I’ll ask you something, but you can also refuse. There’s no need to agree just because I’m asking you.’

‘About what?’

‘Here’s the food. Let’s eat. I’m terribly hungry. Achchha, can you cook everything?’

‘More or less. Yes, I can cook everything. Why?’

‘Won’t you be able to cook and feed me all my life, Riziya?’

Riziya was not the kind of girl to fail to understand what he was suggesting. She may even have got a hint already of Suman’s secret desire. After all, it was that realization that had made her so excessively dependent on Suman, and helped her grow in confidence. Being in Suman’s company helped to overcome her sense of unease to a considerable extent. ‘Maybe I won’t be able to cook as well as in a restaurant. But I can cook and feed you every day.’

Suman seemed to have been waiting for an opportunity. He said, ‘So come along. Let’s be together. I found out that we should be reaching Islampur town in an hour, or an hour and a half. I have the address of someone Sandip Da knows. Let’s see if we can meet him and set up home there. What do you say?’

Riziya suddenly stopped eating at the mention of setting up home. She gazed at Suman. A stream of thought gushed through her mind. A pleasant, fair-complexioned face floated up from that stream – with a cap on. She remembered Tahirul. She thought she ought to feel hurt, that she ought to be angry. She felt like taking fierce revenge against the God-fearing Tahirul. As she gazed at Suman, tears welled in her eyes. Set up home with Suman Da? But how would she keep her deepest anxiety a secret? She said, ‘But…’

‘But what, tell me?’

‘You people are Hindu.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘Will you become a Muslim? Tell me!’

‘I will.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. But you have to become a Hindu too.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Can’t you do that? It’s very easy to become a Hindu, my dear. There’s no need to recite the kalema. Hindus don’t have any kalema.’

‘Rubbish! Do Muslims ever become Hindu?’