‘But they become human, don’t they? Whether someone is Hindu or Muslim, they have to become human first. Will you mind if I call you Reena?’

‘Why? What’s the problem with Riziya?’

‘Plenty of problems! A Suman cannot have a Riziya for a wife. That’s the social system.’

‘Call me that if you like.’

They finished eating and rose to leave. The bus had left quite a while back. Suman was preoccupied with his thoughts. Sandip had given him the telephone numbers of several people. He looked for a telephone booth nearby. The azan for the noontime Zuhr prayer sounded from some mosque far away. Suman observed Riziya covering her head with her odna once she heard the azan. Suman was actually pleased by the sight. He said, ‘Come, Reena, let’s move ahead.’

sixty

Maruf had returned to Sadnahati. The village had changed. However, the change was so subtle that Maruf failed to notice it. But it was evident to the people of Sadnahati that Maruf had changed. On his fair-complexioned, ample cheeks was a beard just short of bushy. The moustache was shaved. He wore a long, loose panjabi instead of a full-sleeved shirt. He always spoke calmly, but now people observed a greater serenity in his voice. Haidar Bhai was the amir of the jamaat with which Maruf had set out. Haidar was the chairman of the small mosque in Uttor Sheikhpara. This mosque belonged to the Tablighi Jamaat. The adherents of this group were a small minority in Sadnahati. All the members of this group endeavoured to increase their numbers. The effort to be in a majority could be observed in all ideologies. So they couldn’t be faulted on that account. They worked hard. Many people had been requested, ‘Come along for the jamaat. Come and see for yourself whether Tablighi Jamaat is good or bad. One forms various opinions from a distance, but wouldn’t you like to see it from close quarters! If you do, you’ll realize that it is an itinerant madrasa.’

When a group from the Tablighi Jamaat set out from Sadnahati, it was usually Haidar Ali who took up the responsibility of Amir. He had tried hard to take Maruf along for a chilla. Although Maruf dilly-dallied a lot in this regard, Haidar Ali was eventually successful. That was what one would naturally conclude. There should have been a smile on the face of Haidar Ali, given that a young businessman like Maruf spent forty days at a stretch for the cause. But there was no smile on Haidar’s face. He looked displeased. Apparently Maruf hadn’t conducted himself according to the amir’s instructions. It was as if he wasn’t on a chilla but on a holiday. There had also been an exchange of words between them in this regard. But Maruf could not be blamed too much for this. In fact, before he left, he had said that he would do his own thing, that he was not obliged to adhere to the customs and norms of the chilla. Everyone had accepted that demand too. So although Haidar Ali grumbled to himself, he couldn’t tell him anything openly.

After returning from the chilla, he went first in the morning to the local mosque to offer prayers in gratitude. There were seven people in his group. Maruf had just got up, to go home with his luggage, etc. He observed Farid standing outside the mosque with five youths. Farid was of an emotional nature. He was very fond of Maruf. Seeing him after such a long time, Farid embraced him and began sobbing. The pure smile of contentment on Maruf’s face was Farid’s consolation. Maruf asked him, ‘Farid, why are you crying? I too missed you terribly all the time. But all this is an illusion, Bhai! Have to renounce everything and go away one day.’

‘I know. Everyone has to die. Leave that for now, we’ll talk about it later. You’ve just come back, go home first. There’s much to talk about. A lot has happened in Sadnahati. I’ll tell you everything.’

‘What’s happened, my dear?’

Farid was about to tell him. There were a great many things he had to tell. But another youth in the group said, ‘Tell him later, Farid. Let Maruf Bhai rest. Tell him at leisure.’

Maruf didn’t say any more. He headed for home. The others too walked alongside him. Behind them, Haidar Ali had just stepped out of the mosque. Some others from the trip who had exited the mosque with their luggage to return home were standing beside him. As soon as Maruf left, referring to him he remonstrated, ‘Fate! It’s fate that’s the real thing, you know, Saidul Bhai. Maruf Bhai was with us for forty days, yes, we ate and slept together, but did he walk on Allah’s path? Is that so easy? He hardly went out for labour. Yes, that’s right. And after that, he moved about all by himself. Allah is the Lord of Guidance, you know! He just wrote in his diary. Is there any point in all that! If you want to write, then stay at home and write. Who’s stopping you? Tell me, what was the need to sit and write in a notebook when you are in a mosque during the chilla trip!’

Saidul Bhai too was annoyed with Maruf. He too sang in harmony, ‘I couldn’t say anything because he is an educated man. Once, after I finished shopping in the marketplace, he handed his bag of purchases to me and asked me to carry on, saying he wanted to look around. Tell me, when you’ve come out on chilla, is it correct to do that? He was just looking around all the time.’

There was another member of the tour group who probably liked Maruf a bit. His name was Rajab Ali. He said, ‘But whatever you may say, Maruf gave speeches a few times and soothed everyone’s minds. Why don’t you say what happened in Buridanga? Wasn’t it Maruf who could finally reach out to the poor folk?’

What was the incident he was referring to?

The group had set out after the afternoon Asr prayer. Usually it was the influential people of a locality who guided the affairs of the common folk of the place. Haidar Bhai had obtained the names of some people from the Imam Saheb. Deen Mohammad Sepai was the largest ostagar of this locality. Like garment workers, zari workers were also called ostagars. The group visited Deen Mohammad’s factory, but they couldn’t meet him. He was away in Kolkata. There were rows of dhaddas, and sitting on either side of those long wooden frames were teenage boys and youths hard at work. There were also a few underage boys. They didn’t say anything when they saw the visitors. They only appeared to be a bit hesitant. One or two of them ran away on the pretext of some work; the others remained seated. Observing them, it appeared that they were familiar with these visits by the Tablighi Jamaat. They came a few times during the year to speak about prayer. The artisans cast a glance, and then bent their heads down and concentrated on the work at hand with needle and thread. Three people from the jamaat had come to the factory. Haidar Bhai began to speak. It was clear that the artisans were not really listening to him.

Maruf was observing them at work. Designs were being created on a long sheet of cloth through the sharpness of their sight and the manipulation of their fingers. How colourful the designs were! An encirclement of golden zari-work. Marvellous! He was unable to take his eyes off the exquisitely crafted purple sari. He jokingly asked the middle-aged artisan sitting in front of him, ‘Have you ever draped such a sari on your wife?’

Haidar Bhai was annoyed at this comment. Why should he be engaging in worldly talk when he had set out for labour? He should be talking about religion. He pinched Maruf from behind, signalling him to stop. But the man began laughing heartily at Maruf’s question. He said, ‘What are you saying, sir! Do you know what the price of this sari is?’

‘How much?’

‘It must be at least fifteen or twenty thousand.’

‘But you people are the ones making it.’

‘The two people working on the frame in the western corner are my sons. But we still haven’t been able to raise a two-room house through our earnings. I can’t even think of getting my son married.’

‘Oh. So who do you depend on?’

The avuncular man glanced at the one sitting beside him. He then cautiously whispered, ‘If the ostagars paid us properly…’

‘But one has to finally depend on Allah, isn’t it? One has to speak one’s heart to Him. Who is the one who can remove all the troubles of the world? He is the one to be addressed. But, Chacha, one needs to know something about how to address Allah and how to appeal

to him.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Who else can we depend on but Allah!’

Maruf sat down suddenly observing Haidar Bhai’s annoyance. He held the artisan’s hands and gazed at them. He praised his hands in amazement and fascination, and his artistry. He said, ‘Won’t you praise the one who made these hands, Chacha? The mosque is nearby. Why don’t you come along? There’s going to be a discussion.’

The impoverished craftsman was moved by Maruf’s words. Perhaps no one praised their work like this. They were merely artisans. He was looking at Maruf. That provided an opportunity to the group of visitors to request everyone to proceed to the mosque. They agreed too.

Maruf still seemed to be under a spell. Upon returning home, he met his Abba, Nasir Saheb, and spoke to his elder brother Faruk as well. But Faruk discerned something unusual in Maruf’s demeanour. He asked him, ‘Are you unwell?’

‘No! Alhamdulillah, I am well.’

‘How much longer will you carry on with the beard, cap and panjabi? Don’t you have to get married and raise a family? Abba is terribly worried about you. So many people of the village are giving him a piece of their minds about you suddenly going off for a jamaat with the Tablighis. Not two or three, or even ten days, but for forty days at a stretch! After all, you don’t have a family. If you did…’

Maruf had expected his brother to say that. But he didn’t pay that any heed. He just smiled and replied, ‘Look for a girl then!’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine. Let me tell Abba. He worries about you all day and all night, you know.’

Maruf listened to his elder brother in silence, and then he went up to his room. His sister Amina was in the room next to his. Maruf called out to her, but there was no response. He called her again. Faruk’s six-year-old son was playing nearby. He told Maruf, ‘Phumma has gone to her father-in-law’s house. There were so many people, and such a lot of food, Chachu! Why weren’t you there?’

Maruf was dumbfounded. He couldn’t understand the boy. He asked, ‘What are you saying, boy? Where’s Fufi gone?’

‘I told you, didn’t I! To her in-laws’ house. A groom had come. It’s true! I swear on Allah!’

His younger sister had got married! In his absence! Was forty days too long? Was he such an outcast to his father and brother? Was he so insignificant that they didn’t bother to inform him about such an important matter as soon as he arrived? Did his opinion have no value at all in this family? The people of the village accorded him so much importance, they had rushed to the mosque as soon as they heard about his return. And yet, why was he considered so unimportant by his own family? He was very fond of his younger sister. He was the one she turned to for all her fancies and demands. Why didn’t she protest? Couldn’t she have said that the marriage could wait until Chhot Da returned? Maruf suddenly flung away the bag in his hand. His eyes welled up out of a sense of hurt, as well as anger and sadness. The little boy ran off when he saw his Chachu in tears. He was laughing. He was bound to laugh observing Chachu crying although no one had scolded him. Did anyone cry just like that?

Maruf had learnt a lot in the forty days, but he had not missed his family during the long journey. After returning home at the end of the tour, he realized what the family bond meant. He realized where he had gone wrong. Each person had a claim on every other person at a particular time. The demand based on such a claim also applied to oneself. Maruf had disregarded the claim for so long. He restrained himself. He entered his room and lay down for a while. He needed to get out of his dispiritedness. Amina was destined for this marriage, and that had taken place.

Maruf had noted down his experiences over the forty days in his diary. He sat in the mosque every night and wrote. There had been a disagreement with Haidar Ali, the amir of the jamaat, in this regard as well. Why all this when one had set out on Allah’s path? After all, spending all one’s time in zikr and worship was the rule. But Maruf did not care. As soon as he remembered the diary, he took it out of his bag. He began reading what he had written from the very beginning.

There are seven of us. I had agreed to go on the jamaat on Haidar Bhai’s urging. After leaving Sadnahati today, we arrived at the Nibra Ijtema mosque. The mosque is a centre of the Tablighi Jamaat. The duty roster of the forty-day chilla was being prepared there. People would be assigned to go to particular places. It was essential for there to be a minimum of seven people in order to create an effective group. Haidar Bhai had informed us in advance about this. Many groups like ours had already been created. I was observing them. Their loving devotion to religion was immeasurable. All of us belonged to Sadnahati. We were assigned a vast area of Panchla and Bauria, in Howrah district. At the Markaz mosque today, the members of the groups were being repeatedly told that four things had to be given importance all the time: Amir ki tabedari, the trusteeship of the amir; masjid ki char diwari, the four walls of the mosque; ankhon ki pardadari, veiling of one’s eyes; and raton ki ronajari, weeping at night. I enjoyed hearing that. No one in Sadnahati had ever set out on jamaat, except for those belonging to the hamlet of Uttor Sheikhpara. They weren’t supposed to either. People belonging to the Furfura silsila disliked the Tablighi Jamaat. But this is the case not just in our Sadnahati. Such a separation has been in effect in various parts of rural Bengal. My main objective in participating in the jamaat was to learn about and understand this. Why is there such a division in a community of people belonging to the same faith?

We will set out tomorrow just after the Fajr prayer. These instructions are not for me, I had told Haidar Bhai that before joining the jamaat. I would not be bound by any rules. Haidar Bhai had agreed, although this went against the rules of the jamaat. Perhaps he thinks that after being with the group for a few days, I will be fine. Or that taking me from Sadnahati on the jamaat has been a moral victory for them. But I have an objective. To observe some Muslim communities from close quarters; to grasp the soul of the community.

The responsibility for khidmat, or service, fell on the two of us today, the very first day. Rajab Ali and me. I’ve never cooked in my life. I was helping Rajab Bhai. I was enjoying it. By helping, I mean only buying whatever was required. There was no market nearby. A settlement had come up there. I bought rice, potatoes, salt and cooking oil from a provisions store there. I had set out at the time of the Asr prayer. Many people had gathered because the annual gathering of the Tablighi Jamaat was going on. We don’t have to cook tonight. I purchased the items for the next day. Kona Expressway, a part of National Highway 12, goes directly to the Vidyasagar Bridge in Kolkata. National Highway 6 also passes this way. It’s here that this large mosque is located. A ‘World Gathering’ had once been organized in this mosque, which had come up over several acres of land. Apparently hundreds of thousands of people had gathered there then. A community-run madrasa had been established in the mosque compound itself. Small boys were walking around in the vast field there. A beautiful, tall minaret. I was gazing at it. I was entranced. Hundreds of people moving around. No trouble or disturbance anywhere. No clamour. I lost myself in the pages of distant history. The first university in the world was established in Cairo, in Egypt. It was called Al-Azhar. That too had its origins in a mosque, and after that, gradually, a university rose around the mosque. Which showed the way to modern European universities. Where has that love of learning of the Muslims vanished! Where is the realization of Almighty Allah’s instruction to pursue knowledge! How can the ancient civilizational heritage be restored?

A funny thing happened today, although the subject was not exactly a funny one. There had been a bit of difference of opinion with Haidar Bhai. Actually, he is an organizer of the Tablighi Jamaat, and has learnt some prayers and blessings. But there is no religious depth in him. He thinks coming out on chilla like this is a major ibadat, an act of worship. After all, serving Islam is akin to worship. But why was the three-, or ten-, or forty-day period stipulated? If it was for discipline, that was fine, but if he said that Almighty Allah had inducted forty thousand ferestas, or angels, to protect us during those forty days, who kept constant watch on us – it sounded exaggerated. Where did he find such a description? This was what he told us at the night-time Isha prayer.