Reshma knew from experience of over eight years of marital life that men said a lot of things at such moments of intimacy, which made no sense at all. They forgot all about it come morning. That’s why she didn’t respond to his words. She only said, ‘Leave behind two thousand rupees tomorrow, I have to pay the goldsmith. Don’t forget.’

Like an obedient boy, Nazir nodded in assent. And then he dived into a bottomless sea.

When they lay side by side impassively after their amatory tread in the waters, Reshma said, ‘Do you know, people are coming from the boy’s house to view Fulsura.’

‘Kalu Chacha’s daughter, Fulsura? Where are they from?’

‘I don’t know. I heard that they’re very wealthy folk, with a booth or stall in the wholesale market. Chachi asked me to be there. To take Fulsura to the boy. May I go?’

‘Your friend Riziya too is of marriageable age, aren’t any proposals coming for her? She’s really beautiful.’

‘No, she wants to study now. She’s joined college. Her Chhoto Mama was dead against that. It’s only because of Suman Master that she could continue her studies. She’s very good at studies, you know.’

‘What’s the point of going to college? She’ll still have to wash the pots and pans in the kitchen. What’s the use? It would have been best if the orphan girl got married.’

Kalu Miya had a proper name. Abdul Matin Miya. His relations with the mosque went back a long way. He had a black mark on his forehead. They too were quite wealthy at one time. Now his family consisted of two working sons and one unmarried daughter. He had got his elder son married. He worried about his daughter. She was getting older and older. And his younger son Raqibul, or Raqib, aka ‘Rocky’, was a depraved boy who had gone to waste. Kalu Miya had to lose face in society only because of him. He had decided that as soon as his daughter was married, he would arrange something.

Salaam Miya was Kalu Miya’s brother. He had a son. Salaam Miya had a child quite late. He didn’t have a daughter of his own, but he had raised the daughter of his cousin like his own daughter. That girl was Riziya. He had decided to keep this girl who had lost both her parents. He did not have any children then. Many people said that the brothers did that for property-related reasons. Be that as it may, Riziya was not in difficulty here. Although she lived with Salaam’s family, Riziya spent most of her time with Fulsura. After her Higher Secondary exams, she was keen to study in college.

Another set of people were coming today to view Fulsura Bubu. Riziya was in a joyful mood. Nazir’s wife, Reshma, and she were dressing Fulsura up. Riziya loved that, although she didn’t like dressing up herself. Fulsura was not dark-skinned, but she wasn’t really fair-complexioned either. She looked quite pretty after she was made up. The ghatak, or matchmaker, had arrived earlier and informed that the boy standing on the north side would be the prospective groom. ‘You take a look at him too, if you get the chance.’

Five people in all arrived to view the girl. Kalu Miya had arranged for them to eat to their fill. Reshma entered the room accompanied by Fulsura. She whispered into her ear, ‘Offer salaam!’ Fulsura, clad in a sari, sat in front of five unknown men. An elderly man cleared his throat and said, ‘Raise your face a bit, dear, yes, that’s fine. So what’s your name?’

‘Fulsura Khatun.’

‘What’s your father’s name? How many brothers and sisters do you have?’

‘My father’s name is Abdul Matin Miya. I have two brothers.’

‘Have you read the Holy Koran?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘How many times?’

‘Many times.’

‘Fine! Can you recite the Ayatul Kursi please, dear?’

Fulsura was silent. Although she knew the Ayatul Kursi, she seemed to have suddenly forgotten it! She wasn’t able to recall it at all. If she was prompted with the opening line, it would all flow out.

As Riziya looked through the gap in the window, she felt annoyed. She wanted to shout out the first line for her, ‘ … Allahu la ilaha illa huwal haiyul kaiyum, la ta…’

Fulsura tried hard to remember, but she failed. The elderly man smiled and said, ‘It’s all right. Learn it later, okay. Which class did you study in school till, dear?’

‘Class Nine.’

As soon as he heard that, he scowled momentarily at the ghatak. It was clear that the matchmaker had exaggerated. Nevertheless, he said, ‘Can you write down your name and address, dear? Let’s see what your handwriting is like!’

Fulsura promptly wrote out her name and address. She knew that well. The elderly man stood up, gave her something as nazrana, and said to Reshma, ‘You can leave now.’

Two days later, the boy’s family sent word; they hadn’t approved of her. Fulsura was not upset when she heard that. But inwardly, she felt somewhat dejected. Standing all alone in front of the mirror at night, she wondered – was she really un-pretty? Would it have been better if she was more fair-complexioned, like Riziya? Or did she need some more flesh on her? After all, she had acquired all the domestic skills required to run a man’s household.

A peculiar attitude was prevalent in this society. The boy who had come to view her had only studied till Class Five. But even he wanted an educated wife. Although he never performed the mandatory prayers five times a day, the bride simply had to know all the nitty-gritty of Islam, all the prayers and blessings. Even if none of that had any value once she was married. But that was what the custom was. The match would be cancelled if she didn’t know all that. Kalu Miya came and stood beside his daughter. Shame and humiliation were writ large on his face. He said remorsefully, ‘If only you could have recited the Ayatul Kursi properly, it wouldn’t have been cancelled. Anyway, let it be. I think I’ll ask the new Imam Saheb in the mosque to teach you for a few days. It will be good if he can come to our house after the Asr prayer and teach a few girls.’

seven

After the Maghrib prayer, some four musulli were sitting on the plinth of the mosque and chatting among themselves. As soon as Imam Saheb emerged from his room, one of them stood up and greeted him. Tahirul returned the greeting, and when he came closer, he recognized the man. He was not one of the regulars. It was Kalu Miya’s younger brother, Salaam Miya. He had never seen him offering prayers. Surprised, he asked, ‘How are things, Chacha?’

‘Sir, I came to meet you. Need some help.’

‘Tell me how I can help.’

Salaam Miya looked behind, as if to be sure he was far away enough from the other musulli. And then he said, almost in a whisper, ‘Let’s go to your room, I’ll tell you.’

‘Why don’t you tell me here? What’s the problem?’

‘It’s not a problem for me, Sir, the problem is yours!’

‘All right, let’s go.’

Maulana Tahirul was speaking to a non-practising Muslim, a benamazi, in the quarters reserved for the Imam Saheb. The very thought of that made him a bit annoyed with Salaam Miya. Besides, the man was chewing gutka with his cheeks puffed, and it was so strong-smelling that being beside him for even a little while made Tahirul nauseous. And when he went to spit out the saliva from chewing gutka through the tiny window in the room, it led to another incident – some of the saliva fell in the room itself. That didn’t matter a whit to Salaam Miya. He wasn’t embarrassed in the least. As if it was very normal. With an exasperated air, Tahirul asked him, ‘What did you want to say?’

‘I was saying, if one’s wife’s brother is also one’s brother, born of the same mother’s womb, and if one’s brother born of the same mother’s womb is one’s wife’s brother – can you tell me how that will look?’

‘What nonsense are you talking about? I can’t understand you.’

‘You can’t understand it now. But you will later. I came only to tell you something about Kalu. Kalu Miya is my elder brother, be careful about him.’

‘Why? What did he do? Why are you telling me about something between brothers?’

‘You’re the new Moulovi Saheb, that’s why I came to warn you. Although we don’t come for prayers, we are simple folk. We don’t go around screwing people like they do, while carrying a black mark on the forehead. Do you know that because of him I’ve had to fight a case in the Howrah court for seven years? There’s been a lot of trouble around a plot of land of ours. A brother-in-law of Dada is a lawyer in the Howrah court. So it’s as if he’s become his brother now and I the brother-in-law. Oh, it’s a long story, how much can I tell you…’

‘That’s fine, but why are you telling me all this?’

‘I heard that you’re going there to give lessons – my niece Riziya said so. She heard about it from someone. I want to tell you, don’t go to his house, come to my house instead. I’ve emptied a room. Teach there.’

‘But Kalu Chacha has already asked me to teach his daughter. I gave him my word. What’s the problem with his place?’

Salaam rose once again and spat out the gutka saliva. As he wiped the saliva on his lips with his right hand, he said, ‘Oh there’s definitely a problem! There’s no difficulty as such. It’s only those girls who are going to be learning. I’m not angry with Dada’s daughter. But let everyone come to my place to learn.’

‘But I can’t see what you gain from that. If he objects, then it won’t be possible for me to go to your house. I’ve given him my word. I can’t go back on my word.’

‘Oh I certainly gain! All right, fine, speak to him. Do what you think is best. But there’s one thing, even if he befriends the Imam Saheb and prays five times a day, he won’t achieve anything. And be careful, don’t let it get too cordial.’