‘Is a sowab reshani taking place downstairs?’

‘Dada has organized it. He’s already planned to observe the forty-day ceremony in a big way.’

‘Really?’

‘Can my Abba attain jannat without that? Do you know what I think when I see all this?’

‘What?’

‘That our Prophet (PBUH) was a great revolutionary. One should learn everything from him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The battle against superstitions and blind faith has to be begun within one’s own family. And perhaps that’s the most difficult battle, but one that he had been able to wage. Changing the customs practised by one’s family is an extremely challenging task. I could not convince Dada that there’s no need to do all this.’

‘Faruk Bhai is doing what he wants, so let him do it. What’s the problem?’

‘Jasim, there are plenty of problems. I have been speaking out against all this all my adult life. And then, in my own house … Can I say anything to anyone after this?’

‘You’re right.’

‘Anyway, let it be. Tell me, how are things with you?’

‘Alhamdulillah! I shut my chamber for the evening so that I could meet you.’

‘There was no need. It might inconvenience people.’

‘Maybe. But until just a year ago, there was no chamber of Dr Jasim!’

‘That’s a different matter. Jasim, you have lit a light on the soil of Sadnahati. Don’t throw away the torch.’

‘It was your encouragement that led me to holding the torch, Dada.’

‘Do you know, Jasim, I have made a decision. After Abba’s departure, I don’t know why, but I feel I’m terribly alone. I can see some change in Dada’s conduct. I’m going to get married very soon and start a family. I’ll concentrate on the business.’

‘That decision should have been made earlier! But it’s the right decision.’

‘There’s something I’m waiting for. Farid is always with me. The other day, in the course of our conversation, I realized that perhaps he blames even me for the fact that he’s unemployed. What do you think I should do?’

‘Did Farid Bhai tell you that?’

‘Not directly.’

‘There’s something you can do. Open a pharmacy in front of my chamber. The patients have to go far away to buy medicines. Open a shop, let Farid run it, and pay him a salary. That will help him settle down. And you’ll have another business under you.’

‘That’s a good suggestion. But do you think he can do that?’

‘He’ll be a cashier. I know several youths who are pharmacists. They will take care of everything. There won’t be any problem.’

‘So let’s do that! But I will be concentrating on my own business.’

‘That’s all right. Farid Bhai is trustworthy. You need not worry. He’ll learn a lot too once he starts working.’

‘Fine! Shall I tell Dada? I’m keen on this!’

sixty-eight

Tahirul’s youthful heart, however, had another tale. One he could not reveal to anyone else. He yearned to lighten the load he carried in his breast.

Actually, after hearing about Riziya’s actions, he was simply unable to believe them. Tahirul thought that whatever he heard from Maruf was only an imaginary dream. Not exactly a dream, but just a notion. Perhaps, someday, Farid or Maruf would bear witness to that. They would say, no, the stories about Riziya are not true, they are all lies. The girl is still waiting for you.

Was there any way of denying reality? No. He had tried to find out from various sources, it was a hundred per cent true. But why on earth would Riziya run away with a Hindu youth? He was constantly plagued by this question. How could the girl who, just a few days before the incident, had disregarded the pitch-dark night and come to the Imam Saheb’s room for a tryst, suddenly have a change of heart? Was everything on her part trickery and artifice? When Tahirul used to start his lessons, he observed that Riziya’s large, surma-lined eyes seemed to say various things, and he was clearly aware of those things. Was that too an illusion created by his mind? Walking together, side by side, along College Street in Kolkata, buying books, sitting at the edge of the swimming pool in College Square and chatting – was everything false?

Tahirul thought about such things for months on end. And doing so made him introverted. He hardly spoke to anyone. He sat at home all day. He conversed with Riziya in his mind. He went over the events. As if his memories were cud that he chewed on.

He didn’t feel like going out to look for work – especially for an imam’s job. But how could he continue to sit at home like this? His family was extremely needy. His younger brother worked as a tailor. His Ma couldn’t say anything to her scholarly son. But one day she did say, ‘How can we survive if you just sit at home? Your job in Howrah district wasn’t a bad one, dear. But you left that job all of a sudden! What are you thinking of doing now? Why don’t you go out and look for something? Maybe you…’

Tahirul seemed to have become irritable of late. He disliked anything anyone said. Besides, how could he reveal everything to his Ma, and explain to her that it would never be easy for him to return to Sadnahati. Its streets, the mosque there, Salaam Miya’s door – would all mock him. As if to say that Tahirul was a disgraced and defeated mullah, who had tried to reach for the moon, like the mythical Vamana.

Tahirul suffered this sense of inferiority. Why only Sadnahati, he didn’t feel like setting foot in Howrah district itself. So he replied to his Ma in a somewhat annoyed tone, ‘I won’t go there again, Ma. Let me think about what I can do. Leave me alone now!’

‘What’s happened to you, my dear? Why don’t you tell me?’

‘Nothing’s happened. Has Zahirul returned, Ma? I need to talk to him.’

‘But he doesn’t want to return home. He’s sent money. Tell me what you want to talk to him about!’

‘I won’t do an imam’s job any more. I’ll start some kind of business.’

‘What are you saying, son? Your father sent you to a madrasa and made you a scholar. And now you…’

‘May Allah grant Abba paradise! But dear Ma, how will that knowledge feed me? If only I had learnt some trade! That would have been very useful. I think your younger son Zahirul is more worthwhile than me. He works and sends money home. But your scholarly son Tahirul can’t even…’

‘It’s a good idea to start a business. But from where will you get the money?’

Tahirul was silent for a while following his mother’s query. After that, he looked and nodded in the direction of the cowshed. An invisible conversation took place between mother and son. His illiterate, rustic Ma understood everything. Perhaps mothers fathomed their children’s ardour before anyone else. Cows and goats were trustworthy and valuable assets for a poor family. She wondered how she would indulge this caprice of her maulana son! This woman who had lost her husband had struggled all her life to raise four children. Her main prop in this struggle had been the cow and goats, which were part of the household. Had those too to be sold now? She had doubts; would he be able to do business? But she finally made up her mind. ‘Look for a buyer, my dear. You better sell them off!’

Maulana Tahirul Islam was still completely unemployed. Whatever else there might or might not be in this remote village in the Sundarbans, there was no shortage of hafezs or maulanas. There were at least a dozen alems in his village. But the depth of Tahirul’s scholarship and his knowledge had made him different from all the others. He was accorded adequate respect and honour on that account. But if the very same Tahirul now began tramping through the hamlets as an itinerant vendor, wouldn’t that tarnish the image of a scholar? Tahirul had already advanced a few steps. The cow and calf had been sold. What business was he going to do? After a lot of thought, he purchased Islamic books at wholesale prices. The Holy Koran, Sohoj Namaj Shikkha (Prayers Made Easy), Baro Masher Fajilat (Virtues of the Twelve Months), Shishuder Islami Naam (Islamic Baby Names), Beheste Jeor (Heavenly Gems), etc. Together with that, there were prayer mats and rosary beads, surma and attar. Business was a blessed profession. The Prophet of Allah himself was a businessman. He encouraged business enterprise. Tahirul’s morale was strong.

He walked through village hamlets selling books. On Fridays, he erected a sheet of plastic tarp in the compound of some mosque or the other, and set up shop. He arranged the books carefully. He explained the gist of the books to people. It wasn’t clear how many of them bought the books in order to read them. But after listening to Tahirul, many were unable to turn him down. His sales weren’t bad. He carried on his trade in various mofussil towns as well.

For some days now, he had been thinking that he ought to buy the books at a cheaper price. Only then would he be able to really make a profit. One had to visit College Street, in Kolkata, if one was in the book trade. He was well acquainted with the streets and lanes there. Suddenly Riziya entered into his thoughts around College Street. Had Riziya set up home with someone else? Did he have to countenance that as well? What was Tahirul’s wrongdoing? Asking her to leave that night? That was Riziya’s caprice, but she had been thoughtless. Should he visit Sadnahati? If he went there, the people would definitely accord him respect. The widespread gossip regarding him and Riziya had been proven false. Sadnahati was pulling him. It had been two years now. And yet he hadn’t been able to forget about Riziya.

It was close to dusk. Maulana Tahirul entered Sadnahati. He had already decided that he would meet Maruf first. He got the sense that the prestige he commanded in Sadnahati was still intact. Whoever he encountered on the way greeted him and shook his hand. They asked about his well-being. He spotted Farid at a distance. Tahirul called out to him. Farid was extremely happy to see him; he came running to embrace him. He said, ‘It’s been such a long time, Hujur. Did you remember us?’

‘Of course I did. How is Maruf Bhai?’

‘He’s doing well. Come, let’s go and sit in the shop. You’ll find Maruf Bhai there.’