After attending and blessing the ritual slaughter in one household after another all day and conducting the Maghrib prayer at dusk, Maulana Tahirul had just sat down for supper. Rafiq Bhai arrived. And that made Tahirul’s heart palpitate in panic over impending ignominy. Did he really have any inkling about the Muslim populace? Most of them were given to indulging in rumours. He knew that no one would try to get to the bottom of the matter. Perhaps it was very easy to mislead them. Stones could well be hurled at his door at any moment – together with abuses. They would not worry about the imam’s dignity and honour then. Their only rationale being, whatever else befell a person involved in a scandal, he was definitely not worthy of being an imam. And such thinking was quite natural. After all, it was true that an imam had to be spotlessly clean. Alas! What a calamity Riziya had caused! Perhaps Tahirul had submitted to her love for so long. But what ought he to do right now? He was cloaked in gloom. As if all his strength had finally been snatched away by someone. Was all his knowledge and wisdom of no avail now? Had the immense hypnotic power that the position of imam carried been destroyed! He needed to exit Sadnahati. But he was scared to leave as well. He was scared to leap once again, in all uncertainty, into the ocean of life. It was uncertain indeed! There was no dearth of mosques on the soil of rural Bengal. But where would he get the kind of financial assistance that he did in Sadnahati? Besides, although one could continue to live with the bad name, there was no way he could be a counsellor to the community. But he wanted to live with his head held high. He wanted to live life as one should.
Maulana Tahirul Islam was the imam of Sadnahati. He arrived at a decision in his mind. No! No longer in Sadnahati, by no means. He could have candidly admitted to being at fault in Riziya’s stead. But in that event, he would have to forfeit his position as Imam. After a lot of thought, Tahirul sat down to write two short letters. One was addressed to the ordinary musulli of Sadnahati, the other one was to Maruf Sheikh. There was still a week left for Maruf to return. He could hand over the letter for Maruf to the muezzin, Rahmat Bhai. He felt he ought to explain matters to Maruf – only he would understand. He was certain about that. But Tahirul did not want to flee. He only wanted to leave. There was a vast difference between fleeing and leaving. Fleeing was tantamount to destroying and wiping out all the esteem and respect that he had earned in Sadnahati. And if it had been a case of simply leaving the place, even if some people resented that, he was certain to get the sympathies of some others. That’s why Tahirul was waiting for the Fajr prayer. He tore up the letter addressed to the musulli. There was no need for it. It was Friday today. He would instead provide his explanation during his sermon at the mass gathering for the noontime prayer.
Tahirul was most relaxed in the morning. Some of the musulli wanted to come up to him in a show of obsequiousness. Tahirul could infer a lot of things from the curious look on their faces. His face turned red in embarrassment. But he returned their greetings with a smile.
There was a huge crowd of Sadnahati folk at the mass prayer at noon today. Whether in honour of Eid which concluded yesterday, or out of curiosity regarding the Maulana Tahirul yarn, the mosque was bursting at the seams. Many people had come for the prayer well in advance. Standing at the pulpit, Tahirul cast a glance at the crowd. He recited from the Koran first, before beginning his regular sermon, or speech. The subject of his speech was slander. Character assassination. Gossip. If a Muslim gossiped about another Muslim, that was akin to devouring the flesh of his dead brother. If a person who was overcome with suspicion made up false allegations about someone, then he was deemed to have committed a major sin. He would certainly be a denizen of jahannam – hell. The time available for a speech at the Friday prayer was very limited. After that would come the sermon. But even within the limited time, Tahirul’s voice steadily turned ever more euphonious. It seemed this was the spectacle the musulli had come to witness. They stirred and sat upright. Perhaps they were fortunate to have been present in the mosque. They wanted to listen to him with full attention. All that Tahirul said, in an impassioned voice, was:
‘I have something personal to say to my beloved brothers of Sadnahati. I shall be brief. I want to take leave of you. Explaining why and so on goes against my sense of dignity. Please don’t ask me about it. All I want to say is, please don’t request me to stay on here. If I was at fault, I would not have taken your leave and left, I would have fled in the darkness of night.’ After saying just this much, Tahirul broke into tears as he stood at the pulpit of the mosque. The very man who, all these days, had himself wept as he described the unseen and faith-based horrors of hell, and moved others to tears thereby, was weeping today for wholly worldly reasons. Many regarded this as very real and poignant. Many were touched deeply by the imam’s tears. A conviction was born in them: our Hujur is sinless, clean and pure.
Once Tahirul had conducted the Friday mass prayer, he did not want to remain in Sadnahati for even a moment. A long time ago, Hafez Ansar Saheb had told him, ‘Hujur, you shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you. Be alert.’ Tahirul remembered that today. He had no appetite at all. The tiffin carrier with his meal lay unopened. He finished packing. There was quite a crowd in front of his room. Many of them were eager to get to the secret. But Tahirul did not utter a single word. He had no complaint against anyone. Neither was there any outward expression of his grief over leaving Sadnahati. Although he felt ravaged inside – terribly – he was able to suppress it. There would be no end to the things people dug up about him if he stayed on. His final message to the musulli who were present was: ‘If God Almighty so wishes, this slander will be done with. I will return that day, Inshallah! Please pray for me.’
Everyone felt a sense of incompleteness. People wanted things to be conclusive. Whether it was a coming together, or a separation. But in this case, something had just happened out of the blue. It was like a short story which left the reader mystified even after it ended. Many people wondered whether his innocence could be proven. Many of those who supported him said that he was truly a scholarly man, that he was averse to playing around with shit, and that it was because he was a good man that he paid no heed to anything and simply left – that was best.
Tahirul left Sadnahati. He had spent quite a while talking to Rahmat Saheb before that. As he departed, he did not turn to look at the mosque in Sadnahati for the final time. There had been an air of mystery when he entered the mosque for the first time. Now, his departure, too, was surrounded in mystery. It seemed no one wanted to stop him. No one stood in his way. As soon as Tahirul exited the mosque and got into a vehicle, he broke into tears. He thought someone ought to have stopped him. But no one came forward to persuade him to stay. He felt deeply hurt by the musulli of Sadnahati. Did it mean that everyone inwardly wanted him to leave! Had everyone found out about him then? Did everyone really hate him deep down?
Rafiq Ali had been absent from the mass prayer today. He had a party meeting to attend. When he arrived and heard about what had happened, he felt angry with Imam Saheb. Couldn’t he have met him before he left? Waited for him? All his ire was suddenly directed at the wretch of a girl by the name of Riziya. She was the one who had refused to sell her land and embroiled him in a legal suit! It was because of her that he had to return a few lakh rupees that he had received as an advance towards the sale of the land. He had only been humiliated when he met her face to face. She was stubborn and irascible. And now it was because of her that the innocent Imam Saheb had left Sadnahati. She was really something!
He wanted to utilize this problem for his own ends, through diplomatic means. Riziya needed to be put under pressure. So that he could have his way.
Rafiq Ali wanted to use Riziya’s vulnerability in the present situation as his weapon. Thus began attacks on Salaam Miya’s house. Stones, taunts and remarks were hurled. Riziya’s name was called out, followed by vile abuse. He employed some riff-raff youths for this dastardly deed. Rafiq had sent a message to Salaam Miya, that such mishaps would come to an end if Riziya agreed to sell the land. Salaam Miya was at a complete loss regarding what he ought to do. He sat inside the house with the main entrance shut. Everyone at home was worried. Riziya seemed to have turned into stone.
Once it got dark, Riziya’s Chhoto Mami exited through the back door and made her way secretly to Jogipara. Rafiq’s motley crew was not around then. She cautiously entered Suman’s house. He was talking to someone she didn’t know. As soon as he saw Riziya’s Mami there, he asked her in surprise, ‘What’s the matter, Kakima? What brings you here at night? You don’t usually come out!’
Riziya’s Mami began to weep the moment she saw Suman. She was in panic. She glanced around to see if someone was following her. And then she said, ‘My Rizi has invited calamity, dear Teacher! The people of the hamlet are enraged.’
‘Please tell me what exactly has happened.’
But Riziya’s Mami was hesitant. She was unable to speak. She asked, ‘Who is he?’
‘It’s all right, tell me. He’s my friend. He’s like an elder brother.’
‘Tell me what we ought to do now! Your Kaka is just sitting at home and weeping. Our own Rahman too is on their side. Even my sister-in-law has stayed away. I think we are going to be socially boycotted, dear Teacher. The mosque, neighbourhood association, and invitations will all be stopped.’
Suman was silent for quite a while. He pondered over the matter. And then he said, ‘Why don’t you meet Rafiq Bhai? After all, he’s the leader now. I’m sure he will…’
‘Who? Rafiq? He’s the blackguard who’s creating all the trouble. He sent a message through Rahman that if Riziya signs, all the problems will come to an end.’
‘Sign what?’
‘Sign on the sale deed of her land. Rafiq Ali Sheikh can’t buy the land unless she signs. Don’t you remember?’
‘Oh.’
Suman was silent, and then muttered, ‘Fucking bastard!’
Sandip, who was beside Suman, had been silent all this while. Hearing Suman’s profanity, he asked, ‘Who’s the fucking bastard?’
‘Oh, you don’t know him. He’s the deputy chief of our Panchayat. His name is Rafiq Ali Sheikh. He loves fishing in murky waters.’
‘So let him do that, what’s your problem, Suman?’
Suman said to Riziya’s Mami, ‘Kakima, go back home. Be careful. Let’s see what can be done.’
Riziya’s Mami left, walking slowly, and full of trepidation, just like when she had arrived there. Sandip was curious. He asked, ‘Hey, what’s the problem, Suman?’
‘It’s a very complicated problem, Dada. Riziya is a student of mine. I’ve spoken to you several times about her, haven’t I?’
‘Yes, you said she is a very good student, but she’s carrying on with the imam of the mosque. I remember you told me that.’
‘No, not exactly carrying on, you know! Not romance like we think. They liked one another. That’s all.’
‘Oh come on! Isn’t it the same thing?’
‘It isn’t. It’s a bit different.’
‘All right, then. So tell me about it.’
‘Why do you want to know? It’s a long story. Really long.’
‘Just tell me, man! I want to hear about it. It’s very interesting!’
Suman then explained to him all about Riziya, Tahirul, and Sadnahati. He told him about his friendship with Maruf, his relationship with Riziya, and her education. So much so that they had their dinner quite late. And thus did Sandip also discern the fact that Suman had a secret weakness for Riziya. So he went on lamenting that. ‘Eesh! The Imam Saheb landed such a beautiful girl in a fix and left? Chhee, chhee! You know what I’m thinking, Suman?’
‘What?’
‘Of catching that Imam fellow and roughing him up a bit. The bastard. It’s only Muslims who are such crooks. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Keep quiet! Don’t speak against the imam, Dada. This is Sadnahati. People will turn against us. But you won’t be here to face the music. We are the ones who have to live here. They tolerate everything, but when it comes to matters of the mosque, the imam, conscience and deep faith, there’s no compromise. Please, Dada.’
