Salaam Miya left after that. Tahirul was at a loss, completely perplexed. Kalu Miya was fond of him. Besides the respect and trust bestowed on account of being the imam, the newly arrived Tahirul wasn’t displeased with such fondness. But what lay behind telling him about their family strife? What was Salaam Miya thinking? That Kalu Chacha was trying to win the Imam Saheb over and thus tilt the scales in his favour? Would the Imam Saheb be won over simply by poisoning his ears about Salaam? Wasn’t the matter in court? So what was the problem? He didn’t pay heed to the talk of the rural, illiterate folk.

There was a long gap between the Asr and Maghrib prayers. It was decided that he would go to teach at this time. There had also been some talk about paying an honorarium for the lessons. Tahirul had taken the permission of the Mutawalli Saheb. That had to be done. Kalu Miya had assembled quite a few boys and girls from various households, so that the remuneration would be more.

Tahirul sat down to teach in a vacant room at the very rear of the house. The log roofbeams of this large room were very high. The rhythmic Arabic recitation in Tahirul’s melodious voice echoed through the large room. His students comprised two small boys and girls and three or four adolescent girls. The older girls of marriageable age sat at the back. If the Holy Koran was not recited properly, a marriage match could be called off. After all, Fulsura’s had been called off for not being able to recite the Ayatul Kursi. This anxiety brought them here. They came to learn the Holy Koran, together with makhraj, or the place in the mouth from where a letter issues, that is, rules of pronunciation, dowa-darood, or the prayers and blessings, and the mashla-mashayil, or norms of living in accordance with the shariat.

Maulana Tahirul was young. And so Kalu Miya was very careful. Every now and then he came to take a look. He peeped through the window. Tahirul was aware of that. But he sat at a distance from the girls, in keeping with the shariat. He didn’t engage in any banter. Once he had finished teaching the alphabet and the short concluding chapters of the Koran to the children, he began with the older girls.

Tahirul had been teaching for a week. The girls were learning well too. The other day, he had just begun teaching when a new girl greeted him from the doorway and entered the room. Tahirul observed that the girl’s face was not veiled. She was very slim. Her budding body had a fresh and radiant beauty. She had two Bengali books in her hand. Fulsura introduced her to Imam Saheb. The girl’s name was Riziya. She too was going to be a student in this class from that day onwards. Tahirul was astonished to learn that she had joined college. Was it like a lotus blooming in muddy slime!

Riziya Khatun was the daughter of Jamila, a cousin of Kalu and Salaam Miya. The widowed Jamila, accompanied by her infant daughter, had come to live with her father. Jamila had a major share in the property of the family. What she was entitled to as farayez, or under property-related law, was not meagre either. Both Kalu and Salaam had sold off their respective shares, but Jamila had not. When Riziya was eight years old, her mother Jamila too passed away. And from then on, Riziya acquired exalted status. It was as if her two uncles then began competing with each other to take up the responsibility of raising her. And it was Salaam Miya who was the victor in the competition. Sometimes there seemed to be harmony between the two brothers, and many in the locality surmised that some part of Jamila’s property was about to be sold. Salaam Miya was the one who was more active in this regard. Once the job was completed, the two brothers were back in conflict. When Riziya entered adolescence, Sushil Nath, from Jogipara, the Hindu brahmin hamlet, had explained the reason for all the love showered on her. He was a land surveyor. Riziya used to go to his house for tuitions. One day, Sushil Kaka told her, ‘Your uncles are stealing and living off the land in your Ma’s name, my dear. The sale of another bit of land was registered today. It’s not going to end well at all, I’m warning you.’

Riziya had not been able to make sense of anything. She just looked back enquiringly at him. Sushil Kaka had said, ‘You can’t understand, isn’t it? I hope you will when you grow up! You’re just in Class Eight!’

On account of being close neighbours, Hindus and Muslims kept tabs on each other. There were two or three educated people in this village. Suman Nath was one of them. He was the one Riziya went to take tuitions from. After completing high school, she was now studying in college. She read various kinds of books in Bengali. She also read Islamic books and pamphlets. There were lots of books in her friend’s brother’s study; she brought back books whenever she visited their place. But she hadn’t been able to learn to read Arabic well. She had learnt some prayers and blessings by herself. But she knew more about religion than other girls of her age. So they had grown jealous of her. She was pretty. She had been well spoken from the time she was small. But the girls of the locality regarded her as arrogant.

That’s why Tahirul had been astonished. He had taught for a week, only to hear the girls’ local accent. The more they tried to pronounce correctly, the more they stuttered. But this girl’s rendition was as fluent as it was pleasing – although it was evident that her rendition was artificial. Tahirul’s curiosity grew. His first impressions began to change somewhat.

Tahirul was supposed to discuss the subject of norms of living according to the shariat today. His few students were sitting in front of him. He had a cup of tea in his hand. Tahirul asked a girl about cleanliness and the sacred. ‘Tell me, Sabina, how many duties pertain to bathing? And what are they?’

The girl rattled off the answer that she had memorized: ‘Swishing water inside your mouth, taking water through the nostril, washing your whole body thoroughly, washing your private parts—’

Tahirul halted her. ‘What was the last thing you said? If water reaches the base of the hair all over the body, would the private parts be left out? Aren’t they a part of the body?’

The girl was embarrassed and smiled pathetically. And, as if in imitation, all the girls covered their faces with the edge of their odnas and began tittering. Who knows whether there was something else behind the laughter? Tahirul, too, turned red in embarrassment. He too laughed spontaneously. There was only one person who didn’t laugh. That was Riziya. Admonishing everyone, she addressed Tahirul. ‘Did Sabina say something that was really a laughing matter, Sir? Why are you laughing so much about that?’

Tahirul had never imagined that a question would be thrown at him in this way. He was not mentally prepared for it. And so, he was dumbfounded. He thought that perhaps it had not been correct to laugh like that. But in order to retain his gravitas and importance, he too admonished her, ‘Do I have to learn from you what I should laugh about and what I should weep about?’ He addressed her with an ‘apni’ – a more formal form of ‘you’.

‘Why are you addressing me as “apni”? I’m your student, am I not?’

Tahirul paid no heed to what she said. He avoided the matter deliberately. He returned to the discussion. ‘Cleanliness is a primary postulate in Islam. Cleanliness doesn’t refer to the body alone, it refers to the mind too. It is the mind that has to be made clean before the body. And the mind has to be cleaned by zikr, which means remembering Allah. The mind of the one who does not remember Allah is contaminated. His mind becomes black like coal.’

As Tahirul spoke without a pause, he glanced once out of the corner of his eye at Riziya.

‘No, the mind stays clean with correct knowledge. I think the light of knowledge removes all darkness. Am I correct, Sir?’

Riziya had interrupted him once again, and this time she had opposed what Tahirul had said. Tahirul suddenly felt a sense of humiliation. He was the imam of the whole village community. The entire musulli prayed behind him. And here was this chit of a girl making a joke of him! Was she flaunting her knowledge before him? In his perplexed state, he ended the class. He felt dejected. He wouldn’t teach any more today. He glared at Riziya. All the girls said their parting greetings together. They rushed out of the room, but Riziya continued to sit silently in her place. Fulsura went up to her and said, ‘That’s why you shouldn’t go to college. The moment you become educated, you become arrogant and turn wayward.’

Riziya laughed quietly in response. It seemed she was savouring the joy of infuriating the Imam Saheb.

After returning to his room, Tahirul was rapt in thought. The girl was truly very wayward. But in the space of these last few months, no man had been able to detect anything wrong in what he said. The human mind was cleansed through correct knowledge, that was right after all. So why did he get angry and come away? Did it mean that he himself was arrogant? How audacious one had to be to behave in this way with an Imam Saheb, that’s what he was thinking about. No, she definitely had to be subdued. It was difficult to control a studious girl. Although he had felt offended, a bit of fondness towards Riziya was also born within him. Riziya seemed to have smashed his implicit sense of arrogance. He felt unsettled.

The next day, Riziya again did something flippant. Since his childhood, Tahirul had never been in the company of girls, let alone someone of such a strange nature. And so, he was unable to talk freely with the girls. But if someone asked him a question, as a teacher he had to reply. A question on the subject of cleanliness was shot at him today as well by another girl. He could easily figure out that this question was Riziya’s.

‘What is the meaning of bakera and saiyera?’

It was there in the book, but she didn’t know the meaning. Tahirul realized that the question was a relevant one. Yet he felt hesitant. These two terms relating to women’s menstruation were important to know about.

‘Bakera’ referred to a woman who had not yet had sex with a man. Meaning, a virgin. And those who had were referred to as ‘saiyera’. But how on earth was he to explain this in front of so many virginal girls? And these words were not something difficult to understand. It occurred to Tahirul that he ought to write out the necessary words from Islamic literature in Bengali right away. He was certain that this question had been asked simply to embarrass him. He had been able to explain the matter somehow. But he could not figure out why Riziya was playing around with him. Inasmuch as he was angry with the girl, he was also amazed at her temerity.

Tahirul was an imam, and at the same time, he was, of course, a young male. Take, for instance, Fulsura; when she gazed raptly at him, didn’t he realize that? That’s why he had to steadfastly be cautious.

Nonetheless, this time between Asr and Maghrib every day wasn’t badly spent. When the cloth over someone’s bosom slipped down, Tahirul lowered his eyes. An uncomfortable situation was created. He felt a secret thrill in his body. But at once a sense of judiciousness arose within him; he was at the centre of the development of religiosity among the folk of a region, and so he disregarded the entire matter. He also needed the honorarium – needed it badly.

For the last two days or so, Riziya hadn’t said a word to anyone. She sat in silence. Every now and then she turned to look in the direction of Tahirul. On his part, he thought that perhaps the girl was remorseful for having been untoward in her conduct with a teacher. If she said, ‘Sir, please forgive me’, Tahirul would forgive her at once. But no, she suddenly left without permission. She returned after quite a while. She had a cup of tea in her hand. Putting it down, she said, ‘It’ll get cold, Sir, please have it.’

‘Yes, I’ll have it. Shall I ask you something?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What are the subjects you are studying in college?’

‘Political science, philosophy, history, and so on.’

‘Don’t they teach Islamic history?’

‘No.’

‘Study that at home. We are Muslim, so it’s very important to study that.’

Riziya smiled out of the corner of her mouth and, looking at the other girls, said in innuendo, ‘I suppose if one knows Islamic history, the groom’s side won’t call off the match. So one must study that.’

Tahirul was startled. Was there nothing called ambition in all these boys and girls? If one was female, all of one’s education, domestic skills, religious learning was undertaken with a view to marriage. And males studied only until they could count and calculate money. In this society that lacked awareness, swimming against the current would give rise to a lot of problems. Tahirul realized that Riziya was not very adept, she was not a good swimmer. The poor girl would be at a complete loss when she confronted the whirlpools in society. He felt a sense of attachment inwardly towards Riziya. The tranquil but deep look in her eyes seemed to express so many questions, from so many centuries. As if these questions weren’t Riziya’s alone but of the whole society. Would Tahirul be able to answer those questions? He was a man, after all. A man performing the ‘job’ of an imam. An imam meant a leader, so this was a job of providing leadership.

eight

The Saraswati river was almost dead. It was a tributary that flowed from the Triveni and joined the Bhagirathi at Sankrail. Sirajpur lay on the bank of this river. It was an ancient settlement. There was an ancient majar of a Pir here. The people referred to it as Pir Sirajuddin Baba’s majar. But no one knew why he was called a Baba. No one knew anything about his life or death, or about all that he had done in life. It was said that Pir Sirajuddin was one of the twelve auliyas, or saints, who had come to Bengal during the Sultan era. A contemporary of Pir Shah Jalal of Sylhet. He had come there by boat, following the course of the Saraswati river. It was at this settlement that he had laid anchor – although there was no evidence in this regard. However, most of the people in the nearby Muslim-majority villages seemed to be making this Pir the controller of their personal destinies. Shinni was prepared there in the name of the Pir, to offer to the devotees, and the Pir’s urs, that is his birth and death anniversaries, were observed. The custom of offering flowers and shawls at the shrine was prevalent at one time – that had stopped. Such practices were bedaati, that is, nowhere recognized in Islam. But people did it to earn virtue, and it had come to be seen as Islamic. They were also against the shariat. But the Pir’s murids, or disciples, were not local folk. They were disciples of the genuine Pir who abided by the shariat. However, blind faith had not been entirely wiped away from people’s minds. They went to the majar every Thursday. They placed bottles of water or oil beside the Pir’s grave. They made promises for receiving blessings. The offerings box of the majar jingled with cash. Maulana Tahirul was not unaware of all this. He was a learned scholar, a Sunni Haqqani scholar. Why would he tolerate such revisionist belief? He was determined to deliver a prescriptive sermon on this matter the coming Friday.

He explained eloquently that making such promises for blessings to be received was prohibited. Some people praised him when they heard the explanation. And some others, although they never said anything, turned gloomy. Swayed by emotion, one of the musulli stood up. He visited the majar every Thursday, he had been doing that for a long time. He asked, ‘So can’t one make promises, Hujur?’

The Imam Saheb was silent for a moment. After some thought, he explained to him and all others, ‘Of course you can, but not to any person; no person has any power. If you want anything, ask Allah directly for that. He will not turn his face away from one of the faithful. Everyone should come to the mosque and offer prayers five times a day. If one visits the mosque and asks for something in the court of Allah, he never returns empty-handed. All of us musulli shall raise our hands together and weep on someone’s behalf, Allah is certainly the Lord of the Universe, the great power who solves all problems.’ Tahirul wanted to achieve the goal of converting the people owing allegiance to the majar into owing allegiance to the mosque instead, and he wanted to do this indirectly. If, however, he attacked long-held beliefs, some people might get furious. And so, he once again counselled, ‘But yes, if for some reason you happen to be near the Pir’s majar, sure, you can visit the grave, that’s allowed. Keep in mind that Allah’s walis never die. They only become hidden from the world.’

Thanks to this single lecture, Tahirul began earning an additional amount. A lot of people in Sadnahati made the turnaround. They did not make appeals at the majar any more. They rationalized it inwardly: yes, in truth, the functionaries of the majar were a greedy lot! Someone or the other’s child was always down with a cough and cold. It was the fault of the weather and the air. So they made their appeals in the mosque now. Imam Saheb blew on them. ‘Allah, make them well.’ It was, of course, only Allah who made them well. But the notes and coins accompanying the appeals that Tahirul put in the pocket of his panjabi clinked loudly indeed.

Keeping pace with people’s superficial needs was the craze for telpora-panipora. Tahirul was amazed. Money was earned through that as well. And he saw nothing wrong in that. He steadily came to be regarded as a big teacher and scholar. There were people waiting for him in front of his room from right after the Fajr prayer at dawn. He began doing jhar-phunk, or blessing people by blowing on them, or on the water they were carrying, and giving out amulets for them to wear around their arms or waists. Somehow or the other, through word of mouth, people came to know that Maulana Tahirul was a great sage who possessed a jinn. It didn’t displease him to hear that.

On Fridays, the mosque took on a freshly adorned appearance. The crowd of musulli filled every corner. The crowd spilled over until it reached beyond the plinth outside. With tarpaulin and gunny sheets being laid out, the crowd of worshippers extended until the edge of the road. On this day, Maulana Tahirul groomed himself right from the morning. He trimmed his moustache, ran a comb through his beard and smoothened it, applied surma on his eyes and sprinkled sweet-smelling, fragrant attar on himself. He stood before a small mirror. And then he talked to himself. ‘Who are you, boy? The imam of the locality, or Maulana Tahirul? A man of this earth? Or a lieutenant of the Prophet, a supernatural naibe Rasool? Will you be victorious in the examination that you may have to face today, boy?’ Even as he pondered all this, he put on a loose black-coloured pirhan. When Tahirul entered the mosque, wearing that gown and green turban, the Muslim folk were stunned to see him. Their hubbub suddenly ceased. The fair-complexioned, handsome face of their Imam Saheb brought an entirely new dimension into the minds of the musulli present there. It was he who was the Imam – the Imam of the people of Sadnahati. The Islamic entity who had become the symbol of the faith and beliefs of the people caught in the net of religion. No one else mattered in this space. Even a haji, or a general, or a minister – all stood behind the imam during prayers. They followed the imam. Tahirul was now a spirited young speaker, a man of reason. People eagerly listened to his speeches in Bengali prior to the main sermons. He discussed religious matters in the light of the prevailing circumstances in his speeches. Tahirul knew that the discussions could well give rise to a lot of debate. If he could ignore all such minor and trivial debates and establish his point of view powerfully, eventually, he would be the winner. It would be a victory for the Haq, or true order. For the religion of Islam. During last week’s speech, he had said, ‘Remember this, it’s not wrong to earn money from blessed amulets and jhar-phunk.’

About a couple of days back, around the time of the Isha prayer at night, quite a number of youths had debated and argued about this issue. They raised a furore against the imam. As soon as Tahirul got word of that, he realized the gravity of the matter. Even before public opinion that was opposed to him could be created, it had to be prevented. What did all those youths really want? Apparently they wanted to ascertain the textual references in the shariat. That didn’t scare Tahirul. After all, what did they know about texts? If these fellows weren’t struck a blow and driven away, it might invite a massive problem afterwards.

After the Jumma prayer concluded, Tahirul asked the youths in question, with utmost courtesy and humility, to stay back. His doing that was actually an instruction – an imam’s instruction. How could anyone disregard that? And with that, there was a buzz of excitement among the once-a-week faithful who had come for Jumma. Quarrel-loving folk anticipated the amusement to follow; and those who disliked conflict, ruminated in trepidation about the calamities to come. Who knows if Sadnahati wouldn’t get heated up once again!

Tahirul had got the news that, for quite some time now, Maruf, the son of Nasir Sheikh, had been forming a group. Apparently the youth was educated, and devout too. However, he was opposed to the whole notion of any silsila. Tahirul had been unable to induct him into anything. He was neither a Furfura man, nor a Tabligh or Jamaate Islam one. He was also opposed to a lot of what the Ahl-e-Hadis were preaching. Tahirul couldn’t figure out the youth’s fundamental identity. It was a few youths from Maruf’s group who were crying hoarse about the shariat. But people said, ‘However educated you might be, after all you’re no scholar, my dear!’ Yet they shouted about this being shirk, or polytheistic, and that not being prescribed in Islam, about something being unacceptable, something else being wrong, and so on. ‘My dear son, doesn’t our Imam Saheb know about all that? Or didn’t our Pir Sahebs know? Hadn’t he spoken out loudly against making appeals in the majar in Sirajpur? It seems you lot exaggerate everything!’

It was such people who were the Imam Saheb’s main support base. There would be a final decision today. The terrified musulli gazed blankly at the elders. Kalu Miya, Kalim Mirza, Nasir Sheikh and others were sitting beside the mosque. The Haji Saheb disliked any such uproar, it made him feel kind of uneasy. He had gone home. But Tahirul was still sitting in the imam’s spot in the mosque, the kobba, thinking about how to handle the situation. What if it was him that the poorly educated, semi-literate folk of Sadnahati thought amiss of? Was Maruf in the mosque? It was only him that he was worried about. As for the others, he would be able to bind them in the mesh of logic and reason. But Maruf would dispute him. He would be able to provide textual reference for his contentions. Besides, Tahirul had heard that Maruf belonged to a very wealthy family. So it was normal for people to be on his side as well. Even though Maruf’s Abba was fond of Tahirul.

Maruf first met Tahirul some three months back. Tahirul was still under the impression then that although there was affluence in Sadnahati, in comparison, it was deficient as regards possessing scholars. His impression was largely correct. Yet after visiting Maruf’s house, this notion received a jolt. Nasir Saheb had specially invited him. What Tahirul saw in a room on the first floor left him astonished. The whole room was like a library. Tahirul was a scholarly man, he would surely be drawn to books. Tahirul entered the room. He saw books on various subjects arranged sequentially there. Who read so many books, he wondered. When he asked Nasir Saheb, he replied, ‘Maruf does. He’s my younger son. He does not follow our silsila, Hujur. None of us can figure out what he is. He’s constantly reading.’

‘What does he do?’