Abhijit returned home. For some reason, Maruf thought Abhijit was lying. He had some clue, which he was keeping secret. If Maruf ever met Suman and Riziya, he would only ask each one, separately, the incredulous question, ‘Why?’ He wouldn’t ask anything else.
sixty-two
It had been about two months since Maulana Tahirul had left Sadnahati and come away. Sadnahati had been the most significant milestone in his life. The race of life began in different ways at various times. Tahirul had to start the race anew. His job as an imam had taught him a lot. He had no job, he was idle. Tahirul felt stifled sitting in a remote village in the Sundarbans. He felt a deep antipathy towards Sadnahati. How easily people could forget! All the love and affection of the musulli had vanished. Not a single person had communicated with him. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t have crossed the salty river and the lengthy creeks of the Sundarbans if they genuinely wished to meet him. After all, he had given his home address to plenty of people. Couldn’t someone even send a message? Hadn’t he rushed to the aid of so many people when they were in peril, or had a calamity? He had been intimate with Rahmat Bhai, Maruf and Abdul Chacha. Where was their respect now? Their affection? Had the abundant trust of the musulli while shaking his hands been impermanent? Or was it merely the normal deference towards an imam? Did they hate the individual Tahirul? He had left Sadnahati in order to be far away from the place of his disgrace. Riziya had been overcome with emotion and come to his room to meet him, and that had spelt doom for him. But there had been no deficit as regards Riziya’s sentiment or her love. And yet he had disregarded her irresistible attraction and left Sadnahati. Why had he done that? In order to prevent the sacred entity of ‘Imam’ from being blemished! If he lost the honour and dignity in Sadnahati that he was entitled to and which Allah had bestowed upon him, and he went on plunging into other waters, would he ever regain the honour? Never. But Tahirul could not go back to the same place so easily. Sitting idle at home day after day was unbearable for him. He felt he had to go out. Although there was poison in the air in the city, it had an overpowering allure. Tahirul was unable to suppress that allure. Would he take up imam-ship somewhere else then?
For some reason, Tahirul felt the position of imam could not be a profession. It ought to be a voluntary role. But how was that possible? After all, they too had to eat. They had families. But was the imam’s responsibility limited to leading the prayers? Were goals like the spread of Islamic civilization and culture in society, and creation of community consciousness the job of an imam who was a salaried employee? At one time, the Muslim community’s mosque was the centre point of education and service to humanity. But now? Tahirul’s experience with reality only made him bitter. Having seen the reality of the ‘Imams’ organization’, this too seemed worthless to him. Which was why Tahirul had given up his position there as well. But what would he do then? After all, he couldn’t carry on like this. He had been sitting at home for two whole months. All the time he was with his Ma and his siblings, he felt an acute sense of responsibility. His sisters had to get married. The older one had a psychological disability. Tahirul’s Ma’s admonition was that she could have got well with treatment. His Ma, too, was always unwell. They did not have any land that they could cultivate. But even if they did, was he capable of doing that? Farming in a land of saline water was no easy matter. Everyone in his village accorded him respect as a scholar. He had never laid his hands on a spade or a plough. He could, of course, get into business. Maulana Tahirul made up his mind: Come what may, he would not take up the position of imam again.
It was noon. Tahirul had just sat down to eat after the Zuhr prayer. His teenage sister informed him that some people had come from Sadnahati to meet him. Tahirul almost jumped up when he heard that. His depression was gone at once. But inwardly, he felt ashamed. Had people from Sadnahati really come all the way to this remote, backward village? He had harboured negative notions for the last few days! Leaving the rice on his plate, he went outside. The thatch roof of their hut hung very low. One had to stoop down to enter or exit. As he made to exit in a rush, he hit his head against it. He got a small nick on his forehead. Disregarding the pain, he came outside. Going past a few houses, he spotted Maruf and Farid under the jamrul tree. Unable to control himself, Tahirul greeted them loudly and hugged Maruf. The memories of his early days in Sadnahati flooded his mind. How much he had argued and debated with the selfsame Maruf and Farid in the mosque. And yet it was they who had come today to look him up! There were tears in Tahirul’s eyes. Checking himself, he said, ‘You here, Maruf Bhai? Now, you’re looking nice. And how are you, Farid Bhai?’
‘Alhamdulillah!’
‘How is everyone there? Abdul Chacha, Rahmat Bhai? How is your Abba, Maruf Bhai?’
‘Everyone is fine.’
‘Come, please come. This poor man’s house…’
Maruf had not expected such penury. Was this the house of Imam Tahirul who was once a powerful personality in the mosque in Sadnahati? They left the jamrul tree behind and went past a few earthen huts in the lane, and when Tahirul pointed to his house, Maruf and Farid were astonished. There was green moss on the slippery courtyard. Pairs of bricks had been laid over the wet ground to enable safe movement. The thatch roof was old, sunburnt and faded. The hut had earthen walls on three sides. After the wall on the northern side collapsed during the last rainy season, it had been covered with a mat of bamboo and hogla reed. One side of the courtyard was slightly elevated. The debris of an earthen hut. Next to it was an abandoned paddy granary. And beside that were some tethered goats. A girl was feeding grass to the goats. She seemed unconcerned to see the strangers who had come to visit. An ordinary, rustic adolescent. She seemed to be unwell. One of the three tiny rooms was the kitchen. Tahirul’s Ma emerged from there. On being introduced, she covered her head with the anchal of her sari and said, ‘You’ve come from very far away, please rest. Take the guests inside. Let me cook some rice and fry two eggs.’
Farid was looking in the other direction. Why was he looking at the goats? Tahirul realized that he was observing the adolescent girl’s actions. He laid a mat on the floor of the veranda and requested the guests to sit down. And then he said to Farid, ‘She’s my sister. My next sibling. She’s a bit abnormal. She gets fits. She spends all her time with the cow and goats.’
Farid said, ‘I see. Hujur, don’t you have a brother as well?’
‘Yes. He is in Metiabruz. He works as a tailor. The family runs on his earnings now.’
It was very difficult for Tahirul to say that. Realizing his embarrassment, Maruf changed the subject. He told him everything. He mentioned his forty-day chilla, and told him that his sister, Amina, had got married. The matter of the debate regarding the Tablighi Jamaat’s faith came up. He voiced his regret over Furfura steadily turning disorderly. After talking about shariat and Sufism, he came to the subject of village politics. But neither Maruf nor Farid said anything about Riziya. Nor were they able to talk about the unimaginable incident that had taken place in Sadnahati, in which Tahirul was a notable character.
After they had eaten lunch and partaken of the hospitality, Farid said, ‘Hujur, we have to go back now. It’s a long way.’
‘Why do you have to return today? No, how can that be! Stay tonight and leave tomorrow morning.’
Maruf protested mildly, ‘It won’t be a problem. We’ll get back all right.’
There was a look of inadequacy and humiliation on Tahirul’s face. He said somewhat reproachfully, ‘Maruf Bhai, I know it will be inconvenient for you here. But I don’t want to let you go like this today. I will really feel at peace if you stay. I too feel uncomfortable living in this village. Please stay the night. We can have a long chat.’
Maruf looked at Tahirul’s face and nodded in agreement. He said, ‘All right, we’ll stay then. But is there anything worth seeing here? Come, let’s go for a walk.’
‘What’s there to see here? Everything will be dark once it’s dusk. There’s no electricity yet. The islands of the Sundarbans where entry is prohibited are just two rivers away. Where the Royal Bengal Tiger lives. Would you like to go there?’
‘We probably don’t have the courage needed to go to a place where entry is prohibited. Nor are we keen to see a tiger.’
Farid said, ‘Hujur, let’s go towards Gadakhali instead. We passed that on our way here.’
‘No, let’s go somewhere else. There’s a majar, let’s go there.’
‘All right, let’s see the majar.’
They walked along a narrow muddy path beside the river of salty water. After walking for quite a while through wooded clumps and jungle, they reached an expansive village. Once they passed that, they arrived at the majar of Madhu Pir. A small rectangular structure with a green, domed roof. Fenced on all sides with wattle. Visible through the gaps was what looked like a grave covered with a red-and-green sheet. There were faded old sheets beneath that. The majar lay amidst quite a large tract of vacant land. The Urs here took place in the month of Chaitra. There was a gathering. Communication arrangements were poor. That was why few people came here. But there was a crowd at the Urs gathering. There was a three-day fair. Famous scholars and speakers were brought in. The family of this majar’s trustee was extremely poor. They encountered one of the family members at the majar; Maruf spoke to him. They crossed the river and fetched honeycombs from the forest. They kept the honey before the Pir’s grave for seven days, or twenty-one days. And in that time, the honey developed tremendous medicinal powers. Allah’s blessing! Apparently many ailments were cured with that. After hearing everything, Maruf asked him, ‘What was the Pir’s name? What’s his story?’
‘No one knows his real name. It’s the name Madhu Pir that’s been passed down through the generations. This Pir’s shrine is very special. Prayers are answered. But in the Sundarbans, it is Gazi Pir who is above all.’
‘What about Bonbibi?’
‘Bonbibi is for the Hindus. She wasn’t theirs earlier. But the Hindus made her theirs. It’s true that she’s very powerful too.’
Tahirul didn’t like it there. He said to Maruf, ‘It’s almost dusk, let’s go back now.’
But Maruf continued talking to the man. Maulana Tahirul whispered into Maruf’s ear, ‘It’s all shirk! It’s simply an enterprise, you know. You’ve seen the majar. Let’s go from here now.’ Maruf gazed at him blankly. It was the selfsame Maulana Tahirul Islam, the former imam of Sadnahati, who had expressly supported the construction of a majar for Haji Saheb. Didn’t he realize that such a simple enterprise was not limited to just these marginal folk? Maruf suddenly took out some money from his pocket and put a few currency notes into the donation box. He put some into the elderly man’s hands too. The old man took the money, flashed a toothless smile and knocked his hand on his forehead to convey his gratitude. Following Maruf, Farid, too, took out money from his pocket. He, too, put some money into the donation box with a displeased look on his face and exited the majar.
‘You gave him money?’
‘I did.’
‘Didn’t you say that you don’t donate money in majars?’
‘Yes, I did! Maybe I knowingly did something wrong today!’
Farid laughed and said, ‘Maruf Bhai has lots of money! Let him spend it. Let him do some wrong too. I don’t know why I unnecessarily did wrong. I emptied my pocket too.’
Tahirul arranged for them to sleep in another room. That was a brick one. He strung up the mosquito net with care. They sat up until late at night, chatting.
The next morning, after breakfast, Maruf and Farid got ready to leave. Tahirul said he would accompany them for some of the way. He appeared somewhat fidgety. He wasn’t able to ask them directly about Riziya. Although he had felt like doing so since yesterday. He was eager to hear about Riziya. But he felt hesitant to ask about her. Even more surprising was why Maruf had not asked him anything. Wasn’t it normal to ask why exactly he had left Sadnahati and come away? And because they hadn’t asked him, Tahirul, too, consciously refrained from mentioning anything. But now it was time for them to leave. Tahirul wanted to bring up the name of Riziya. Of Salaam Miya. Of Sadnahati! He asked, ‘Maruf Bhai, so who have you inducted as the imam of your mosque?’
‘I heard that Hafez Ansar has been taken on temporarily. Do you know Hafez Ansar Saheb?’
‘Yes. It was he who led the night prayers last Ramzan.’
Suddenly, Farid thoughtlessly blurted out, ‘Hujur, after you left Sadnahati, so much happened there. Don’t you know about that?’
