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.’
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.
