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‘I got Nilufa married last year. Ayan is an adult now. Will you go to the Miya house? No one wants to go there now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Raqib’s got AIDS. Your Boro Mama’s son. He returned to the village a few months back with this dreadful communicable disease. That’s why
’

Riziya experienced a moment of revelation when she heard that. But there was no outward sign of that. She turned grave and said, ‘Bhabi, I had faith in Allah. Now I have even greater faith. He delivers such perfect justice.’

‘You’re Hindu now. If people hear you speak of Allah, they’ll laugh.’

‘Let them laugh. But I will go there. Even if the people of Sadnahati cut me to pieces, I won’t protest.’

‘All right. You and your daughter be ready. I will come and take you.’

Riziya and her daughter didn’t leave their room. Some people peeped in through the window. Riziya was lying in bed with her arms wrapped around Preeti. The loudspeaker had been blaring since morning, announcing the blood donation camp. That would be followed by the felicitation gathering. Riziya was suddenly stunned to hear a voice. So the man was here then!

Riziya couldn’t help remembering that fateful night. The night on which she had gone to Hujur’s room and pleaded with him to run away with her. Should she have told Hujur the ultimate truth then? How would he have reacted if she had? When Riziya had said to Hujur that she would commit suicide, he had said, ‘You are being impractical, Riziya. You have to fight to survive.’ Hadn’t Riziya undertaken that fight? And because she had done that, they had survived! Would she see him face to face today? Would he ask her why she had left Sadnahati and gone away after having given him his word? Her life would not have entailed such complexities if she hadn’t gone away. As Riziya thought about such things, Reshma arrived and stood at the door. She said, ‘Get up now. Come to my house first. I got your Dada’s consent.’

Tahirul got the news of Suman’s death the moment his dead body was brought from the morgue to Sadnahati for cremation. And accompanying that, Riziya arrived at Sadnahati after ten years, wearing conch-shell bangles and sindoor. Some people got agitated, but fearing that the major event taking place in the village might get disrupted, Rafiq Ali calmed them down. Tahirul was putting up in Maruf’s house. He spoke to Maruf while they were having dinner. Maruf had said, ‘I should tell you, I didn’t go to see Suman. That’s because Suman was no longer the person I knew. He had become a drunkard. Let me tell you, Suman used to drink a little bit during the Puja, or other festivals, I knew that. But I never knew that he would be consumed by alcohol. I think there was some rage or grief at work. But as a childhood friend, I was very sad. If he had only met me once! Perhaps
’

‘And what about Riziya? Has she really become a kaffir, Maruf Bhai?’

‘How can I tell you about that, Hujur? I heard that there were signs of a Hindu woman on her body. She accepted widowhood under Hindu rituals. Do you know, I met her once! About two years ago. May I ask you something?’

‘Tell me, Maruf Bhai.’

‘You still think about Riziya, don’t you?’

Maulana Tahirul didn’t want to reply to that. How could he tell him that he had thought about Riziya every moment of these ten long years! Why he had remained unmarried. Tahirul had a lot to explain to Riziya! He was constantly plagued by curiosity, as to why she had run away with Suman. He had gone to Nazir Bhai’s house and asked Reshma Bhabi too, but he got no answer. Tahirul put down the handful of rice he was about to eat and merely said, ‘Forget all that. I don’t feel like talking about that subject.’

‘But do you know something – everyone thinks that Riziya wrote “Hare Krishna, Hare Ram” on the wall of the mosque. I am certain, though, that Riziya did not write that. I am a hundred per cent sure. I found no resemblance between her handwriting and the writing on the wall.’

‘Then who wrote it?’

‘I don’t know that. But I know that Suman didn’t write it either. I know his handwriting from our childhood. Once you know this, it becomes easy to understand why Riziya left. But people are angry. They are silent now because of the event. I’ve spoken to Rafiq Bhai as well, to see that the subject of Riziya is not raised right now. I heard that Rafiq Ali, too, went, after he got the news that Abid Sheikh had gone to collect Suman’s body. That’s their political compulsion.’

‘You asked me to moderate the event, but now I feel like I can’t do that. I feel like running away from here. It’s as if Riziya has slapped me hard and is still standing in front of me, but I’m unable to ask her why she did that!’

‘What nonsense! No one can moderate the programme better than you. You’ll forget everything once the programme is in full flow!’

‘I hope that happens, Maruf Bhai. I hope I can forget everything.’

seventy-two

When Riziya walked with Preeti through the crowded street in Sadnahati, everyone was stunned. Some people were annoyed to see her. Some bubbled with excitement, like the rice boiling inside a pot covered with a lid. What audacity! What a shameless girl! Nevertheless, Riziya was unruffled, and she entered the lane leading to Reshma’s house. Reshma had already told the people in her house that Riziya would be coming. And so, a crowd of many neighbouring women had gathered outside her room. All of them were eager to know whether Riziya had really become a Hindu. Riziya could read the expression on their faces. In the dim light of dusk, she could discern the look of astonishment and hatred in their eyes. She did not speak to anyone. She directly entered Reshma’s room. Many had speculations regarding Preeti. ‘How pretty she is, she looks just like her father.’ Riziya looked at the woman who’d said that. It was Nurul Da’s wife. She seemed to have greyed a bit. Achchha, did she finally have a son? Riziya was very eager to know!

After they were seated, Reshma went to get some refreshments. There were many questions: Where were you, Rizi? Okay, so you loved someone and ran away, but why did you write those things on the mosque wall? How could a girl from the Miya household, educated in religion, do such a childish thing! Why did Suman take his own life? These were extremely decent queries. But there were much more complicated questions as well. Riziya felt like dissolving into the earth in shame. Reshma was not able to control them. And in that situation, Riziya suddenly shouted out, ‘I beg you to be quiet. I know you have a thousand questions in your mind. But let me live. Don’t torment me in front of this little girl.’

Everyone became silent at once. Riziya was an educated woman. Now she had become articulate. Addressing the crowd, Reshma said, ‘Come on, go back to your homes now. You’ll know everything in good time. Go now.’

The crowd thinned a bit. And then the loudspeaker blared again. It had been turned off for a while for the Maghrib prayer. There was a pond behind Reshma’s house. Rahmat, the muezzin, lived on the far side of the pond. If one skirted past his house, there was the Eidgah ground. The day’s event was taking place there. Maruf was making an announcement. ‘Greetings and felicitations to the people of Sadnahati village. The public event organized on behalf of the committee of the Jumma Mosque is about to resume. The special feature of the programme is felicitating illustrious people. We will start that programme in a few minutes, Inshallah! The person to whom I am handing over the mic to moderate the entire programme is very well known to you – the former imam of this very mosque, Maulana Tahirul Islam Saheb!’

Riziya turned towards Reshma and mouthed, ‘Hujur!’

‘Yes. He arrived last night. He came to our house once before. He learnt about you too.’

Riziya did not say any more. She sat quietly. Tahirul was greeting all the people seated on the stage. Riziya could see all their faces in her mind’s eye: Kalim Mirza, Rahmat the muezzin, Rajek Sheikh, Rafiq Ali, the pradhan of the Panchayat, Abid Sheikh, the social worker, and Dr Jasimuddin. The names of people she didn’t know were Abdur Rahim Ali, Kabir Molla and Anadikumar Dutta, who were journalists; Gobindo Haldar, a teacher; and the writer Abinash Chandra Mukhopadhyay. Who was that? Abinash Babu! Here? Riziya remembered – Suman did tell her that he was Maruf’s favourite writer. Could he have told Maruf about Suman? Had Suman asked him not to inform anyone of his whereabouts?

Riziya heard a lot of speeches for an hour. She realized Sadnahati was awakening. There was to be a library, a health centre, and a computer centre under the aegis of the mosque committee. She was happy to hear that. Riziya wanted to see the people involved. It was Abinash Babu on the mic now. Riziya listened to his speech. How eloquent he was! She thought of Aaduri. Wasn’t Aaduri also responsible for Suman’s suicide? But if Riziya considered Aaduri guilty, then this writer, Abinash Babu, was also responsible for that. Why did he stay away from his young wife, leaving her all alone? Why should she alone be responsible for Suman’s death? Although Suman had left behind a note that no one was responsible for his death, could Riziya ever forgive herself? Abinash Babu was speaking at that moment regarding education. He said, ‘I witnessed in Sadnahati an exception to how we, non-Muslims, perceive a mosque. The darkness of illiteracy that haunts the Muslim community can be eliminated if the mosque committee comprises educated, cultured and religious-minded people. The imams of mosques have to play a positive role in this regard
’

Riziya began to feel restless. Preeti had fallen asleep on Reshma’s cot. The crowd of neighbouring women was no longer around. Riziya suddenly said to Reshma, ‘Bhabi, I want to go there.’

‘What are you saying!’

‘I want to go to the programme stage. Believe me, I cheated Suman, and Suman cheated me. But this Sadnahati did not cheat me. It is illiteracy that cheated all of us.’

‘You’ve lost your head! They’ll thrash you to death! What drama are you going to do there?’

‘No, they won’t do that. A woman, and a mother, has to learn to survive. Do you have a borkha? Give it to me, let me put it on.’

Reshma did not protest. Riziya put on the borkha. After that, she left the house by herself. The Eidgah ground was packed with people. Riziya knew the way from her childhood days. She quickly reached the place where the womenfolk were seated. No one recognized her since she was clad in a borkha. She went closer to the stage. The first person she sighted was Maruf. And standing next to him, wearing a white pyjama-panjabi, was Maulana Tahirul. There seemed to be no change in his appearance, he looked exactly the same. Riziya advanced towards the stage. The crowd of people was absorbed in listening to Abinash Babu’s speech. He continued speaking. ‘But I would like to say something to this mosque committee and to all the people of Sadnahati. You want to start a library, that’s good. I am a writer, so I want to express my full support. But where will you find the readers for the library? If you want readers, the number of educated people needs to increase. There’s neither a high school, nor a high madrasa here, although this is such a large village. You need an educational institution
’

Riziya stoically approached the stage and saw Jasmin, the daughter-in-law of the Haji household and now member of the local Panchayat, seated there. Abinash Babu went on: ‘But a school doesn’t materialize merely by saying we need to build one. That requires land. Arrange for the land, and I shall help you.’

The Eidgah ground resounded with continuous applause during Abinash Babu’s speech. Seizing the opportunity, Riziya climbed up on stage, went next to Abinash Babu, and without removing the niqab over her face, declared in front of the mic, ‘Let there be a school and a madrasa in Sadnahati. Let people be educated. I will donate the land.’

At first, that too was followed by applause. And then, for a moment, the programme suddenly halted. Who was there on the soil of Sadnahati who could donate land? Who was this woman? Abinash Babu’s speech was terminated at once. There was a cordless mic in Maulana Tahirul’s hand. He turned that on and asked, ‘But who are you? Please introduce yourself. After all
’

‘I’m a Sadnahati girl. I want people like Dr Jasim and Maruf Bhai to take the responsibility to set up a mission school here. I will donate the land. My name is Riziya.’

Are sens

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