by Pran Kishore
‘I have sinned against all of you. But this Sulaiman is his son. He is innocent. He has your blood in his veins. If you just place your affectionate hand on his head once, that would be more than enough for me.’
Sulaiman walked ahead, bowed and placed his head at Malla Khaliq’s feet. Malla Khaliq’s eyes filled with tears as he held him warmly to his chest. He quivered and tried to hold his tears back. Then he released Sulaiman and was about to stand up, when Narayan Joo stopped him.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked. She wants to say something to you before seeking your permission to leave. Please sit down.’
Malla Khaliq wiped his tears and sat down again.
Reeny looked towards Vijay Kumar. He opened the briefcase and took out some documents. With her eyes lowered, Reeny said to Malla Khaliq, ‘Your son had written his last will. Vijay Kumar will present the will to you because your son had appointed him as the executor of his deed. Being an equal partner in his business, I have already given my assent to his will. When you hear the contents, I hope you will come to know that Qadir never considered himself estranged from you.’
There was a long lull in the room. After that, Vijay Kumar started reading out the will to them, but before doing that he said to Malla Khaliq, ‘The will is quite brief. Ghulam Qadir had insisted on getting the deed registered in court before his passing.
‘“I, Ghulam Qadir, son of Haji Abdul Khaliq, native of Gagribal, Srinagar, Kashmir, tehsil Srinagar, district Srinagar, now residing at Panaji Goa, state of Goa, in all my senses, solemnly command by this will, that I bequeath all my property and assets, the details of which are given in annexure, 1, 2 and 3, to my esteemed father Haji Abdul Khaliq, resident of Gagribal, Srinagar, and the owner of houseboats Gul, Gulshan and Gulfam. I further command by will that he is authorized to use it in whichever way he likes. My will has the absolute and unconditional support of my wife Reeny Qadir, resident of Daman. Her consent is included in the command of the will.
“Furthermore, I have willed an amount of fifty lakh rupees in the State Bank of India under the account number SB45306 in the name of my first wife Mrs Zaib-un-Nisa, wife of Ghulam Qadir, resident of Gagribal, Srinagar, Kashmir, and I will that she shall be the sole owner of that money.
The Warrantor: Ghulam Qadir”’
The room was submerged in silence. Nobody knew how to react. Vijay Kumar cast a glance at his father. He finally thawed the icy silence. ‘He deserves praise for he ultimately proved himself to be a true scion of Haji Abdul Khaliq. Now hand over the will to Haji Sahib.’
‘You have put me in a spot. I don’t have the strength to bear such a huge debt. My feet are already hanging in my grave and I don’t know when I will fall into it. No, it is not possible for me to bear such a heavy yoke. I, a poor boatman, will crumble under the burden,’ Malla Khaliq said.
Narayan Joo tried to make him understand. ‘It was Qadir’s last wish. You must fulfil it. We can sort out other things later.’ Then he turned to Reeny. ‘Dear daughter, all this is happening so fast that he is a bit thrown. So I request you to keep the documents in your custody and give him some time to think.’
Malla Khaliq’s eyes filled with gratitude as he looked at Narayan Joo. Then he said to Reeny, ‘If I call you my daughter, I hope you will not be offended.’
‘Oh, that would mean the world to me, the most precious gift I have ever got. Having heard these words from you Qadir’s soul must be feeling blessed. I know it.’
‘Now you have become a part of our family. Sulaiman too. As far as land and property are concerned, I never had any interest in such things. You have to keep the name of the departed soul alive. This is my prayer; Allah will give you strength and forbearance.’
Reeny said, ‘Since we are one now, I have a request to make. You and Narayan Uncle kindly pay a visit to Goa and see how your prodigal son has built an empire through sheer hard work.’
‘You cannot even conceive how efficient and hard-working he was. You will have to go there at least once,’ Vijay Kumar seconded Reeny.
‘We will surely go there if Allah allows us to. Now you will have to excuse me. I am very tired and I want to rest. But please don’t leave without having lunch,’ Malla Khaliq said.
Malla Khaliq went near Narayan Joo and said, ‘Now get up, my Pandit. You must also get some rest.’
Reeny got up to open the door for them. Before they went out, she said to him, ‘I hope you will have no objection if I spend some time with Zeb-un-Nisa.’
‘Why should I have any objection? Let’s leave her alone with Zeb for some time,’ he said to Zoon and Mukhta.
Then Malla Khaliq, Narayan Joo and Vijay Kumar left the room. Everyone else apart from Zeb also left the room.
It was a strange meeting. A meeting between rivals, destined to whirl in the same orbit, the pivot in which was now broken. Zeb didn’t know what to say. It was Reeny who finally broke the ice. ‘You and your family consider me the biggest sinner, but in all the years that Ghulam Qadir lived with me, he told me just one lie for which I never pardoned him. I wish he had told me that he had such a wonderful first wife in Kashmir pining for him. I would have not married him ever, all my love for him notwithstanding. In his desperation to save me from my crises, he decided to marry me. Oh, I wish you had come there along with him. Oh, I wish—’
Zeb interrupted her, ‘I too have many complaints, but what is the point of it? If only he had given me that letter many many years ago, I would have surely forgiven him. I have no grudge against you at all. You don’t know how tall and noble you stand in comparison to all of us here. Now he is no more, yet I know that it is again because of him that we have forged such a sacred bond with you that has no name.’ The two bereaved women sat there for a long time. When the burden between them had dissipated, Reeny took leave of her.
Noor Mohammad urged her to eat with the family, but Reeny said to him, ‘Today I have got so much love from all of you that I really have no need for food. Now, with God’s mercy, we will be meeting off and on. I hope the ache of your loss heals soon. I am going away, leaving behind the one most loved by me at the foothills of the mountain. I will keep returning to his grave.’
She called Sulaiman who sat at the prow of houseboat Gulshan chatting with Bilal Ahmed. Both Sulaiman and Bilal Ahmed came near her.
Subhan had already anchored the shikaarah to the ghat. All the family members went to see her off. With a heavy heart, Reeny took leave of them. Wiping her eyes, she sat in the shikaarah with Vijay Kumar. Looking at Bilal, Sulaiman said to him, ‘Tomorrow, we will be going back empty-handed. Won’t you give me a hug?’
Bilal sadly held Sulaiman in a tight hug and said to him, ‘Look after yourself and do take care of your Mummy.’
‘Yes, I will,’ said Sulaiman.
On the same day in the evening, a huge argument erupted in Narayan Joo’s living room, between Vijay Kumar and his son. Vijay Kumar reprimanded his son, ‘You refuse to book your return ticket, but that does not mean that I will allow you to stay back here in Kashmir. What avenues will you find here? You have got such a prestigious degree from Switzerland! Was it meant to keep you incarcerated here in these mountains?’
‘I trained in tourism! This is considered a flourishing industry across the world. Tell me, is there any place better than Kashmir for managing tourism? If I could in any way serve my homeland, there is certainly no better work to do. Grandpa, why don’t you make him see sense?’
‘Yes, yes. I understand. It is he who has brainwashed you,’ said Vijay Kumar in his rage.
Narayan Joo was about to say something, but Dilip Kumar said to his father, ‘Neither he nor anyone else has brainwashed me. I came across many technocrats in Switzerland, Italy and France, who have made great progress in the material sense. But I always found them craving to return to Kashmir. Leave them aside; have you already forgotten Qadir Uncle? Even after becoming such a big hotelier, I witnessed how he pined to return home.’
Narayan Joo could no
longer hold himself back. He said to Dilip Kumar, ‘My darling, this father of yours is unable to accept this truth. I too faced this very problem over twenty-five years ago when Vijay Kumar had returned after finishing his training. When he told me what he tells you right now, “What lies here to our advantage? There is no space to spread wings and soar in the sky. There are no avenues for progress!” I was rendered speechless, and I could not hold him back. I thought he was right. But what you are saying after having seen all of Europe gives me a fresh perspective. If every son or daughter of Kashmir – Hindu or Muslim – gets proper education and training abroad and then comes back to Kashmir with the resolve to make it a real paradise on earth, then all our troubles will go away. Vijay, I plead for him: give him the opportunity. I, however, swear by my Mother Devi, I have not made any attempt to brainwash him.’
‘Listen, Dad, I have resolved to stay here with my Grandpa – come what may! I just need your blessings.’
Vijay Kumar heaved a long sigh. Then he said to his son, ‘Okay, you may go ahead. I know nothing is going to change this place. Yet you may give it a try.’
When Malla Khaliq entered Narayan Joo’s garden the next day, he found him checking Vijay Kumar’s baggage. Seeing him there so early in the morning, Narayan Joo asked him, ‘How come Haji Sahib is here so early in the morning?’
‘I know Vijay’s flight is at ten o’clock and I arrived early so I could speak with him before he leaves.’
‘No. I think there is something more serious; I can read it in your eyes.’
Malla Khaliq called his taxi driver in and said to him, ‘Rashid Sahib! Please bring that bag here.’
The driver brought a huge bag inside and Malla Khaliq placed it among Vijay Kumar’s baggage. ‘It contains some almonds, walnuts and some dried vegetables for my daughter-in-law there. Where is Vijay?’
‘He is getting ready. Let us go in.’
He took Malla Khaliq into the drawing room. Malla Khaliq looked all around and said to Narayan Joo, ‘I don’t see Dilip here. Where is he?’
Narayan Joo sat beside him and said with an air of confidentiality, ‘There is good news for you. He does not wish to go back to Bombay with his father. And I will not be leaving you alone during the winters henceforth.’
Vijay Kumar came in followed by Dilip Kumar, carrying his father’s briefcase. Both of them greeted Malla Khaliq.
‘My dear son, will you spare a minute or two for me before you leave?’
Vijay Kumar sat down beside Malla Khaliq on the sofa.
Malla Khaliq took out a big envelope from the inner pocket of his phiran and gave it to Vijay Kumar.
‘What is this?’ Vijay Kumar asked.
‘Please give this to Reeny.’
‘But what does it contain?’
‘Ghulam Qadir’s will. I thought about it long and hard, and then came to the conclusion that I won’t be able to bear this responsibility. All this is Reeny’s and Sulaiman’s. You please return it to them.’
Vijay Kumar said to Khaliq, ‘Please try to understand. Your kindness healed Reeny’s wounds. If I return these documents to her, she will feel hurt to an extent that you cannot imagine. Please keep the documents with you and let us see what we can do.’
Narayan Joo seconded his proposal. ‘Vijay Kumar is right; don’t break the poor girl’s heart.’
Malla Khaliq accepted their suggestion. He handed over the envelope to Narayan Joo. ‘You keep it in your custody.’
‘No, my dear friend, I fear greed might blind me. You keep it in your own custody.’ Saying this, Narayan Joo put the envelope back in Malla Khaliq’s phiran pocket. Dilip, who had gone to fetch the other bag, came in.
‘Now let’s move, otherwise you will be late. I will drop you at the airport. Then I have to attend to some work at the bank.’
Malla Khaliq feigned ignorance and said, ‘Aren’t you going along with him?’
‘He has been beguiled by this friend of yours,’ Vijay Kumar said to end the conversation.
‘No, Haji Uncle, it is my own decision. I will not abandon my homeland to go anywhere else. You wait and watch, he himself will return sooner or later,’ Dilip said to him.
‘They will surely return home. Everyone will return home in search of their roots. But I pray to Allah that no one returns home in the condition that my poor son Qadir did.’
Everyone fell silent at the memory of Qadir. Vijay Kumar’s son, nonetheless, changed the subject.
‘No more shall my grandpa live alone here. He will not leave his home even in winters.’
‘So this year we will enjoy the snow to our heart’s content. And then, Haji Abdul Khaliq Sahib, we will see who wins the Nav Sheen bet this time.’
A faint smile appeared on Malla Khaliq’s lips. Casting a loving glance at Narayan Joo, he said with a long sigh, ‘Yes, that day is not far now.’
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The Dal Formed an Indelible
Imprint on My Mind…
Pran Kishore
Translator’s Note
Shafi Shauq
The Dal formed an indelible imprint on my mind…
Pran Kishore
When my first novel Sheen Ta Vatapod (Snow and the Bridle Path) was published in 1987, many of my friends and associates were skeptical, for how could I, who had dedicated the my life to theatre and spent much of my life in the company of dramaturges, switch from drama to fiction, that too so late in life! However, the main reason behind my sudden switch was my realization that drama, despite its strength to influence its audience and stimulate them directly, is finite in scope as it does not overcome the limits of space and time and keep pace with the fast-changing moods of passion, inscapes and transience of reality.
This perception had been lurking in my mind for a long time and spurred me to experiment with the production of long radio serial plays like Vyath Rooz Pakaan (And the Vyath Continued Flowing) and Lala Joo and Sons in Kashmiri. Yet, even after having orchestrated, and then directed such open-ended plays, my mind was not satiated in depicting the latent motives of the characters. Even dialogues and soliloquies seemed inadequate to represent the complex undercurrents that make up the human psyche. I felt that poetry and the novel were the best forms in which the human mind could be unravelled fully. Poetry has been considered divine revelation, but my Creator did not deem me suitable for this faculty. So it was an obvious choice for me to adopt the genre of the novel and this is how Sheen Ta Vatapod (translated by me into English and published under the title Sheen – Snow And The Bridle Path) came to be. The novel was given the year’s best book award from the Jammu & Kashmir Academy of Art Culture & Languages and went on to win the national award from Sahitya Akademi. Soon after publishing this novel, I started writing my second novel.
The outline of this new novel occurred to me in the late 1940s when I rented a small boat at the rate of one rupee per day from the quay of my native place, Chinkral Mohalla, in the city of Srinagar. Taking my childhood friends along, I roved through the Maer Canal of the old city and reached Gagribal in the Dal Lake. It was during this journey that the Dal formed an indelible imprint on my mind, and I took an interest in the dwellers of the Dal. Then, when I reached the college, my brother’s business with the tourists strengthened my relation with the houseboat owners in the lake and this interaction continued for years to come. For many years, I even assisted the owner of a couple of houseboats in maintaining their correspondence with various foreign tourists. This experience provided me with an opportunity to understand the family life of the houseboat owners, and their relation to other boatmen and residents of the hamlets in and around the lake. Soon after, my career in broadcasting (first with Radio Kashmir and then with All India Radio) started. It was during that period that in Dachigam Wild Life Sanctuary, I had the good fortune of getting acquainted with a reputed and venerable person – Abdul Samad Kotroo. He owned a chain of houseboats in the Dal Lake.
In fact, I was engaged in preparing a documentary there on the rare and pretty inmates of the sanctuary, particularly the Kashmiri stag, known as the hangul. The chief warden of wildlife at the time, Mir Inayat Ullah, had brought Haji Abdul Samad Kotroo along to record an interview for the documentary on the habits and behaviour of various birds and animals living in the sanctuary. Kotroo Sahib was an authority on wildlife in the state of Jammu and Kashmir.
I instantly became an admirer of Kotroo Sahib’s sharp and empathetic mind and transparency of heart. Kotroo Sahib’s experience of life and his understanding of the local people was immense. This became the foundation stone of our relationship which lasted up to his departure for heavenly abode. My interactions with this exceptional human being and his family members inspired me to write about the lives of the boatmen of the lake who has been mingling the sweat of their toil with the waters of the lake for generations. Being a father figure Kotroo Sahib was venerated by not only the boatmen but also the vegetable growers who dwelled in the marshes around the lake. He had continued the tradition that his father had set – of treating the tourists, who would often come to escape the maddening city life to stay in his houseboat, as his own kith. Similarly, Malla Khaliq is conscientious in his duties of making his guests feel at home. This is how the seed of the novel Gul Gulshan Gulfam was sown in my mind and I started weaving the fabric of this novel and writing it.
It was a boon of God that I got acquainted with the proprietors of a big production house of Mumbai – the film-makers Sunil Mehta and Prem Krishen when they had come to Kashmir to shoot their television film Nai Shirvaani (based on the Russian short story ‘The Overcoat’). When they heard the story of Gul Gulshan Gulfam, they were so impressed that they immediately purchased its broadcasting rights from me. This was the genesis of the tele-serial Gul Gulshan Gulfam, that became a milestone in the history of the television in India.