These words served as a prod for Basho Bhabi. She started off again, ‘Aji, you are talking of daylight robberies; here healthy young men are being abducted in broad daylight and no one does anything. In our Lucknow, in my entire life, there was only one such incident when on a desolate afternoon, a child was picked up as he was playing in a deserted alley. That caused such uproar in the entire city, even though it was only a child and he was not abducted against his will. Those wretched fellows had a mirror; they would show the mirror to a child and it would follow them blindly. Now things have reached such a pass that a fully grown up man is caught, trussed up and thrown into a car and sped off with.’
Saiyad Aqa Hasan gathered the strands of this conversation and gave them the form of a commonly-asked question, ‘Bhai Majidul Husaini, things have reached a very sorry state. Where will we go from here?’
Majju Bhai was a blithe spirit. Has anyone heard of a leech sticking to a stone? Basho Bhabhi and Saiyad Aqa Hasan had narrated their tales of woe with such heart-felt sorrow and look at the breezy disregard in Majju Bhai’s answer. ‘Wherever the Lord pleases!’
‘Only He knows what He pleases to be, but He has given us some sense too. Surely, you too must be occasionally reflecting on what might happen?’
‘Bhai Aqqan, you ask very difficult questions.’
‘My dear sir, these are difficult times. Tell me, who should we go to for justice? What do these people here know about the sorrows we have faced? With such grief we have pulled up our roots and dragged ourselves across these long hard miles? And here … here we have seen new twists and turns. So, tell me, my dear sir … that is what I am asking you: what lies ahead?’
‘The sea.’
Majju Bhai answered with the same carelessness. Saiyad Aqa Hasan understood partly. He was about to say something when Basho Bhabhi broke in, ‘Aji, what is this nonsense you have started? What are you going on about? Let me talk to Majju Bhai. Ai Majju Bhai, tell me who these Meerutwalas were back in the old days?’
And now for the first time in the entire conversation, Majju Bhai looked a bit uncomfortable. ‘What were they back then? They were human beings, God’s children, well-to-do and respectable.’
‘Respectable? I see,’ Basho Bhabhi paused and reflected, then said, ‘A lady from Meerut had come to our home. She said, these people used to sharpen scissors back then and were Kamboh.5 I was amazed when I heard this. I lost my sleep from that night. Majju Bhai, I swear upon Ali, when we had left Lucknow, never in our wildest dreams had we thought that when we reach Karachi, we will marry our daughter among those who sharpen knives and the tag of Kamboh would be patched onto the saadat.’6
Majju Bhai had become quite perturbed by now. In an attempt to smoothen things, he said, ‘Basho Bhabhi, don’t go by idle chatter; you know better than I do that people say all sorts of things when a marriage is being fixed.’
‘Majju Bhai, let me talk straight. I was about to say yes because we trust you.’
Saiyad Aqa Hasan picked up his wife’s words and said, ‘My dear sir, I didn’t see any difficulty in this match, but we were a little distressed when we saw the young man’s behaviour.’
‘Oh,’ Majju Bhai asked with some concern. ‘Did Tausif sahab do something to upset you?
‘No, no, nothing. He seems to be an intelligent and respectful young man, but it seems as though he has grown up too quickly. Let us not talk about his way of speaking or his taste in poetry, for we have seen the state of affairs in this city, where people proffer praise for poetry that is entirely without rhythm or rhyme. And I tell myself that after all this is not Lucknow. This land is different; its sky is different. My complaint about the lack of good taste is out of place. So why should we raise fingers at the lack of good taste in poor Tausif Miyan. It is just that it caused us a twinge of dismay or two.’
Majju Bhai spoke in a consolatory tone, ‘Bhai Aqqan, don’t get upset over this. I am on my way to their house. I will talk to the young man. And Basho Bhabhi, my sincere request to you is that you don’t pay any heed to others and don’t be in a hurry to make a decision. You make as many enquiries as you like to satisfy yourself fully.’
‘Brother, we have not declined their offer yet; after all, you are the intermediary and it isn’t as though we don’t trust you. We have to make some enquiries because of the unrest that has been caused by that wretched Meerutwali.’
Majju Bhai thought prudence demanded that we make a hasty exit. So he got to his feet.
‘Majju Bhai, you have gotten up; after all, what is the hurry?’
‘There is a mushaira at the Meerutwalas and also a dinner of Peshawari parathas and kabab … a two-in-one deal. What do you think?’
‘Arre Bhai Majidul Hussaini, what can we say? Our ears and our stomach both have something to say. I don’t have the patience to listen to these new-fangled mushairas, nor the stamina to digest these new kinds of food.’
We came out and breathed a sigh of relief. Ordinarily, we would have left to go towards the Meerutwalas, but Majju Bhai let loose another firecracker on the way. He looked at the watch strapped on his wrist and muttered, ‘Yes, there is still time.’ And he turned towards me and said, ‘Yaar Jawad, what do you say … should we not stop by and look in on Achchi Bi. We should find out how she fared at the hands of the robbers.’
‘But you have found out through your Basho Bhabhi,’ I said coolly.
‘Yaar, didn’t you notice her tone? These Lucknow-walas don’t let any opportunity to taunt the Delhiwalas pass. The poor lady had a robbery, but still Basho Bhabhi couldn’t resist her jibes. We will get to know the real story only from Achchi Bi herself. And, after all, you used to know her husband, Mirza sahab too once upon
a time.’
‘Yes, I did. In fact, I worked in his office for some time. I meet him sometimes when he comes to the bank. But these official meetings can hardly be called meeting.’
‘Well, he remembers you often. Whenever I meet him, he asks after you. He is the constant sort. We too should show some constancy towards him.’
‘Yes, we should, but won’t your kabab-paratha go cold waiting for you?’
‘I have looked at my watch before raising the subject; there is enough time. It isn’t as though we have to sit there for very long. We only have to ask about their well-being. After all, it is on the way. And it isn’t as though you will use up too much petrol.’
Now there was no way I could say ‘No’ to Majju Bhai. So, on our way to the Meerutwalas, I turned the direction of my car and ended up knocking at Mirza sahab’s door. Mirza sahab was pleased to see us, especially me. ‘Arre, where have you been?’ and turning towards Majju Bhai, he said, ‘Majju Bhai, it is a good thing you have brought Jawad here. I am seeing this dear young man after such a long time. Hope you are well, my dear?’
‘Allah be praised.’
‘Yes, Allah should be praised, for any time that passes without any mishap is a good time.’
‘We had come to ask about you,’ Majju Bhai said. ‘We are coming from Bhai Aqqan’s house and there we found out that the robbers had graced your home too. We are coming straight from there just to ask if all is well.’
At that very moment, Achchi Bi came in. ‘Ai, I was wondering who has come … Who are you talking to?’
‘Majju Bhai is here and our dear friend Jawad Miyan, too … So you have heard about the robbery … and you want to know whether all is well.’
‘Ai Bhaiyya, of course all is well. What was there in our home for them to rob? Our daughter-in-law has swept us clean in any case. What was left for the robbers to take? I told them straight off: “You black-faced wretches, what does a poor woman like me have? Had you come to our home in the Suiwala Mohulla,7 may Allah forbid me from lying, there we had mounds of riches. We left that house with nothing but the clothes on our back. Whatever we had here, belonged to our daughter-in-law, and she took everything away. Why have you put this gun on my throat? Go and put it on hers; she will spit out all her gol
d.” They asked, “Where is she?” I said, “May God’s curses be on you; you don’t even know that? She has made her own home in Clifton and has walked away with her gold and jewels.” Ai Bhaiyya, those fellows could barely believe me. I said, “Okay, my purse is lying in the niche there. My entire life’s savings are there. Go and see what is in it. And pass me the paandan too while you are at it.” The wretches turned my purse upside down; what was there to find in it. They glared at me with hateful eyes as though they would eat me up. My only worry was that they might go off with my paandan. My elder uncle had got it especially from Moradabad. It was such a long time ago, but its shine is still intact.’
‘Anyhow, so all is well … no harm done.’
‘Ai Bhaiyya, there would have been some loss had I gathered my son’s wealth. Thanks to our daughter-in-law, we are not in a state to be harmed. Other ladies told me, why did I have to talk about my daughter-in-law’s faults in front of the robbers? Earlier, I used to think so too … if you keep a lamp made of dough inside your home, a mouse will eat it and if you keep it outdoors, a crow will make off with it. And so I used to quietly bear it all and never say a word to anyone. But now things have reached such a pass, now whether it is a wayfarer, a stranger, a thief, a robber, a dacoit, I shall hold everyone by the hand and tell them what my daughter-in-law has done to me. Let me see how anyone can stop me?’
‘Let it be, Saadat’s mother; he will carry the burden of his deeds and we will carry ours.’
‘Aji, how can I let it go? I let it go for years; now I will not be silenced. Ai Majju Bhai, this new age of yours has been a calamitous one. The very notion of shame is absent in girls nowadays. Earlier they used to be confined to the house; the only time they crossed the threshold was when they left for their marital home in their doli. In our Delhi, old timers used to say that a good wife enters her home in a doli and leaves on a bier.’
‘Saadat’s mother, which world are you talking about? This is a new world. Miyan Majju Bhai, as though this world is not bad enough, on top of that there’s this city of yours. I don’t feel like staying alive anymore. All sorts of rogues and upstarts, thieves, robbers and terrorists have a field day; the respectable folk are at their wits’ end. Where have we ended up?’
‘Ai Majju Bhai,’ Achchi Bi interrupted, ‘By God, we were happily planted like a pillar in the middle of Suiwala Mohulla; we were needlessly caught in the middle of this blasted Hindu-Muslim business.’
‘And now we have been caught in the middle of this new business,’ Mirza sahab observed softly.
‘Aji, now we have no option but to be ruined even more. We are a leaf that was snapped from its branch; those were different days, that time was different. Truly, we were planted like a pillar. Masha Allah, we were well regarded After all, we had been there for generations, rich from birth. My dear departed father-in-law was such a renowned hakim that even jinnat used to come to him for treatment! Brother, you may find this hard to believe, but he had treated the king of the jinns. My mother-in-law used to tell us how, once, he disappeared for three days. “People looked for him all over the city. On the third day, he was seen getting off a buggy; two tall labourers carried two sacks filled with gold coins atop their head,” she used to say. “I was amazed, and suddenly the buggy too disappeared as did the labourers. Dumbstruck, I looked at your Abba Miyan and then at the sacks filled with gold coins. Your Abba Miyan said, “Don’t ask. Just keep them.” Later, he told us how the king of jinnat had double pneumonia. “When I reached he was nearly at death’s door. Allah is the keeper of honour: he kept my honour and saved him.” So, Bhaiyya, that was the sort of hakim my father-in-law was. Till he lived, the king of the jinns would come, offer his gift and go away with a box of khamira. It was a special sort of khamira. Abba Miyan never told us exactly what its ingredients were.’ Then turning towards Mirza sahab, Achchi Bi said, ‘Aji, why don’t you tell them; after all, you must have witnessed many of his miracles?’
Mirza sahab paused, then said, ‘My father, may Allah grant him paradise, was not any old hakim; he was also a man blessed with many great miraculous powers. Along with the medicines, he also believed in prayer; that is why his treatment was more effective. Once, something very strange happened.’ Pointing towards Achchi Bi, he said, ‘An acquaintance of her grandfather, who had just come back from the hajj, saw my father in her grandfather’s sitting room and kept looking at him. When my father left, he asked her grandfather, “Who was that young man?” Her grandfather said, “He was my granddaughter’s husband.” The gentleman asked, “When did he return from Medina?” Her grandfather asked in astonishment, “You are talking about Medina? He has never set foot outside Delhi.” Then that gentleman said, “I have seen him giving a lecture in the Masjid-e-Nabvi8.”’Mirza sahab fell silent, and then after a pause, heaved a long sigh and said, ‘We had witnessed such an age; now we are seeing this one. Truly, one doesn’t feel like living, but what can one do? … One has to live till there is life.’
And with these words, Mirza sahab fell into deep thought. Then, in a sorrowful tone, he said. ‘How did this subject arise? I try not to remember those days; it troubles me. There was a time when I remembered it a lot … that time, that city. Jawad Miyan, you used to work with me in the office then; surely you remember. How I used to suffer like a fish out of water.’
‘Yes, I remember. I have heard many a tale about Delhi from you.’
‘But can you believe me when I say I do not even mention Delhi anymore? I have accepted my lot. It is only today, when your sister-in-law has raised the subject, I have taken its name.’
‘Aji, I have tried my best to forget it too, but that wretched daughter-in-law of mine doesn’t let me forget. Out there, could any daughter-in-law have let out even a squeak in front of their mothers-in-law? The mothers-in-law would have pulled out their eyeballs from their sockets. These daughters-in-law go about like tigresses now, and mine is a special case. She is so saccharine sweet on the surface. How she goes around pretending to praise me and calling me “Khala”. I feel like telling her “Khala’s brat, you have turned your khala into a scarecrow and put her away.” But then I fall silent thinking she will embellish whatever I say and run with tall tales to my son.’
‘Saadat’s mother, forgive her; after all, she is your son’s wife.’
‘I have forgiven her; that is why I say nothing to her. My son should be happy; we two old people are happy if our son is happy.’
‘So, Achchi Bi,’ Majju Bhai asked, ‘should you forgive just because you are relics of the past? These young people don’t understand so much that was good in the past.’ And with these words, Majju Bhai rose to his feet.
‘Ai Bhaiyya, what is this? You just got here, and you are leaving already?’
‘Achchi Bi, kabab-parathas are waiting for us at the Meerutwalas.’
And indeed when we reached the Meerutwalas, the round of kabab and parathas was in full swing. A pile of parathas, the size of an elephant’s ear, was immediately placed before us. Tausif was working his way around the crowd. How well he played the role of the host; he moved from one table to the next and then raced to the third. At every table, he would ask, ‘How are the parathas?’ And each time he would say, ‘We used to have the Nauchandi mela in our Meerut and that’s where we used to get these parathas. They were so delicious that people smacked their lips and waited for the next Nauchandi mela to come around the next year. You may regard this too as our Nauchandiwala paratha and these seekh kababs … the kababi who sat in the Khair Nagar area of our city made such fabulous kababs. These are the Khair Nagar “brand” seekh kababs.’
As he worked the crowd, Tausif came to our table. ‘Majju Bhai, shall I get you some more paratha?’
‘No, no, this is enough.’
‘Majju Bhai, this is the Nauchandiwala paratha. If you find the slightest iota of difference in taste you may beat me on my head with your shoe … Tell me, Jawad Bhai, isn’t it exactly like the Nauchandiwala paratha?’
/> ‘Hundred per cent Nauchandiwala!’
‘Yaar,’ Majju Bhai couldn’t resist asking, ‘If the real Nauchandiwala has come here, the people of Meerut must be cursing us. It isn’t good to take someone’s curses.’
‘His brother is still there.’
‘Then it is all right.’
‘And the kabab? Yes, do try the kababs … They are fresh off the skewers,’ and with these words, he slid a heap of kababs onto our plates. Then he said, ‘Tell me, Majju Bhai, are you not reminded of the kababs of Khair Nagar?’
‘I told Jawad after tasting the very first morsel, “So, Tausif Miyan has treated us to the kababs of Khair Nagar. Who is the kababi? Must be his son or grandson?”’
‘No, actually, there was a young boy those days who used to sit and fan the coal braziers. He was a smart cookie. He made off with the recipe of the spice-mixture and set up business here.’
‘Good.’
‘Yes, he is better than his ustad. His kababs are even better than those ones.’
‘So, Tausif Miyan, tell us how long this business of kabab paratha will continue? When do you plan to start the mushaira?’
‘Soon. I am just about to wrap up the kabab-parathas.’
Tausif was about to move on when Majju Bhai stopped him, ‘Ustad, you look busy. Come and sit with us when you have a moment; I need to talk to you.’
‘I will come as soon as I can.’
‘And where is Baji Akhtari?’
‘She is busy with the ladies.’
‘Please send her too.’
‘Is it something important?’
‘Yes.’
‘May god help us,’ Tausif guessed from Majju Bhai’s tone that it was a serious matter.
‘I will come just now,’ and with these words, Tausif sped off. Walking among the tables, chit-chatting with the guests, he disappeared from sight.
Soon, Baji Akhtari appeared. ‘Arre Majju Bhai, why aren’t you eating?’
The Sea Lies Ahead Page 8