And now listen to the tale of woe of your aunt … I was always frail and sickly. Now, you can say, there is only skin on bones. My appetite is gone. My stomach feels bloated if I have even one phulka. I long for fresh leafy things. It isn’t as though there is any shortage of seasonal fruits and vegetables. Of course, things are not the same as before but, still, there is plenty in the house. Everyone has left; of course, only plenty has remained. Freshly plucked singhara, straight from the pond smelling of roses, corncobs that are studded with milky pearls, sainda, phoot, kharbuz, tarbuz, aam, jamun … everything still comes in its season. In fact, it comes by the ser and there is so much that it rots and goes waste. Still, I long for everything because I can’t digest anything. My digestion is ruined … it has become so temperamental. Can you believe that this time during the rains, I could not eat even one phulki? And it isn’t as though we didn’t put the wok on the fire. In any case, there isn’t much of the rainy season left. Now the rains have gathered in your aunt’s eyes. Still, one has to respect the seasons. And this time, the rainy spell lasted for so long that we didn’t see the sun for fifteen days. So, naturally the wok had to be put on the fire. Chhote Miyan went and bought several seasonal greens from the bazaar. The market was awash with sainda – now there aren’t enough people to eat it in our home, or ghewar too for that matter. Chhote Miyan insisted, “This is a seasonal sweet; and in any case you love ghewar.” But I swear I did not even look at that platter full of ghewar. The wok was on the fire and all sorts of snacks were being fried – shakar pare, namak pare, purhe, phulkiyan, ghunghuniya. Their soft moist smell kept tantalizing me and I sat there controlling myself. Yes, when the leaves of the arbi plant were being fried, I could no longer contain myself. But how much did I eat? No more than half a leaf or so. Little was I to know … I had barely eaten half a leaf … How was I to know it would be my undoing? I fainted and the whole household scurried about. Everyone thought I was at death’s door. But I still had life to live, so I lived. After all, it is the string of life that sees us through. The string is a delicate one. Who knows when it will snap?
So, my son, I don’t have any strength left; only my breath comes and goes on its own. You will ask: what is the malady? There is no malady except old age. Yak piri wa sad aib2. Now my only prayer is that the end should come soon. Arre, I am surprised as to why I am still alive. My dear eldest brother is long gone; the younger one has also gone. Why am I left to lug the sacks of misdeeds on the Last Day? Anyhow, the time of my departure is not too far away. Just the day before yesterday, I saw in my dream that an ekka had stopped at our front door. My eldest brother and the younger one got off. I was happy, and also surprised, that these two had come. I cannot describe the glow on their faces. And their clothes were snowy white. They got off the ekka and said to me, “Sister, we have come to take you. Gather your luggage.” And I said, “What luggage can a poor woman like me have to gather? All I have is this bundle, and if I take out this tiladani3, there will be nothing left and, yes, a prayer mat with a sajdagah,4 a string of prayer beads and two books of prayers.” So they said. “Why tarry then? Let us go.” And suddenly I woke up. In another instant, the cock crowed. And so, my dear, my transport awaits me. My mule for the journey waits. And that is why I have narrated this incident to you. Come and show me your face in my last days. Come and lend your shoulder to the funeral procession of your Phuphi Amma. The sorrow that is gnawing away at me is that when my time has come, the children are scattered to the winds. When my eldest brother had gone, the house was full and the entire clan had wept for him. How loudly everyone had wept! There were so many people about till the fortieth day. And on the fortieth day, relatives had come from near and far and participated in the funeral prayers. When my younger brother passed away, so many from among us had set off for Pakistan; still, so many among the near and dear ones were close by. Now, when it is time for wretched old me to sleep the eternal sleep, all the near and dear ones have flown away like birds. Only Chhote Miyan remains; he is the only one who has decided not to leave the hearth. And as for Pyare Miyan, he has stayed back only so that he can sell off the family estate. And as for the Hindus, they don’t even touch our estate. If a deal is fixed today, my dear nephew will board the train tomorrow and leave. My dear son, don’t mind it, but the Pakistanwalas have destroyed our home. They could have gone anywhere they chose, but why did they have to destroy our home. Look at Pyare Miyan … he will go to Pakistan and live the good life. And he is doing his best to ensure that the property is sold off at any price and poor Chhote Miyan is left with nothing but a beggar’s bowl.
Anyhow, I will spend the rest of my days; my carriage waits. May God give me an early release! I am free of all worries, except who will carry my bier on their shoulder? And, yes, I also worry about Maimuna. Who will support her when I am gone? Had I got her married, I would have gone in peace. Now I will go with her worry weighing on my chest. Anyhow, these are matters of fate. No matter how hard one tries, sometimes it is to no avail. Everything must happen at its ordained time. How I had wanted a match fixed for her, but anyhow … So, my son, surely you do not have the time to listen to my Ram Kahani.5 Listen to the long tale hidden in these few words and somehow or the other come and show me your face, even for a few minutes, and take my blessings.
With blessings,
Your,
Phuphi Amma
I turned the letter around to see when it had come, and whether I had even answered it or not. There was no date mentioned on it. I opened the second one to see if it contained any clue.
Munnan,
I don’t know quite how to address you. You tell me what is the correct epithet for me to use for you. I don’t even know whether I should have written this letter or not. But I can no longer see Amma’s condition. When I could stand it no more, I sat down to write this letter to you. What can I tell you about Amma’s state? She has been bedridden; she needs help to get up or even sit up. She keeps crying because everyone has gone away to Pakistan; who will lend a shoulder to her bier? And her tears are such that they fall ceaselessly. And more than all the others, she remembers you the most. How longingly she says that if only she could see your face once, then she can die in peace. Jawad, there is nothing left in Amma; she is hanging on to life by a thread. May the devil be deaf and may there be ashes in my mouth, but who can tell when this thread might snap.
I have written this letter only to tell you about this; you know best what you must do. You have forgotten us since you went there. I find it so hard to believe. It was only last night when Amma was feeling slightly better that she raised your subject yet again. She spoke about you for so long, sometimes about some mischief during your childhood, sometimes some escapade from your youth. Hai Jawad, how naughty you were in your boyhood! I remember some of your pranks. How you used to tease me? And I too used to get angry at the slightest thing. As Amma often tells me, I was very prickly in my childhood. I would take offense and go off to sulk. It was always you who had to bend and make amends. Anyhow, what is the point of remembering all this? Those days have turned into dreams. You have gone so far away, or as Amma puts it, to God’s Own Backyard. When she talks about you, she laughs sometimes, and sometimes she cries.
Actually, I can understand Amma’s sorrow. The ties of blood are one thing, but the love that you have for someone you have raised from infancy is greater. As Amma says, she would hold you in her lap even when your mother was alive. You were most attached to her. You wouldn’t even sleep till you had heard her lullaby: ‘The li’l birdie came hopping and skipping/The li’l birdie brought my mate for my li’l one.’ And last night, she hummed this aloud as though she were indeed singing you to sleep. And, then, she covered her face with her dupatta and wept. My eyes brimmed over too …
So, Munnan, come for a visit. Amma’s last wish will come true. I too will feel you heeded my call, isn’t it? We will all have a grand time, really! So you are coming, aren’t you? Till then, may God keep you safe!
> Yours,
Maimuna
And along with it, I found the third letter. And this one had a date.
Dear Brother Jawad Miyan,
Accept the blessings of those who are far away and hear this sorrowful news that your dear Phuphi Amma departed from this transient world to the eternal one yesterday, that is, Friday morning on 12th Zill Hajj. After our eldest uncle, her presence in our midst meant everything to us. That presence left us. Inna lillahe wa innalla he rajaun.6 Anyhow, death is a certainty. It is God’s will. All one can do is pray for forgiveness for the departed and keep the slab of patience on one’s heart.
Our Phuphi Amma went away with one weight on her heart: that she could not see those relatives who had gone to Pakistan. She had even written to you in her last days. Towards the end, she would keep looking towards the doorway. I am sure you had your own compulsions for not coming. Since Mohurram starts from next month, it has been decided that her chaliswan will be performed during this month itself and the 27th of Zu-al Hajj has been fixed.
Waiting to hear of your well-being, your well-wisher,
Chhote Miyan
And I remembered that this letter was from those days when my romance with Ishrat was at its peak. I was barely aware of my own body and soul at the time. I was so in the throes of love that I could only think of Ishrat; I did not have a thought to spare for anyone else. These letters came, one by one, during those days. I may have answered them had they made the slightest impact on my heart. Now when I realized the love with which Phuphi Amma had written to me and read Maimuna’s words laced with such trust and so much affection urging me to make a trip back, I rebuked myself. How selfish I had become those days, and how stony-hearted too! I began to despise myself. I kept thinking what Phuphi Amma must have felt when there was no answer from me, how hurt she must have been! And Maimuna, how dejected she must have felt! Phuphi Amma is now lying asleep under mounds of earth. She couldn’t care less now whether I am ashamed or not. But Maimuna … and a wave rose within me that I must immediately plan to get the visa, go there and seek forgiveness from her.
‘Sahab, Majju Miyan hasn’t come as yet. The food is getting cold,’ Nemat Khan said. He had come in so silently, or perhaps I was so lost in my thoughts, that I did not even realize he had entered the room.
‘Oh yes, Nemat Khan, I forgot to tell you that Majju Miyan will not be coming tonight. I hope you haven’t made the rotis yet?’
‘No, I was about to do so. But why won’t Majju Miyan come tonight?’
‘He had gone to the Meerutwalas. There is some problem there. Curfew was clamped down as soon as he reached; so how can he come back?’
‘Sahab-ji, things are really bad.’
‘Yes, things are bad.’
‘May God have mercy upon us,’ Nemat Khan mumbled, then added, ‘So will you eat now? I am about to start making the rotis.’
‘Wait a while.’
My words did not have a favourable effect upon Nemat Khan. Silently, he went back.
Once again, I was lost in my thoughts. For the first time, I was angry at my love. It was all very well to fall in love, but a person should not become so insane that he should have no feelings for all other relationships. And Phuphi Amma was less of an aunt and more of a mother to me. Maimuna was right: even when my mother was alive, I was always stuck to Phuphi Amma’s side. And after my mother passed away, Phuphi Amma became my aunt and my mother. What she must have thought about me! And what Maimuna must be thinking of me! Once again, that wave arose within me. I should go there and … but when I didn’t go then, what was the good of going now? My heart sank when I tried to imagine how Maimuna would look at me and the coldness with which Chhote Miyan would meet me, and the desire to go there cooled within me. But the thoughts did not leave me. A fit of shame seized me. The wave that had subsided raised itself yet again. I should go. A shiver ran through my body. Perhaps I might feel invigorated if I go there. But … once again, I was reminded of Maimuna’s coolness and Chhote Miyan’s poison-filled remarks and my Badi Bhabhi’s taunts, and once again my ardour was dampened. Still, I tried to gather my courage, and think …
1 Taar is a rich meat gravy, floating with an oily layer on top; its gravy is usually a thin, runny one.
2 A Persian proverb meaning ‘old age itself is akin to a hundred maladies’.
3 A small hand-stitched cloth pouch with a strap to cover its mouth; it was used to store sewing material such as needle, thread, thimble and occasionally money.
4 A small tablet of clay from the sacred soil of Karbala; Shias place it upon their prayer mat at the time of prayers, and when they bow in prostration, they rest their forehead on it.
5 Ram Kahani can be used for any long tale or epic, though specifically used to describe the story of Ram, his marriage, his exile and eventual triumphant return to rule his kingdom after many travails; the use of this expression is indicative of Intizar Husain’s liberal use of Hindi words as well as an indication of how prevalent such expressions were in the spoken Urdu of the common people.
6 Prayer recited upon hearing of someone’s death; it is part of a verse from the Quran which means ‘Surely we belong to Allah and to Him shall we return’.
Those three letters had a strange effect on me. The stony crust that had formed inside me and had gradually grown bigger and bigger, seemed to have melted somewhat, and my memory was coming back. The truth is I remembered nothing. It was as though my memory had been replaced by a niche of forgetfulness1. But things were changing. Now, it seemed as though the cavalcade of remembrances had broken out from that niche and was knocking at the doors of my memory. Several times I thought I could now recall everything, but whenever I sat down to remember, some matchless, priceless fragments from those days would rise before me; however, they would always be hazy and blurred. A flood of memories was swelling within me, turning and surging, but it could not, as yet, find a way to break free. My entire being seemed to be in its grip. And then there was the same dilemma: should I go or not? There was that same fear in going: What if I am met with coldness? After all, Phuphi Amma is no longer there who could set aside all her hurts and clasp me heedlessly to her bosom. If I can forget all of them, why is it necessary for them to remember me? And Maimuna … she may very well not have forgotten me, but how could she forgive me? In fact, it was Maimuna’s coldness – more than anything else – that was stopping me from going there, and also troubling me the most. Once, the thought crossed my mind that possibly she might not even be there anymore. How could it be that she would still be living there with our Badi Bhabhi? In other words, a hundred different doubts assailed me. At the same time, the thought of going there was becoming increasingly undeniable. A desire had suddenly woken up; and it seemed difficult to put it back to sleep. The memories that were coming back were providing nourishment to that desire. And suddenly, I was struck by a new thought. What if this is because of my advancing years? The thought saddened me very much.
‘Yaar, these days you seem to be more lost than usual,’ Majju Bhai said. He was quick to spot what lay hidden in my heart. I tried to throw him off the scent, but the truth is that by now I could barely suppress my own feelings.
‘Majju Bhai,’ Finally, I unlocked my lips and broached the subject, ‘I have been thinking …’
‘What?’ Majju Bhai looked closely at me with questioning eyes. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I have been thinking that I have indeed grown old.’
Majju Bhai let out a hearty laugh, ‘And how did this knowledge dawn upon you?’
‘Long lost memories are coming back to me … days of long ago, people of long ago.’
‘Really? Since when?’
‘That night when you had stayed back at Tausif ’s house … do you know what happened to me that day?’
‘What happened?’
‘While the mushaira and curfew held you in their thrall there, I thought now that I have some spare time, let me read that book I have been meanin
g to. I was turning my books and papers around to look for it when I found some letters. I had no memory of those letters. When did they come? Had I answered them, or not?’
‘Letters? Really? Whose letters?’
‘One was from my Phuphi Amma. It was possibly written during her last days. The letter after that was to tell me about her illness. The third contained the news of her death.’
‘When had these letters come?’
‘That’s what I can’t remember now. And the strange thing is that the first two letters do not carry a date.’
‘My dear fellow, you have no recollection of when your Phuphi Amma passed away?’
‘It is precisely this realization that is eating away at me.’ I was quiet and lost in my thoughts. Then I said, ‘Ever since then, there has been a virtual deluge of memories. I am reminded of all sorts of things from long ago. But then I can remember nothing in its entirety. It is almost as though my memory is fighting shy of gathering all those reminiscences. You can say that I am hanging between remembering and forgetfulness. It is a very painful state to be in.’
‘There is only one cure for it.’
‘What?’
‘Get married.’
‘Majju Bhai, I have described my anguish to you. And you can think of nothing but your usual levity. At least, sometimes you must listen to others with some degree of seriousness.’
‘I am perfectly serious and I know exactly what you are experiencing. That is why I have said such a thing. My dear, get married.’
‘Do you not see my age?’
‘Why? What’s wrong with your age? My dear nitwit, this is the right age to marry. The age in which you got married was not the right age for marriage. I told you not to get married, didn’t I?’
The Sea Lies Ahead Page 11