2 Literally meaning ‘The Chronicle of the Chamar Woman’, it may have been a spoof on the verses of Nazir Akbarabadi, the 18th century people’s poet who began the genre of ‘bazaar poetry’ and wrote long poems on common people and gave them titles such as ‘Aadmi Nama’ or ‘Banjara Nama’
3 The mela or fair at Nauchandi travelled to different towns in western UP. In Aligarh, it was known as the numaish, literally meaning ‘exhibition’. It was, and continues to be, a high point in the social calendar of the Aligarhwalas for the food, fun and shopping it offers.
4 Most Saiyad families maintain a genealogical tree called the shajra-e ansab that traces their family’s roots to the family of the Prophet.
5 Sarsi is near Pratapgarh in UP.
6 The wording of the original Urdu carries echoes of Ghalib’s verse:
Nikalna khuld se Adam ka sunte aaye thhe lekin
Bade be-abru ho kar tere kooche se hum nikle
(We had heard of Adam leaving Paradise
But we too left your home in great disarray)
Suddenly I noticed a change in the tempo of the train and I could sense an impulsiveness in the sound of its whistle. It was running at a fast pace, but there seemed to be no evidence of haste in its speed. It was moving along swiftly and, every now and then, it would blow its whistle loudly which would tear through the silence and travel far into the night. Now it seemed as the train too was rushing along impetuously and in a hurry to reach its destination. I was trying to understand my own condition when a fellow traveller woke up with a start. He got to his feet, looked at his watch and said, ‘Vyaspur is coming.’ This brief statement had a most startling effect on the other passengers who had been sleeping and snoring all this while. All of them woke up in a hurry. ‘Vyaspur has come?’
‘Yes, it is about to come.’
Those who had not woken up yet were awakened by their neighbours. ‘Get up; Vyaspur has come.’
‘Vyaspur has come?’ And those who had just woken up hurriedly began to roll up their beddings.
There was a bustle in the entire train compartment. Vyaspur has come, Vyaspur has come. These people were all strangers for me. All night long, I had sat disinterestedly away from them. Now I was suddenly experiencing a suspense-filled relationship with them. So, all of us were travelling to Vyapsur. I now looked at the faces of my fellow travellers with a new attachment. Someone had switched on the light and now the compartment was brightly lit. In any case, the darkness outside too had lessened somewhat. I peered out of the window. Dawn was breaking. The sky was brightening. The trees across the track that had been running backwards and had looked like ghosts till a short while ago, were lightening up too. Everything around me was awakening as though the entire earth and the sky above had come to know that Vyaspur was coming.
The train was making a new kind of noise. The rumbling of the wheels had acquired a new rhythm, as though they were turning with an impetuous haste. More than the rumbling wheels, it was the sound of the whistle that was carrying tales of the train’s restlessness. The scene around me was changing swiftly and becoming brighter by the minute. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry to reach Vyaspur. The swiftly passing trees seemed familiar to me. It seemed as though I had recognized each one of them and they had recognized me. Happiness was gushing out from deep within me and was impatient to reach out to the trees. Perhaps a stream of happiness was gushing out from them too, and was impatient to reach me. Suddenly I was struck by a new thought; I immediately removed my gaze from the scene right across my window and looked into the distance. Earlier, one could see Dilkusha1 from a moving train. Now I could not see it. I was still pondering on this when I realized that there was a change in the tempo of the noisome wheels. The train had slowed down somewhat. And there was a change in the speed of the trees and sights running in the opposite direction. Heedless of the scene inside the compartment, I was completely engrossed in what was unfolding outside. But the clamour inside the compartment forced me to turn my attention to the scene inside. Several passengers were standing with their luggage. ‘Vyaspur has come.’ And, with a rumble, the train entered the station. I looked outside the window. A train was parked at the far side of the railing, packed with passengers; its engine was emitting clouds of black smoke. It presented a stark contrast with the clean, fresh air as it billowed and surged.
The train was now chugging along the platform. The mass of people standing on the platform were rapidly sliding past in the opposite direction. I caught hold of one of the coolies who had jumped on the moving train, handed him my luggage and got off the train in a rush. But my impetuosity lasted only so long. Once out of the train, I drew a long contented sigh. I stood and looked about me – till as far as my eye could see. I took in every minute detail of the platform. Then my gaze travelled to the tall tin-roofed awning; the wild pigeons sitting on its beam looked down on the crowd with a disinterested calm. I looked at those pigeons for a long time. Then I said to myself with a huge sense of relief: ‘Everything looks as it was.’
A person was tearing through the crowd and rapidly coming in my direction. I recognized him as he came closer. I went eagerly towards him. ‘Arre, Shankar, it is you?’2 And the two of us hugged each other.
‘Yaar, Jawad, you have changed so much.’
‘And you?’
‘Yes, I have too. One had to change. After all, it has been such a long time. I could not believe that you would actually come.’ And with a change of tone, ‘So where is he?’ he looked around for the coolie and said, ‘Come on.’
‘Wait, yaar.’
‘Why? What is it?’
‘Let me see.’ And once again, I examined the scene at the station. From the tracks running off into the distance to the tin-roofed awning, I closely examined every single detail. Then I turned to look at the pigeons sitting among the beams overhead. ‘Yaar, Shankar, nothing has changed.’
‘Well, let us get out of here … then you will know how much has changed. Everything has changed.’
Shankar was walking swiftly with the coolie whereas I was dawdling, looking here and there and lagging behind. As I emerged from the station, I stood on top of the stairs and looked at the tangas, wagons and rickshaws lined up on the road. Surprised, I asked, ‘Yaar, Shankar, so rickshaws also run here?’
‘Yes,’ Shankar answered carelessly and walked swiftly in the direction of his car. The driver got out and opened the dickey and stowed away my luggage. I watched closely. Then, when I could no longer restrain myself, I asked as I sat down in the car, ‘You used to have a tanga.’ And with these words, a gaily decorated tanga pulled by a tall and handsome horse swam before my eyes.
‘Yaar, my father put an end to the hassle of maintaining a tanga after Ramu died.’
‘Ramu died?’
‘Yes, yaar.’
I was so sad to hear this. This was the first news of death that I had heard since setting foot in Vyaspur. For some time, I stayed absolutely quiet. But the sound of the peacock, which came from somewhere close by and was hastily despatched to echo far in the air, immediately nullified the sense of sorrow. Actually, at that point, the car was passing the garden of Lala Hardayal. I asked the driver to slow down and turned expectantly to look towards the garden. My eyes went past several stunted trees to the well around which I could spot several dhoti-clad men cleaning their teeth with twigs. The well, the trees that stood around it, the roses in the flower beds, the kewra bush – I recognized them all with perfect ease. I could not recognize the men cleaning their teeth with the twigs.
The garden soon passed by, and so did the large houses nearby that stood surrounded by trees. Soon, the market began. The Amrit Dhara Building and a few steps ahead the Daal Mandi. The market was closed. Where mounds of wheat, cotton, gur usually lay in large numbers, at that time there was nothing. A few grains lay scattered and flocks of wild pigeons had descended to do justice. A few mynahs too could be seen who had come to pick their share. People had vanished, only birds remained. O
ccasionally, a few sweepers could be spotted sweeping the streets. There was calm in the air. I drew a deep and contented sigh. In my heart, I said, ‘Nothing has changed. Everything is as it was.’
We continued talking even as we sat down at the dining table, as though we had no heed of what we were eating or even whether we were eating or not. Talking, talking, talking … Incidents of such long-ago stories of here and there.
I stopped as I was talking. I stayed quiet for some time, then I said, ‘Shankar, yaar, I have to go to my house too.’
‘House?’ Shankar looked at me with surprise. ‘Does someone live there still?’
‘I don’t know who is there and who isn’t. In any case, Chhote Miyan must certainly be there. Don’t you know anything about them?’
‘No. The last time I had gone was when your elder uncle had passed away. I couldn’t go again. Then I heard someone say that Dilkusha is being sold. I thought that they had finally decided to go to Pakistan … Do they know you are coming?’
‘No. I thought since I haven’t written a letter for so long, why write about my coming. I will just go there and meet them.’
‘All right, then. We will go there tomorrow at our leisure.’
‘Earlier, I had thought so too. But now, I am getting restless, yaar. To come here and not go home feels strange. I must go there now.’ Quickly I finished my meal and got to my feet. ‘Come on, then; let us go.’
In the morning, there had been no living thing present, except pigeons and mynahs in the Daal Mandi; now all of God’s creation had descended upon it. A sea of heads could be seen in the bazaar and, caught in it, cars that moved at the speed of an ant. And the dust that flew about! And as one crossed the lane of the sweet-makers, smoke mixed with the dust, and also the flies. How serene Vyaspur had appeared in the morning! And how bright! Now one could see how soiled it was. Somehow or the other, our car came out of the bazaar and I felt immediately better. My heart beat fast as we turned into the road that led to Dilkusha. But then I was so surprised. From here till there, there were only shops and people. In my imagination, this had been a quiet street with tall trees and fields on one side and, on the other, a red brick wall that stretched from one end to the other. I could never quite tell what lay behind it. All one could see was a large pillar made of the same red bricks which on some days, stood still as death, and on other days, constantly spluttered and spewed clouds of smoke. Actually this was a cotton-carding mill and as soon as its boundary ended, we walked a few more steps and entered Dilkusha. But now, a row of shops had come up along that massive wall and stretched from here till there. And the tall trees and fields on the other side … where had they gone and how had so many people come on the street? The sight of so many people was horrifying.
I got out of the car and walked a few steps, only to be confounded. ‘Where is Dilkusha,’ the words escaped from my lips instinctively. How far the tanga used to go on that narrow kutcha path that led from the gate! On the left and right, there were so many trees and more trees behind them, some tall and dense and some bushy. How good it felt to sit in a tanga as one drove past twin rows of mango, guava, jamun followed by pomegranate, apricot, plums and bananas. What happened to all the trees? And the building that was Dilkusha? I ran my gaze over the dust-filled grounds. I could see a pile of bricks in the far distance: it was a tumbled-down building. I went close and peered at it in an attempt to recognize it. In that pile of broken masonry, I spotted a staircase that I recognized instantly. It was strange. In that fallen down building, there was only a staircase that had, somehow or the other, managed to hold onto its form.
I sat down on a clean slab of the stairs and tried to collect myself. I too seemed to be turning into rubble. How long I sat there, quiet and lost. Shankar, too, did not think it necessary to speak. Though after some time, as he looked around and inspected the ruins, he mumbled, ‘There is no one to be seen here; who is one to ask?’
I heard these words and looked up and inspected my surroundings closely. In the far corner, I spied some signs of life. A neem tree, a string cot under its shade, a horse tethered close by and an unyoked tanga. And facing it a mud wall and on its door a tattered old rag for a curtain. I suddenly remembered: Bhupat used to stay here. I got up and swiftly walked in its direction, and knocked on the door.
A large fat man, wearing a filthy vest and dhoti, appeared. He looked closely at me as though he was trying to recognize me. And then, in a flash, he blurted out, ‘Munnan Miyan, it is you?’
And I was amazed: who could he be? ‘I am sorry but I am not able to recognize you.’
‘I am Bholu, Bhupat’s son.’
‘Oh, oh, I see, Bhupat’s son.’ Now I could remember. ‘And where is Bhupat?’
‘He is dead.’
‘Oh … when did it happen?’
‘Oh,’ Bholu sighed and said, ‘when the house and gardens were parcelled off, he was heartbroken. He collapsed and was gone within a few days.’
I didn’t know what to say next. Hesitantly, I asked, ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Everyone? Who is everyone? There is only Chhote Miyan left. He has gone to the old house.’
‘Old house … I see …’
Bholu wanted to add to my meagre knowledge. Once again he raised the subject of the old house and was about to tell me something more when my glance fell on the building in front of us. ‘What is that?’ I asked with a start.
‘This … this is the dharamshala.’
‘Dharamshala?’ I was astounded. ‘Surely this must be some new dharamshala. That one was different.’ And the dharamshala and its environs rose in my imagination, along with every tiny detail. The long boundary wall made of small bricks and the small gate in it gave the impression from outside that that was all there was to it and nothing inside except peepal trees. And all around, there was such immense silence as though it was situated in the middle of a wasteland. And the air was so mysterious that even if a leaf stirred, it created a sense of terror and surprise.
‘Munnan, O Munnan … monkey.’
‘Monkey?…. Where?’
‘On the peepal in the dharamshala.’
I was Munnan then. I became Jawad gradually. And standing here, a small boy, who had been scampering and prancing among the trees, suddenly came and stood before me – as though his was a being distinct from mine, one that had got lost in times past. I looked at him as though he wasn’t me but someone else. Suddenly he disappeared; must be glued to Maimuna’s side. The two of them were always off wandering here and there.
‘Oh I see, on the peepal in the dharamshala?’
‘Yes, that’s where I’d just seen him.’
Munna inspected the tall and dense trees in the distance from where he stood. ‘But there is nothing there.’
‘It was there.’
‘Then where did it disappear?’
And then the two of them set off in search of the monkey. They reached a large thicket of reeds. The spot marked their final limit beyond which lay a desolate territory, a land where it was dreadful to even set foot. In any case, what lay beyond the reeds? From here till as far as the eye could see, there were only clumps of weeds standing about. After the sandy stretch stood the dharamshala and beyond the dharamshala there was nothing.
One would have known what lay beyond had one ever gone that far. All one could see from a distance were a few reeds and a few tall trees: that was all. The two walked till the cluster of reeds and came to a stop.
‘Where was the monkey?’
‘There … on that peepal,’ Maimuna pointed towards the tallest peepal in the dharamshala.
Munna inspected every branch of the tall trees from where he stood in the distance. ‘There is nothing there.’
Suddenly, Bholu too showed up in search of them. ‘Munnan Miyan, what are you looking for?
‘Monkey.’
‘Monkey?’ Bholu asked with great surprise.
‘Yes there was a monkey on that tall peepal. Maimuna saw it. God kno
ws where it has gone.’
‘It couldn’t have been a monkey.’
‘Why not?’
‘All the monkeys have fled from the town. The king of langurs has shown up; and so all the monkeys have disappeared.’
‘But I just saw one; it had a tail as long as a coil of rope. Its body was all brown and its face was red.’
Bholu laughed. ‘Then it was a langur.’
‘Langur?’ And with a shiver he said, ‘Come let’s go and see.’
‘Munnan Miyan, be very careful when you go there.’
‘Who lives in the dharamshala?’ Maimuna asked curiously.
‘Yes, who lives there?’ And he fell into confusion.
‘I know,’ Bholu answered confidently.
‘How do you know?’
‘Once, I gathered all my courage, and went inside the dharamshala. And there I saw, sitting under the peepal tree an ascetic with long hair and moustaches, his body covered in ash. His eyes were closed and a smile played upon his lips. A pot was boiling away in front of him. In the light of a flickering lamp, I saw a woman sitting in front of him, and smiling. She wore rings in her ears and a hoop in her nose … I ran for dear life from there.’
Munnan and Maimuna looked at him with terror and surprise. Munnan shivered and then said, ‘Lies!’
Maimuna agreed, ‘Liar!’
‘Fine, don’t believe me.’
‘Let’s go and see,’ Munnan announced suddenly.
‘No,’ Maimuna sounded scared.
‘Maimuna Bibi,’ Bhola tried to bolster her courage, ‘Don’t be scared; I will walk ahead.’
And indeed Bholu stepped forward with confidence and began to walk ahead. And the two of them followed. The dharamshala had seemed so close, but it seemed to be slipping further and further away. As they walked on the sandy porous stretch, it seemed as though they were walking in some desert wasteland.
The Sea Lies Ahead Page 13