My meeting with Khairul Bhai remained unsated, yet it had the strangest effect upon me. The perplexity inside me had gone away. I was so content by the time I left him, and so happy from inside. I returned home late at night and so did not encounter Badi Bhabhi. But now I was mentally prepared to face her. The next morning, I went and sat at the breakfast table. But soon I noticed that Maimuna was a bit subdued. I guessed that something must have taken place in my absence the day before. I glanced at her several times, and a couple of times even tried to speak to her. But she answered in monosyllables and stayed quiet. And then I noticed that she seemed restless, as though she was trying to say something.
‘Maimuna, what is it? You are very quiet today.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then why do you look so worried?’ I was speaking with great confidence. ‘I think you want to say something.’
After a pause, she said, ‘I don’t have to say anything; I want to ask something.’
‘What?’
‘All I wanted to ask was,’ and suddenly her tone became rapid, ‘when are you leaving?’
I was at a loss for words. What an unexpected question it was! There I was expecting all sorts of things and she ended up asking me this! ‘Perhaps you don’t like my staying here …’ But before I could complete my sentence, she called out, ‘Badi Bhabhi, the breakfast is getting cold. Please come.’
‘I am coming,’ Badi Bhabhi’s voice came from the verandah, and with it, the sound of her footsteps. I left my sentence dangling in mid-air. But I also wanted to say something before Badi Bhabhi reached us.
‘Soon,’ I said softly.
Badi Bhabhi heard me. ‘Ai hai, what is the hurry for? Tell me too.’ And she cast a maternal gaze, first at me, and then at Maimuna. Then she was quiet and began to eat in silence.
Maimuna finished her breakfast in a great hurry and got to her feet. ‘I am getting late for school.’
‘Late? It’s hardly late at all,’ Badi Bhabhi said.
‘I have to reach early,’ and she was gone.
And at that very moment, Chhote Miyan also showed up. But by now, I had figured out what I had to say and what I must do.
‘I have been thinking that I might as well make a quick trip to Aurangabad while I am here.’
‘Yes, yes, you must go there,’ Badi Bhabhi said. ‘But what is the hurry? You can go later.’
‘Badi Bhabhi, the days are slipping past. After all, I have to go back too.’
‘Yes, that is true. You might as well get that done at the earliest,’ Chhote Miyan summed up the discussion.
‘Fine, you might as well,’ Badi Bhabhi too finally agreed. ‘Chhoti Phupho will be so pleased to see you. Poor Chhoti Phupho … I can’t bear to see her so unhappy.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘Well, what is left to happen? After all, things aren’t what they were in the good old Hyderabad days.’
‘No one has those good old days anymore,’ Chhote Miyan said.
‘Phupha Jan too has changed a great deal.’
‘Why don’t you say he’s “gone off”?’
‘You know, your problem is that anyone who takes the name of Allah and his Prophet, you say he has “gone off”.’
‘Well, Jawad Miyan shall see for himself.’
1 The reference here could well be to Dara Singh, an undisputed master of the Indian free style wrestling by the late 1940s, who also found fame in the Bombay film industry.
2 A silent movie star of the Indian film industry, her real name was Ruby Myers and she was of Jewish descent. The correct name of the film referred to here was The Wildcat of Bombay; it was made in 1927.
3 Mushtari Bai was the mother of Akhtari Bai Faizabadi, later known as Begum Akhtar. She was a famous tawaif (courtesan who sang and danced) of her time. The reference here could be to her but could also be a generic name. For instance, there is a tawaif called Mushtari Bai in Ahmed Ali’s Twilight in Delhi.
The ekka took a tortuous route to enter that narrow alley in Aurangabad that was thin as a finger; open sewers carrying muddy waters ran on either side of the alley, which had unkempt, halfbroken and half-built houses with sack cloth curtains covering their doorways. The mouth of one alley led to another, the second to a third. And I was amazed … so this is Aurangabad? And the scene had been so different before I had entered that maze of alleys; the very air had been different. The city had looked so beautiful. What happened to Aurangabad as soon as I entered the grid of alleys?
The ekka hobbled along and finally stopped at a door with a piece of sack cloth hanging over it.
‘There you are … this is the house.’
‘Is this the house?’ I looked worriedly at the door of the ramshackle house. ‘It can’t be; you must have brought me to the wrong place. It doesn’t seem to be the right house.’
‘I have brought you to the address you gave.’
I was in a quandary. I could not believe that that my Phupha Jan, the same person who wore a Turkish cap, shervani cut in the Hyderabadi style and pumps with little bows, would live in this house in this lane. But the ekka driver showed great alacrity; he jumped off his ekka and reached the door. With a smart rap on the door with his whip, he called out, ‘Syed sahab, your guest is here … from Pakistan.’ The door opened instantly and an elderly man with a long white beard appeared before us. I was amazed at the sight of him, but then I thought he might know my Phupha Jan and he might send me to the correct address. I was about to say something when he peered at me and recognized me instantly. ‘Arre, you are Jawad; come, come.’ He pulled me inside and called out, ‘Shakur’s mother, where are are you … Look, who has come!’
Chhoti Phupho, dried up like old leather, her back bent double as a bow, her hair white as snow – I was amazed at the sight of her. She looked closely at me as though she was trying to recognize me. ‘Ai hai, this is Munnan!’ she exclaimed as she hugged me, and burst into tears. ‘My son, you went to Pakistan and forgot all about us!’ And then she went on in the same vein, ‘Little did we know then that our precious ones would go away like this and we would long even for a sight of them. I want to know what is mixed in the water of Pakistan that the blood of those who go there turns white? But what are we to do about our heart? The fourteenth century1 has dawned in Pakistan; whereas we unfortunate people are still where we were.’
When she had finished crying over those who had gone away, Chhoti Phupho launched into an account of all that had befallen her, ‘The fall of Hyderabad ruined us, my son. And your Phupha Jan … his mind was so badly affected by it. He lost all interest in worldly matters. He only ever talks of Allah and His Prophet. How is the house to run like this? And this Shakur … if only he were to get a decent education, then there might be some hope of improving our lot. But that boy is showing no such signs.’
‘I had told you in the beginning,’ Phupha Jan finally opened his mouth, ‘not to send him to college. There is nothing but Hindugardi2 there. He will also become like them; and that is exactly what happened. Do you know what happened last week? When the Pakistani team won last week, the street urchins got after our neighbour, Mirza Izzat Baig. He had to stuff their face with a laddu each to get them to quieten down and he offered one to our son, do you know what he said? He said, “Mirza sahab, go to Pakistan and give this laddu to them; why are you giving it to us?” And when Mirza sahab complained to me, believe me Jawad Miyan, I had to hang my head in shame.’
‘Bhai Jan, tell me: did I do anything wrong? The team of a rival people has won; why should I celebrate?’
‘Arre, you wretched boy,’ Chhoti Phupho said, ‘This brother of yours who is sitting here, is he also a rival? The two of you are from the same family.’
‘That makes no difference; we are, after all, from two rival nations.’
‘Are you listening to him, Jawad Miyan?’ Annoyed, Phupha Jan appealed to me. ‘Now you respond to the reasoning of this crazy boy.’
What answer could I give? Shakur had left
me puzzled. I had never looked at things from such a perspective.
‘Jawad Miyan, let me not get started about the state of affairs here. The world around us has changed so much that even our children have taken to speaking to us like this. Sons think that whatever their fathers thought or did was all wrong, and whatever they do or think is right.’ And then turning towards Chhoti Phupho, he said, ‘Shakur’s mother, you might as well resign yourself as far as your son is concerned. Now that he has cut himself off from his religion, he has slipped out of our hands. He has become a kafir … a kafir!
‘Hah!’ Chhoti Phupho spoke with sadness, ‘I have become resigned about both my husband and son. One has been left without religion; the other has gone so far into religion that he is lost to us.’
Chhoti Phupho said this and fell silent. Then, when she spoke again, it was on an altogether different subject. She now wanted to ask about me and my state of affairs. Then she said, ‘I got a letter from your Badi Bhabhi. She told me all about you; she also wrote about her suggestion. My son, whatever she is trying to suggest to you is correct. How long will you remain rootless? Just think … old age is almost here – both for you, and for her. And if this moment too passes, there will be nothing but regret. So, get down to living a settled life; life is all too short.’
And so Chhoti Phupho went on in this vein, and I kept listening to her. This was the chief topic of her conversation. And Phupha Jan’s topic of conversation remained what we had started with. ‘Jawad Miyan, the empire had to go. A faqir had blessed Asif Jah I only till the end of his life and the empire ended with Huzoor Nizam. But had we not turned away from our faith we would not have come to such a sorry pass. Miyan, I am going to give you a pamphlet; make sure you get everyone in Pakistan to read it. I have written clearly in this: whenever Muslims have denied their faith, their decline has been certain.’
I heard all of Phupha Jan’s declarations, which were like a sermon in parts, in respectful silence. Disappointed in his son, he had made me the centre of his attention. And in these few days, he had begun to have such trust in me. The trust shattered on the last day. I had already fixed the programme with Shakur. I had told Phuphi Jan that morning; it was my last day with them.
‘I am thinking of going to Ellora for a quick trip.’
‘Ellora?’ Phupha Jan was shocked. ‘Had you come to meet your Phuphi, or see these idols?’
‘I thought since I have come here I might as well see Ellora too.’
Phupha Jan was silent for a while. Then he said, ‘By the Grace of God, there is a temple in your Pakistan, too; I have heard that right next to Islamabad there is a Kufristan3. There is a place called Taxila where there is supposed to be some ancient temple. And the idols remain arranged in their places as they were before the creation of Pakistan. Phupha Jan drew a long suffering breath. It is precisely because of these deeds of the people of Pakistan that they are being punished today.’
Phupha Jan was disappointed to note that his sermon had not the slightest effect upon me. The penny dropped when he saw Shakur was ready to go with me. ‘Oh, I see, so it is my son who has led you astray. The wretch has gone completely off the track himself and incites others to stray too.’
And as I took my leave, he said. ‘You are our guest. You have come after such a long time. What can we say to you? If you are bent upon seeing those idols, go by all means and may Allah forgive you this great sin.4 Anyhow, now that you are going, remember to stop by at the dargah of Hazrat Alamgir Rahmatullah Auliya, which is on the way. If Allah grants you divine guidance, stop and offer a prayer.’
1 According to H.A.R. Gibb’s, J.H. Kramer’s, Shorter Encyclopaedia of Islam,
E.J. Brill, Leiden 1953, p.24., the Promised Messiah is an article of Islamic faith whose ‘coming early in the 14th century of the Hidjra was predicted by Muhammad.’ ‘Early in the 14th century of the Hidjra’ would be approx. the 1930s and 40s, and by this reckoning, the formation of Pakistan is seen by some as the fulfilment of a destiny. In common usage, especially among working-class people or those with little knowledge about Islamic history, ‘the coming of the 14th century’ is used in the sense of an apocalyptic coming.
2 It was tempting to retain the original word here – laden with communal intent though it is and anxious though we are to be politically correct in these perilous times. Hindugardi is a commonly-used word; it refers to a blatant or pronounced practice of Hinduism and a conscious use of images associated with a right-wing ideology. It would be used by an Urdu speaker in much the same way as ‘Islamization’ would be used in English.
3 A coinage meaning ‘A place of Kufr’, ‘kufr’ meaning idolatry, paganism, heathenism, disbelief.
4 There is a list of great sins (gunah-e kabira), which render void other good things a person may have done.
I remained in a state of trance for several days after my return. I felt as if I was still there. It happens sometimes, doesn’t it, that you wake up suddenly in the middle of a dream. And while you may be awake, your mind is still wandering in the landscape of that dream. And so you lie still, with your eyes shut and you think you are still in the dream. I was in a similar state. I was walking about in that spell and in that state, I ended up spilling a great deal in front of Majju Bhai. Later I realized that this was irritability on my part. But what could I do? In such situations, one usually loses one’s capability. I had to come clean in front of Majju Bhai. In any case, he had guessed something was going on. He could see I was lost in my own thoughts and had no interest in my surroundings. He had to nudge me only the slightest and I began to unravel effortlessly. I don’t know what all I told him. I came to my senses only when he looked sharply at me and said, ‘And then you ran away.’
He said it in such a way, in a tone that was half accusatory and half sarcastic, that I was left abashed. ‘Yes, then I left.’
‘That is, when it was time for you to stay put, you pulled out.’
This sentence made me even more nervous. ‘I don’t know what happened to me at that time. In any case, the situation became so complicated that it was difficult to stay any longer in that house. There I was, thinking how well I had got settled into that way of life all over again, when suddenly this new development changed everything. I had to go to Aurangabad in any case, so I seized that excuse and left immediately.’
‘My dear, you should have gone back and stayed there for a few days before returning to Pakistan.’
‘I couldn’t find the courage to do that.’
Majju Bhai was quiet, then he spoke thoughtfully, ‘Yaar, it wasn’t a nice thing to do.’
‘What?’
‘You should have stayed there. It was good you went away for a bit. You should have gone back after Aurangabad.’
‘Majju Bhai, you are not trying to understand my position. What could I have done by staying? She had ended the matter.’
‘My dear, the matter began from there.’
‘What are you saying, Majju Bhai?’
‘You can’t comprehend this fully right now. But in later years, you will realize what you have done – to yourself and to her. And then this realization will trouble you a great deal.’
Majju Bhai’s reproach made me restless. I did my best to dismiss his words and reject everything he had to say, but deep inside me the thought was gaining strength: perhaps Majju Bhai was right. The thought made me restless. I could not bear to continue this conversation any further.
‘Never mind, let it be,’ I spoke irritably. ‘Let us talk of something else.’
‘Of Andalusia, for instance,’ Majju Bhai spoke sarcastically and then, after a pause, ‘I have noticed that you have become quite an expert in history ever since you have returned from there. Did you come across a tome on history while you were there? Now things have reached such a pass that I ask you a simple question and you get started on here and there. Sometimes it is about Granada, sometimes Cordoba. That’s a fine strategy you have evolved of dodging the issue.’
‘Majju Bhai, have some fear of God! I wasn’t talking about history; I was only telling you about the trees out there. I don’t know how the date palm appeared in the middle of all this. And from there, I don’t know how …’
‘What do you mean you don’t know … You are a past master of the High Jump!’
Perhaps Majju Bhai was right here, too. I was telling him so much without being fully conscious of it. Majju Bhai would delve deep and pull out some nugget and draw some inference and I would be left gaping with astonishment. Ever since my return, I myself didn’t realize how I had begun to get swept away and in which direction. In fact, I was beginning to get quite concerned about myself. These were not good signs. I needed to watch over myself. Or else, I would end up becoming neurotic. I began to believe that one way of getting past my neurosis was the one which Majju Bhai had shown me long ago. It included all those people he had introduced me to over the years and with whom I had begun to socialize. I hadn’t met any of them since my return, nor even wanted to. But now, it seemed to me, as though it was essential that I meet them.
‘Majju Bhai, how long will you cross-examine this culprit? Don’t you want to go somewhere?’
‘Sure; tell me where.’
‘What about Karbalai sahab; shall we go to his place?’
‘Karbalai sahab,’ Majju Bhai laughed loudly, ‘has departed.’
‘Departed?’ I was worried.
‘No, no, he is hale and hearty. I meant he has departed from this country.’
‘You had me worried there. So, where has he gone? Karbala? Or Shikarpur?’
‘Neither Karbala nor Shikarpur … he has gone straight to America.’
The Sea Lies Ahead Page 19