The Sea Lies Ahead

by Intizar Husain

  ‘America!’ I was taken aback.

  And now I began to realize how much had happened while I had been away. And when I glanced around me, my amazement kept growing. So, all this had happened while I was gone. On the face of it, everything seemed the same, but the deterioration had become more evident. One has seen the decline of cities, but deterioration usually happens slowly. And it is only after a long time that one realizes how much has happened. The speed with which the decline had set in here terrified me. It wasn’t as though I was gone for a long time. So much had happened in so few days? Anyhow, to get back to the strange case of Karbalai sahab …

  ‘Majju Bhai, what are you saying? Karbala or Shikarpur? That was his dilemma.’

  ‘No matter what his dilemma, the decision was taken by Saiyadani Chachi and his son. What could Karbalai Chacha do before the united front of mother and son? The son came. He got the visas ready for the father, mother and sister and he herded them away.’

  ‘Poor Karbalai sahab,’ I was saddened.

  ‘My dear, these are the twists and turns of life.’

  ‘And there is such a distance between our dreams and their realization!’

  ‘God works in mysterious ways … He sends those who dream of going to America to Shikarpur and to those who yearn for Shikapur, He gives a taste of America!’ Majju Bhai laughed and then, changing the topic, said, ‘Anyhow, these things happen. I suddenly remembered: there was a phone call from Aqa Hasan. He will think I am avoiding him. Let us go over to his place.’

  ‘Oh yes, so what’s the progress? Have Lucknow and Meerut found a meeting ground?’

  ‘No, no, it has hit an obstacle.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You see, what happened was that Tausif had taken the test for the CSP1 in jest. And he managed to clear it successfully.’

  ‘Well, that is good.’

  ‘It would have been good, except that this success meant the end of a perfectly good alliance. Now you will ask how? There was a time when Aqa Hasan and his wife were becoming as stiff and unyielding as dough made from maash daal; but they melted like wax when they heard this news. The question of whether the boy was a Saiyad or not was put away on the upper-most shelf, the match was agreed to with alacrity and great insistence was shown that the nikah be performed immediately. On the other side, your friends from Meerut have begun to reach for the skies. Now even the nobility from Lucknow seem lowly and beneath them. And so they are now trying to break off the match. And now, Jawad Miyan, spare a thought for my position … I am being ground between the wheels of Lucknow and Meerut.’

  ‘This had to happen to you one day, Majju Bhai. You had to pay the price for getting into these traps of fixing marriages and engagements.’

  ‘Aqa Hasan’s wife has caught me by the throat; you cannot imagine my state.’

  Poor Majju Bhai was in serious trouble. No matter how much he went on and on about his dear ‘Bhabhi’, the lady from Lucknow was in no mood to let him off the hook.

  ‘My dear brother, I want to know what these Meerut people have taken us to be? First, they came to our door asking for our daughter, saying they were content even with the dust from our doorway. And, then, when we – out of sheer human consideration – finally said “Yes”, they were struck dumb! Mind you, we had agreed only out of sheer humanity, for it isn’t as though there was anything special about their boy. You know we would not even show our backs to someone who is not from a Saiyad family. What is more, they were rustic folk. But we thought: So what if they are not Saiyad, at least they are from the same religion, and they are from our side across there. And then, we are no longer in Lucknow that we will find rows upon rows of good Saiyad boys from the noblest of families. This is the best one can find in Karachi. Keeping all this in mind, we had agreed to the match.’

  ‘Brother Majidul Hasan,’ Aqa Hasan interjected, ‘Your sister-in-law is right. We were not exactly very satisfied with the match, but then keeping the changing times in mind, we kept aside our Lucknowi ways and decided to make our peace with the new world. And so we had agreed to the match. But now we feel their attitude has changed, and not for the better. They seem to be avoiding us.’

  ‘But Majju Bhai, they have given their solemn word. And then, after all, you are also in the picture. And if truth be told, we had agreed to the match because it came from you.’

  ‘Brother, please have some patience – considering you have waited so long and have made them wait for a long time. I shall go and ask them today itself what their intention is.’

  ‘What a thing to say, Majju Bhai! We hardly made them wait! In fact, we would have made them wait had we been in Lucknow. Your friend is sitting here; he will tell you that when his proposal had come to my parent’s home, my dear mother showed no sign for two whole years – she said neither “Yes” nor “No”. It was only in the third year when people from the extended family began to urge her and also give full guarantees about the boy’s family that she finally gave in.’

  ‘Well, those times have gone with those people,’ Aqa Hasan again interjected, ‘These days, people want instant results. They send a proposal today, and they want an answer tomorrow. We had to take some time to consider the proposal, after all. And I think we did not take too long. Now, why are they delaying?’

  ‘Brother, please tell them that they have sent a proposal for the daughter of a genteel family, and they have given their word. We shall not let them wriggle away,’ Basho Bhabhi served us a clear notice.

  The other party was looking for an excuse to back out. Or, rather, had already found an excuse. Tausif ’s sister was flying high, so high that she was not setting foot on the ground.

  ‘Majju Bhai, you know well enough how many times those Lucknow-walas made us run around. “Yes, we will think.” “Our daughter is still studying; let her exams get over, we will think afterwards.” The studies became as unending as the devil’s entrails. Now let them educate their daughter to their heart’s content. We don’t want a daughter-in-law who is as wise as Plato. My brother has to get his house in order – not start a library! And God save us from the airs of these Lucknow-walas. “We are high born.” Well, we are also not exactly low born. Now they should keep their high-bred daughter to themselves.’

  ‘Well, you are right actually,’ Majju Bhai said in an attempt to pacify her. ‘These Lucknow-walas are victims of tradition. They always take very long to respond to a proposal. Anyhow, now they have agreed to the match.’

  ‘Majju Bhai, be fair. After all, we also matter to you, don’t we? Tell me, when did they agree to the match? At first, they wouldn’t even give us the time of day. In fact, the lady even went so far as to announce to all and sundry that we were actually from a family of knife-sharpeners from Meerut! It was only when they saw that the boy had cleared the competitive examination and would shortly be appointed a high official and, also, when they heard about the Pilibhit-walas making the rounds of our home that they said “Yes” in a jiffy.’

  ‘Be that as it may, they have said “Yes”.’

  ‘Let them say “Yes”. It is too late now. Are we expected to wither away waiting for them to say “Yes”? There is no shortage of girls for my brother. With God’s grace, he will now rule over an entire district; his writ will be law in all the police stations of his area. And you are well aware of his habits and temperament. My brother is a real diamond. You won’t find such boys in this day and age. And if you dismiss such a boy, then only a star that has come down from high heavens can be good enough for your daughter. And then there are the Pilibhit-walas; they speak with such humility. It isn’t as though they are nobodies; they have known wealth for several generations. And their daughter is so well brought up. The mother doesn’t even set foot in the kitchen; the girl does all the cooking and cleaning. With the grace of God, the girl runs the entire house on her own. And then there is the daughter of these Lucknow-walas; she cannot even make rotis. One day they asked me to stay over for lunch. I was horrified t
o see the roti made by the girl. She had put raw bits of dough in front of us.’

  ‘So, Baji, in other words, you have fixed the match with the Pilibhit-walas?’

  ‘No, no, I have not fixed anything. I am still trying to gauge them. I will investigate thoroughly. We are in no hurry. It’s not as though our boy will no longer be of marriageable age. After all, he is still so young. It was only the year before last that I had had a feast when his moustache sprouted. So I will bring home a bride after I am fully satisfied. And you wait and see, the bride I bring will light up my brother’s home. And one who will listen to her husband and stay under my control. After all I am tired too; I want to lie in bed with my paandan beside me, and I want someone to press my feet and serve me food.’

  ‘Yes, it is a perfectly reasonable desire,’ Majju Bhai said, ‘but I was simply pointing out that the Lucknow girl is educated and sensible.’

  ‘Hai Majju Bhai, God save us from these educated girls! They have been known to split up families. That is what they have learnt from their colleges. The moment they step out of their palanquins and enter their husband’s home, they set up a din for a separate house. The very sight of their mother-in-law or sister-in-law is anathema for them. My eldest uncle, may Allah grant him paradise, used to say that if a daughter-in-law has never experienced cruelty at the hands of her mother-in-law then you may as well assume that she is wanton.’

  Majju Bhai smiled, ‘That’s a nice axiom.’

  ‘Ai Majju Bhai, he was not exactly wrong. And our eldest uncle was no ordinary father-in-law. He was as stern as our eldest aunt was easy-going. Our aunt was terribly sweet; she loved my mother like a daughter. When my mother got married and came to their house, our eldest aunt handed over the keys to the house as well as the running of the kitchen to her. But our eldest uncle … he never ever ate a morsel cooked by my mother. He always used to say that a daughter-in-law can never be trusted; she can poison her father- and mother-in-law anytime. The most ordinary incident happened one day: my father said to my mother that he hadn’t eaten parathas for a long time. And so my mother, in all innocence, cooked parathas for him. Our eldest uncle got wind of it and he roared with anger that she had made parathas for her husband and given him roti with a bit of ghee. And he swore never to eat anything cooked by her. My father offered to keep a separate cook just for our eldest uncle … Anyhow, these are tales of long ago. Let someone try and do something like this with our new-age daughters-in-law. The news will be splashed all over the newspapers the very next day. Majju Bhai, bad times are here to stay.’

  ‘Yes,’ Majju Bhai said in a half-hearted assent, ‘the old days are gone. It is a new age, with new ways.’

  ‘New age! Call it the fourteenth century! The wretches are such hussies, I tell you: they can get anything they want. And the boys are such fools that they can be driven off in whichever direction their wives lead them. And this Tausif, he has all the potential to run to do his wife’s bidding.’

  ‘Baji, do I have the permission to say something?’

  ‘Yes, yes, say whatever you have in your heart. I know you are head over heels in love with her.’

  ‘Me? Head over heels in love with her! Never!’

  ‘Don’t pull the wool over my eyes. What do you take me for? I can count the feathers of a bird in flight. And I know you far too well; I have washed your dirty diapers. Majju Bhai, believe me, our mother only gave birth to him; I am the one who tended him ever since he was an infant. My arms would tire from holding him when he was a baby. And as he grew up, I was the one who went to pray for him at the grave of every saint, I was the one who got all sorts of talisman from all sorts of holy men, I read all manner of special prayers for his well-being, I was the one who spread my hem and prayed that by the blessings of our Prophet and His family, may he clear his examination with top marks and rule over a district. And now all that has come to pass. So now, what does he need a sister for? Now he will sing the praise of that impure creature.’

  ‘Which impure creature?’

  ‘Go on … don’t force me to speak up. And listen well … if you dare to marry against my wishes, I will throw such a spanner in the works that the entire city will come to know. Not that I wish ill for the one who will come to our home. May Allah make her as white as pearls and as yellow as gold, but may she also be someone who can make us hold our head high among our people! In any case, there is no shortage of good girls. If I have my way, I will bring a bride who will, God willing, light up this house. Let me make one thing amply clear: I will not be reduced to a scarecrow in my own house. Make her the queen of your home by all means. Let her get what she is entitled to as your wife, and let the sister get hers.’

  And so she was in full spate while Majju Bhai was at a loss as to the way forward. All his hard work had come to nought. The honour of being a bridge between Lucknow and Meerut, an honour he had sought to earn with great dedication and hard work, was slipping away from him. For the first time, I saw the signs of weariness on his face. For, he was always delighted to be in the thick of such action, and always known to be unabashedly successful in such battles. By the grace of God, it so happened that Ghazi sahab showed up at the very moment that Baji Akhtari got steadily angrier and her temper reached its zenith.

  As always, Ghazi sahab wore a green turban on his head, a kurta that reached below his knees, a shalwar that ended just above his ankles, and a constantly moving rosary in his hands. I had seen him for the first time in this very house at a dinner of kabab and parathas. And perhaps he too had set foot in this house for the very first time that day. At that time, Baji Akhtari had been merely impressed by his appearance; she became a devotee only after she heard the news of Tausif clearing the CSP. That was when she realized that it was made possible only because of Ghazi sahab having set his blessed feet in their home. Now she had become a believer and was forever on the lookout to find new disciples. God knows how she spotted the signs of a believer in me for one day she accosted me and said, ‘Ai Bhaiyya Jawad, why don’t you contact Ghazi sahab?’

  I looked at her with complete puzzlement and asked, ‘Regarding what?’

  ‘You look very worried to me. Ghazi sahab does not believe in talismans and amulets, but he is a firm believer in prayer. He can blow such a prayer on water that all your troubles go away after you have drunk it. The truth is that all our misfortunes have gone away only because of Ghazi sahab. Tausif ’s example is before your eyes. Who could have imagined that he would clear the entrance examination? The truth is that Ghazi sahab prayed for him. You also ask him to pray for you.’

  ‘But I do not have any worries.’

  ‘Ai hai, what is there to hide? Everyone has worries.’

  ‘You may think so.’

  ‘All right then, so you are right and I am wrong. Don’t doubt me. I have never wished ill for anyone; I have only ever wanted good for others. If people don’t agree that is another matter. And in this case, too, I tell everyone that there is great power in Ghazi sahab’s prayer. I have given the water that has been blessed by him to so many people. And whoever I have given it to has become a believer in him. And so, I said it for your own good.’

  Anyhow, this little matter being in the nature of a digression, as I was saying Ghazi sahab appeared at that very moment looking like an angel of mercy. Baji Akhtari, who was like a river in full spate, became still. Majju Bhai too got a moment’s respite; he addressed Ghazi sahab, ‘Qibla Ghazi sahab, so where has your movement reached?’

  Ghazi sahab drew a long sigh and said, ‘My dear, don’t ask. The passion for jihad has gone cold among Muslims. If you consider the total population of Pakistan, you will note that it is not a small country. The population of Muslims is in crores. Yet I have still not been able to find 313 Muslims. Look around you … so many people, and all born in the faith, but none are Muslims. My passion is calling out for 313 Muslims. But there aren’t 313 Muslims to be found on this planet earth.’

  ‘Yes, it is very sad indeed, ‘
Majju Bhai said. ‘But this huge population that is to be found in Pakistan and the crowds that sweep into Karachi are all Muslims. It is a different matter that they are not drawn towards your movement.’

  ‘My dear, do you call them Muslims? I do not see any Muslims among them. Forget their character; they do not even look like Muslims in their appearance. Their beard and moutaches are gone, the clothes ordained by Sharia are missing, and instead they are wearing the Christian dress of tie-coat-pant. I sometimes wonder – and grieve – how will these people be identified on the Day of Reckoning? And let us, for the sake of argument, suppose that they are somehow identified, the question of namaz still remains. Just think how many among them would be those who had prayed regularly all five times a day, for

  Tujhe namaz ki fursat nahi taajub hai

  It is strange that you do not find the time for namaz

  ‘And even among those who pray, how many whose namaz is truly a namaz? My friend, be fair and tell me honestly.’

  ‘You are absolutely correct.’

  ‘I know just one simple fact: if these people were true Muslims then the Atom Bomb would have been with them, and not the others.’ And then, after a pause, he continued, ‘From the banks of the Nile till the dust of Kashgar,2 there are people who have read the kalma. But their breasts are empty of the inner pain, their hearts free of softness, their spirits desolate – what shall become of these people? Tell me, my friend, am I wrong?’

  ‘No, no, you are absolutely right,’ Majju Bhai shook his head in agreement.

  ‘Anyhow, all the young men who have become associated with my movement are, by the grace of God, people of faith and their hearts are warmed by true emotions. I have taught them only one lesson: “O Children of Islam and Sons of Unitarianism, just believe that this life that you have been given is actually not yours. It is simply given to you in trust; and any breach of trust is not permissible. It must be returned to its rightful owner at the earliest. So, be forever ready for martyrdom.” And my dear Majju Bhai, believe me they are ready. They go about with a shroud tied around their heads. The passion for jihad is bursting out of them. Alas, it is wasted upon these heedless Muslims. I am running my movement somehow while they are sitting in their cocoons, deaf to my calls. But I am wrong in calling them Muslims; they are not Muslims. If someone claims to be a Muslim let him come before me. I will tell him what it means to be a Muslim. My dear Majju Bhai, my volunteers ask me impatiently: “If these people are kafirs then who has given them permission to be amongst us? And what right do they have to remain alive?” And I counsel them saying: “O Youth of Islam, be patient! The time shall come when we shall enquire of them.” And the young men writhe with haste. But my dear Majju Bhai, how long can I overlook their wish? After all, I too have to answer on the Day of Reckoning when this disobedient sinner will be asked: “O Ataullah, you saw these Muslims turn away from the Righteous Path and you remained silent. Now you burn in the eternal fire of hell.” When I imagine the fire of hell, my body breaks out in a rash. I break down in tears.’ And indeed Ghazi sahab broke down in front of us.