The Sea Lies Ahead

by Intizar Husain

  When Baji Akhtari saw Ghazi sahab weeping inconsolably, she too broke down in tears and covered her face with one end of her dupatta. Tausif got up with a start and rushed to get a glass of water for Ghazi sahab, ‘Qibla, drink some water.’

  I looked at Majju Bhai with harassed eyes. He seemed to be waiting for a signal from me, and immediately sprang to his feet. His words of apology were heard with inattention by Tausif and Baji Akhtari, and neither made the slightest effort to detain us.

  We came out and saw a Pajero parked at the gate. Inside sat Kalashnikov-toting volunteers who glared at us with suspicious, angry eyes.

  ‘Majju Bhai,’ I spoke softly, ‘what is going on?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Majju Bhai answered equally softly, ‘this is Ghazi sahab’s security posse.’

  ‘Security?’ I was perplexed. Why did Ghazi sahab need security? But Majju Bhai was in no mood to answer any of my questions.

  We had barely set foot in our house when Rafiq sahab landed up. ‘Arre Jawad sahab, you are back?’ he seemed surprised to see me. ‘I thought you were going to be away for a long time.’

  ‘Do you hear that, Jawad Miyan? Are you listening to Rafiq sahab? He is saying exactly what I have been saying.’ And Majju Bhai turned towards Rafiq sahab, ‘Rafiq sahab, we will accept it if you say so though I personally feel that Jawad Miyan has not really come back.’

  Rafiq sahab let out a hearty guffaw. ‘But Majju Bhai, why single out Jawad sahab? I have noticed this among all my Karachi friends. They come back, but then you find out that actually they have not really come back.’

  I tried to avoid answering them, but suddenly a shiver ran through me and I said, ‘Perhaps the two of you are right when you say I have not yet come back. But my own experience is different. I have come back, but I feel that the city I have come back to is not the city I had left; this is some other city.’

  ‘If only it were some other city,’ Rafiq sahab quipped.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘But I feel as though I have come back to some other city … some city from some fable.’

  ‘And as though you are Hatim Tai,’3 Majju Bhai tacked on as Rafiq sahab let out another peal of laughter.

  I felt as though I had been roasted over live embers. I answered sharply, ‘I am certainly no Hatim Tai; how can I be? This age is not worthy of such characters – although this city has indeed become the City of Summons.’

  Rafiq sahab’s laughter stilled and he became serious. ‘Jawad sahab, you are absolutely correct.’ He became quiet and then, after a moment’s reflection, said, ‘We are all awaiting our turn; who knows when the summon will come from the Mount of Summons.’

  Majju Bhai looked hard at Rafiq sahab and said, ‘So you are caught in Jawad’s trap too. He has caught you in his snare of dastaans and is trying to kill me with history.’

  ‘Then you are done for, Majju Bhai. The dastaan allows several exits for escape, but history does not let a man get away.’

  ‘History is correct in its place; the question is: what do you draw from it?’

  ‘What has Jawad sahab drawn from it?’ Rafiq sahab smiled.

  ‘Only a date palm has been found so far.’

  Rafiq sahab laughed out loud once again. ‘Majju Bhai, whatever is in your history will be drawn from it. Jawad sahab cannot add anything from his own side to it.’ And then after a pause, ‘Majju Bhai, you know, I have been wondering what would be found if someone were to sift through the history of Pakistan.’

  ‘My dear, first let the history of Pakistan get formed! It has been such a short while … what can you expect to find in it?’

  ‘That isn’t true, Majju Bhai; surely in this brief period of time two things can be found quite easily.’

  ‘And what are those?’

  ‘Mushairas and Kalashnikovs.’

  Both Majju Bhai and Rafiq sahab laughed to their heart’s content when they heard this.

  ‘So will you give me some tea, or shall I leave?’

  ‘Of course, we will give you tea,’ and Majju Bhai instantly called out to the cook. ‘Yaar, Nemat Khan!’

  Nemat Khan appeared in an instant. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yaar, make some tea. Don’t you see, Rafiq sahab has been sitting here for some time?’

  1 CSP or Civil Service of Pakistan, derived from the colonial legacy of the Indian Civil Service (ICS), this was the bureaucratic machinery of Pakistan. It was subsequently renamed CSS or Central Superior Services.

  2 The oasis city in western China, located along the border of Kyrghistan and Tajikistan.

  3 Hatim Tai was an iconic figure in Arabian history who lived sometime in the 6th century ad and is still remembered for his generosity and large-heartedness as well as his many adventures. In one of the episodic adventures, Hatim has to bring back an account of the Koh-e Nida (Mount of Summons, where the summon of death is issued from. In calling Karachi the City of Summons, the reference is to the summon of death that can come at any moment and the uncertainty that prevails in the city.)

  This incident is from that day when our Society had set a new record of burning tyres. The entire neighbourhood was clouded with thick fumes … fumes and the noise of loud slogans. The day, however, had dawned ordinarily enough, in fact, absolutely according to the daily routine. I woke when I heard the alarm clock kept beside the bed go off. Almost instantly, I heard a cock crow somewhere in the distance and with it came the sweet medley of birdsong. As is my practice, I kept lying in the bed for a long time, tossing and turning from side to side. I nodded off and woke up several times after waking up. Then, with a sudden resolve, I got out of bed and went straight into the bathroom.

  And then the everyday ritual of newspaper, shave, bath, breakfast. What was new or special in the newspaper that would keep me engrossed for very long? There were the same routine stories: robberies, murders, abductions, gangrapes. A motor theft in one neighbourhood; a hold-up at a bank by Kalashnikov-wielding robbers who shot dead a resisting watchman and decamped with forty lakh rupees while a notice was issued to find the robbers within twenty-four hours; a senator abducted from a certain highway and a ransom demand for fifty lakh rupees. And so on and so forth.

  And the breakfast too was nothing out of the ordinary. There were just the two of us: Majju Bhai and me. And there was minimal conversation at the breakfast table, that too less with each other and more with Nemat Khan who would rush in and out with fresh toast or hot tea. He would hurry from the kitchen, deposit a fresh pot of tea and hurry out. After breakfast, a round of cigarettes would commence, and with it, one more look at the pages of the newspaper – though that day the cigarette-and-newspaper routine had stretched a bit longer than usual. And Majju Bhai had commented on it, too.

  ‘Yaar, you are sitting about as though you have all the time in the world. The car from your bank has not come yet. Aren’t you planning to go to the office today?’

  ‘I will go, but a bit later.’

  ‘How much later?’

  ‘Oh Majju Bhai, you are grilling me! Why are you so interested in my office?’

  ‘I am not interested in your office; I am thinking of myself. I was thinking of setting out with you.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, but you don’t have to go for a duty; does it matter if we are a bit late?’

  ‘But you have to go for duty.’

  ‘It is such a bore! I am fed up of this daily hustle. Majju Bhai, you are so lucky! You have no daily grind, no restrictions. Nothing but peace and quiet for you! I am so envious. Yours is an ideal life.’

  ‘My dear, one has to pay the price for this life.’

  ‘There is a price for everything, Majju Bhai. Look at me … whirling around like a top all day. A banker’s job! … Don’t even ask how tough it is! I am sucked dry by the end of the day.’

  ‘Oh come on, don’t exaggerate. Anyhow, come to the point … when is the car coming for you?’

  ‘Actually, I got very tired yesterday. So I thought I would rest a bit and go late. So, I ha
d told my office to send the car later than usual … by 10.30 or 11.’

  ‘My dear, you don’t work, you rule over an empire.’

  ‘Majju Bhai, I am about to leave this job.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They make one work very hard.’

  ‘And the next job won’t make you work as hard?’

  ‘It will be a change. I am sick of the routine. I am a human being, not a dumb plodder.’

  ‘Jawad Miyan,’ Majju Bhai took a long pull on his cigarette, ‘There is an age for changing wives and jobs. You have passed that age. At this age, it has been seen, that no matter what sort of wife one might have or what kind of employment one might have, one is expected to make do.’

  ‘The first one doesn’t apply to yours truly; and about the second one … I never really thought about it. Allah granted me release without my asking. And as far as your philosophy regarding employment is concerned, I have a few reservations about it.’

  I had not yet completed my sentence when a loud noise accompanied by sloganeering came from outside. Majju Bhai rushed to the window and peered out; then he turned around and, just as quickly, came away. There was nothing new. Majju Bhai perked up his ears when so much as a leaf fluttered in the neighbourhood. When someone suffered so much as a nosebleed, it would be a major incident as far as Majju Bhai was concerned. So I paid no heed to him or to the noises, taking them to be the usual slogan-mongering we heard everyday. I went back to my newspaper, but I could not remain immersed in it for long. Majju Bhai returned, looking extremely worried.

  ‘So, there … they have started again.’

  ‘How?’ I had not yet derived any absolute inference from Majju Bhai’s worried demeanor, but when he made his announcement with such seriousness, I had to ask.

  ‘A young man from the neighbourhood has become the target of the masked men. His name was Sharif … though of course you wouldn’t have seen him. He was a nice young man. He had done a lot of patrol duty during the last curfew. The poor thing was shot. He has been taken to the hospital; let’s see what happens.’

  Majju Bhai was right. Who was Sharif? What was he like? I wouldn’t know whereas Majju Bhai knew everything about everybody. Every child in the neighbourhood knew him, and he knew every child in it. I, on the other hand, lived there like a stranger. The couple of people who knew me in the neighbourhood did so because of Majju Bhai. Was it possible for one to stay in one place for years upon years and yet remain a stranger? But I was such a person. If someone is bent upon remaining aloof from the lives and times of one’s neighbours, then who would know him? Such a man will remain a stranger. Now look at it like this … Majju Bhai heard the commotion and instantly got immersed in it with all his emotions and feelings. And there was me … I was not in the least affected. Majju Bhai had narrated the incident of the youth being shot with such intensity. And it had had not the least effect on me. ‘Oh,’ I said with the utmost unconcern and became quiet.

  ‘People have gathered at the Abbasi Shaheed Hospital and passions are running high. The crowd is dangerously out of control. If the young man dies, things will get out of hand.’

  I let out a long ‘Hmmm’ by way of answer and got back to my newspaper. I remained engrossed in it for a long time. Majju Bhai saw my evident disinterest and went out of the room. I was startled in the middle of my perusal of the newspaper; suddenly, I looked at the watch strapped on my wrist. Immediately, I put down the newspaper and got up. ‘It is time; the car should have come by now. Where is that fellow?’ Then I remembered, ‘Jamaluddin is habitually late. He has never come on time. He will come up with some lame excuse yet again.’

  Nemat Khan tottered in, laden with bags of groceries. He looked frightened. ‘The shops are all shut; I somehow managed to buy these things.’

  ‘Really?’ Majju Bhai asked in a voice laden with anxiety. ‘What’s the news about Sharif?’

  ‘He has passed away.’

  ‘May God have mercy upon us,’ Majju Bhai’s anxiety increased manifold. He was about to say something when the telephone rang.

  I picked up the phone, ‘Hello. Jamaluddin, where are you? I am waiting for you … Really? … If the tyres are burning, let them. You find a way to get through … I see … So there is no way of getting here … Hmmm … Hmmm … Hmmm … All right then, you go back. I will call up the office and talk to them.’

  I put the phone down. ‘So, the car can’t come now. The main road is blocked.’

  ‘What was Jamaluddin saying?’

  ‘He said tyres are burning on the main road and the window panes of passing cars are being broken. A bus has been set on fire.’

  ‘That means it has started,’ Majju Bhai turned towards Nemat Khan almost as soon as these words had left his mouth. ‘Is there enough milk in the house?’

  ‘Yes, I have got it. And I have also bought some vegetables and enough meat for the next several days.’

  ‘Meat and vegetables are not my concern; I can pass the days on even daal. At times like this, when one has to be imprisoned in the house, what one needs are enough quantities of decent tea and a sufficient supply of cigarettes. Then whatever has to happen can happen in the world outside.’ With these words, Majju Bhai got to his feet and said, ‘Let me go out and inspect the state of affairs.’

  ‘Will it make any difference to the state of affairs if you go out?’

  ‘It won’t make any difference, but surely a man must remain abreast of his surroundings. At least, one should not die in a state of ignorance.’ Majju Bhai answered with great patience. My sarcasm had had not the slightest effect on him. He paused, then spoke thoughtfully, ‘Though there are enough cigarettes, I will go and see if any shops are open so I can stock up some more. One never knows how long this state will last.’ And with these words, he quickly went down the stairs.

  Nemat Khan stood rooted to the spot, looking as worried as ever. After some time, he went into the kitchen. I could hear a commotion outside. Loud, angry voices were coming from a loudspeaker, saying all sorts of things that I couldn’t understand. I went and stood beside the window. I had thought I would look out to see what was happening and who or what was passing by. But what was the point? A wave of futility washed over me. I shut the window without looking out, turned back and returned to sit on the chair.

  The window was shut, but the noise could still be heard. At an emotional level, I was completely unconcerned by that noise. Yet I could not remain unaffected by it. For a long time, I sat anxiously for I had nothing to do. Till I had been reading the newspaper, I had not noticed the noise coming from outside. I took up the magazine I had been reading the night before and tried to read the remaining articles, but gave up soon enough. I could not concentrate. So what was I to do? There was no office to go to. So I thought of cleaning up my room. My room had been upside down for days and the books … Dear Lord! They were coated with dust! At that moment, I was momentarily reminded of Ishrat. She had brought order in my home. Till she was alive, heaven forbid that something should move from its rightful place. The house used to look neat and clean. After she passed away, the house invariably looked unkempt. Everything was in disarray and the house looked deserted. With Majju Bhai being here, at least I was spared a sense of loneliness. But his presence could not guarantee cleanliness and order in the household.

  ‘Sahab-ji.’

  Busy wiping the dust from the books, I was startled. ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘I want to find out when they will be taking away the dead body for burial.’

  ‘All right, but come back quickly.’

  ‘Yes, I will come back right away. I just want to know so that I can prepare lunch before going. I want to lend my shoulder to the corpse.’

  ‘All right.’

  Nemat Khan went away and I went back to dusting and wiping the books. I don’t know how long I remained absorbed in my task, for I lost all sense of time. I came to with a start only when Majju Bhai returned and set up a din.

  ‘Nema
t Khan! Nemat Khan … Where are you? I am dying of hunger.’

  ‘So, you are back?’

  ‘There is clamour all round. Things are likely to get worse … But where is Nemat Khan?’

  ‘He left shortly after you did.’

  ‘And pray why did he do that?’

  ‘For the same reason you did … he said he wanted to find out when the corpse would be taken away.’

  ‘Why does he need to know when the corpse will be taken away?’

  ‘He will lend his shoulder … that is, he will lend his shoulder to the corpse of a martyr so that some of the reward will rub off on him too.’

  ‘In that case, we might end up lending a shoulder to his bier.’

  Majju Bhai’s fear turned out to be right. Things took a turn for the worse and curfew was imposed by evening. Now Majju Bhai posed a new dilemma.

  ‘Tonight shall be a difficult night.’