The Sea Lies Ahead

by Intizar Husain

  ‘How many dead?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Oh, only five? But there was so much firing? These people waste far too many bullets. Anyhow, Majju Bhai, let me tell you the horizon is clear.’

  ‘Tell Jawad. Jawad, are you listening: the horizon is clear now.’

  ‘But for how long?’ I blurted.

  Rafiq sahab laughed. ‘Well said.’

  Majju Bhai said. ‘Why don’t you also find out when the mushaira is likely to start?’

  The subject of the mushaira made me restless. I finally spoke up, ‘Look here, the two of you are constrained to attend the mushaira. For Rafiq sahab it is a question of good neighbourliness. Regardless of whether there is a shower of bullets or bombs going off, he must go for the mushaira in any case. And as for Majju Bhai, well he acquired the taste for poetry during his Coffee House days. He can leave the blanket, but the blanket won’t leave him. But I don’t have any such compulsion.’

  ‘Miyan, you have a compulsion too,’ Majju Bhai said. ‘And that is that you cannot get out of this area unscathed. Bullet or ghazal? You choose.’

  ‘It would be infinitely better to get a bullet than to have to listen to a ghazal in a mushaira.’

  ‘Think again.’

  ‘I am in God’s care.’

  ‘But how will you get back?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that; one of my Coffee House crowd will have to perform this duty. After all, we are going to offer praise; then surely we must extract the price.’

  As I got to my feet, Rafiq sahab too got up to bid me adieu. He said, ‘Jawad sahab, Majju Bhai is right. Don’t dwell too much on these things. You see, what difference will it make if we worry or think about it? What is in our control?’

  Meanwhile, Begum Rafiq appeared. She looked at me in surprise. ‘Arre, are you leaving?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have some fear of God! Why are you bent upon killing yourself?’

  ‘The firing has stopped.’

  ‘There is no knowing with these wretched people.’

  ‘One can trust no one these days. But the business of life cannot be suspended for this reason.’

  ‘Is it imperative for you to go?’

  ‘Yes, you could say so.’

  ‘All right, but be alert. And remember to telephone us as soon as you reach home safely.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rafiq sahab spoke in a confirmatory tone. ‘Remember to telephone us. Though, God willing, everything will be all right.’

  Rafiq sahab and Majju Bhai came to see me off till the door; the car stood right in front with Jamaluddin sitting all bundled up inside. He saw me and straightened up with a shiver. But as soon as I set foot outside the door, I became aware of a frightening silence. The alley did not look like the bustling crowded alley that we had seen when we had come. It was full of life then. The noise of trundling vehicles, the laughter of groups of people sitting on the shop fronts, voices and sounds of people passing by, the haggling and bargaining between the buyers and the sellers – there was nothing now. The shops were closed, the pedestrians had disappeared, and it looked as though it was well past midnight. In the distance, I could see one open shop. I was alarmed; surely something was wrong. But then I had got up with the intention of leaving and it seemed insulting to let the fear inside me show. In any case, there was no need for me to say anything. Rafiq sahab and Majju Bhai saw the same scene.

  ‘Yaar,’ Majju Bhai spoke in a troubled tone, ‘has your alley gone to sleep so early today?’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. It seems that the shopkeepers have shut their shops due to all the commotion over the firing. And once people have shut the shops and gone home for the night, why would they come back?’

  ‘My dear, the signs are not good,’ and almost immediately Majju Bhai addressed me, ‘Jawad, I think you should stay back. We will go back together after the mushaira. There will be others too; it isn’t wise to go alone at this time.’

  ‘Come on, Majju Bhai. You are stopping me from going alone as though I am a child,’ I said in an attempt to show courage.

  ‘In any case, Jawad sahab,’ Rafiq sahab added, ‘what is the harm if one were to occasionally get a taste of a mushaira? A mushaira has its own utility, especially in the sort of times that we are going through.’

  ‘Really? And what is that utility? Kindly do explain.’

  ‘If we have a cure for the kind of times that we are passing through, it is a mushaira. The point that the friends of Damascus could not grasp, the people of Karachi have understood.’4

  ‘Subhan Allah,’ the words escaped me inadvertently.

  ‘Rafiq sahab, why are you wasting your time,’ Majju Bhai said. ‘Our friend here runs away at the mention of poetry itself, forget mushaira, like a cow runs at the sight of a butcher.’

  ‘He must be one of his kind among the muhajir,’ Rafiq sahab said and let out a loud peal of laughter.

  ‘Weren’t you looking for two such muhajirs? Look we have found one for you.’

  ‘But where shall I find the other?’

  ‘You will find the other too – a searcher or a believer.’

  I hurriedly sat down in the car and said, ‘Fine, so I am off.’

  ‘All right then, but do telephone us once you reach home,’ Rafiq sahab said and turned to address Jamaluddin. ‘Be careful when you cross this area. And yes, keep your windows rolled up.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jamaluddin said and started the car and swiftly left the alley.

  But it wasn’t just one alley; there was a web of alleys. For the first time I realized where we were; I had always imagined Rafiq sahab’s house to be off the main road. Next to the petrol station, one turned right, and then left after skipping one turn, then again left and after some time right – and there you are! At Rafiq sahab’s door! But at that time, it didn’t seem like a few alleys but a veritable web of alleys and our car seemed stuck in that web and we were moving from one alley to the next and then the third and then another. Some shops were open and the area around them seemed better lit than others and a few people could be seen near the open shops. But those few people seemed scared. They spoke in lowered voices as they bought their wares.

  ‘Jamaluddin, there is no need to be worried; drive carefully.’ The high speed of the car gave me the excuse to speak. At that time, the only way to conquer my fear seemed to be to speak up.

  ‘No, sir, what is there to be worried about?’ He stopped then said, ‘I have to cross such areas every day. I wouldn’t be able to do my job if I got scared of this.’

  ‘Of course, you have to come for your duty, no matter what the circumstances. You must also have to traverse those areas where firing is going on. Even a chauffeur’s job has become dangerous these days.’

  ‘Life and death are decided by the Almighty. Why should man worry?’ And Jamaluddin accelerated the car.

  1 Delhi was called Bais Khwaja ki Chaukhat or the ‘Threshold of 22 Sufi masters’ because of the number of sufi shrines and hospices here.

  2 A large residential and commercial neighbourhood in Karachi, its full name is Gulshan-e-Iqbal.

  3 Meeraji (1912–1949) was a poet from Lahore; he is considered a pioneer of modernist-symbolist poetry in Urdu.

  4 Referring to the political decline of Damascus after the Byzantine period.

  I reached the office quite late the next day. Rafiq sahab had reached long ago. I was surprised: why had he come here early in the morning? I soon realized he must have some work in the bank. He saw me and laughed out loud. ‘So you are alive? Thank God! You are the sort who always comes to office on time; so when I came here and found you hadn’t yet arrived, I was seriously alarmed.’

  ‘Yes, I got a bit late leaving home. Have you been waiting for long? I do apologise.’

  ‘No, I haven’t been here for very long. I was only worried where you might be. Anyhow, thank God.’

  ‘One should always thank God in every circumstance. But I can’t quite understand why you are giving tha
nks at this moment.’

  ‘I am happy to see you alive and thanking God for it,’ Rafiq sahab laughed loudly again.

  ‘So you had made up your mind that I had passed on? But one must have some excuse to pass on. I had none.’

  ‘Brother, if someone comes to our locality and returns with his life intact, he is considered a fortunate man; so you are a fortunate man.’

  .Good.’

  ‘Now call for some sweets. Well never mind, send for some tea instead.’

  I immediately sent for my peon and asked for some tea. And then with the intention of changing the subject, I asked, ‘Rafiq sahab, you are not one to leave the house early in the morning. And why should you; you don’t have to go to the office. Why have you set out so early today? Though of course I am happy that you have come to see me …’

  ‘Arre Bhai, I have come to enquire about your well being.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘So you don’t trust my good intentions?’ And then his tone changed and he spoke with utter seriousness, ‘Jawad sahab, truly I am so embarrassed. I have come to apologise.’

  ‘Apologise for what?’ I looked at him in surprise.

  ‘The thing is that after you left my wife scolded me. She said I am a strange fellow and a bad friend because I let you go alone despite the danger. I tried telling her that I had done my best to stop you and that you considered the mushaira a far greater danger and what could I do if you chose not to stay. But my argument could not convince my wife. Her berating made me realize that perhaps I had erred. I should have made you stay, somehow or the other. First thing in the morning, my wife told me to call you and find out if you were all right. I said, No, I shall go to the bank and find out and also apologise for my mistake.’

  ‘Arre Rafiq sahab, why are you talking like this? What is there to apologise? And it isn’t as though there was any great danger out there. I had no problem in coming back. The only thing is that it was a bit quiet; otherwise there was nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘It seems as though there is nothing out of the ordinary. A man may think nothing is wrong and yet a lot may happen.’ Rafiq sahab paused, then said, ‘Jawad sahab, you mustn’t think from either my tone or Majju Bhai’s that we are unaware of the danger; perhaps we may be even more aware of it than you. I, for one, am extremely scared. My wife is always terrified; if she were to know that I am scared too, she will simply collapse.’

  ‘You are right.’

  ‘Remember that day I was talking about the torture chamber?’

  ‘Yes, what about it?’

  ‘This piece of gossip that has been swirling in our neighbourhood reached her ears one day. I tried my best to evade the subject by telling her that hundreds of different kinds of stories were doing the rounds and that it would be difficult to survive if we begin to lend our ears to every bit of gossip. But one night, she woke up with a start. “Aji, are you sleeping? Can’t you hear?” I got up. “Why? What is it?” She said, “I can hear someone screaming.” I strained my ears for a long time; there was no sound. “Begum, you are imagining things.” “Imagining things? I clearly heard a scream.” Then another night, she got up from deep sleep. Again she said, “Can you hear?” I said, ‘What happened?” She said, “A cat is crying somewhere.” I said, “So what?” “Does it mean nothing to you?” she asked. “It isn’t a good thing if a cat cries.” I tried my best to persuade her that actually the cat was calling out to the tomcat, but would she listen? In any case, those of you who have come from there have come with bundles of superstitions.’

  I laughed, ‘Meaning therefore that people here were innocent of superstitions?’

  ‘There were superstitions here, too, but not so many that an epic can be written on the trembling of a leaf. One statement that I hear on a daily basis is, “May Gold help us, my right eyelid has been quivering since the morning.” And for the life of me I can’t understand, Jawad sahab, why it is always my wife’s eyelid that must quiver? Sometimes my eyelid should also quiver. Nature seems to give all these signs only to my wife; she doesn’t find me suitable enough.’

  What could I say? I just laughed.

  ‘Yaar, you are laughing. We are going through a very difficult phase. Moreover, the area where we live …’

  ‘Yes, indeed you need to be brave to live in that neighbourhood. I am surprised how you have managed to stay there.’

  ‘Don’t ask; it is a daily test of endurance. We have had to be extremely careful or else we would have been done in by now.’

  ‘Yes, it would appear so.’

  ‘Death is routine; in fact, staying alive is a miracle.’ And then after a pause, he said, ‘Miracle or not, one still has to be careful. In fact, miracles are pledges of entreaty. Now Jawad sahab, this bank of yours is also a dangerous place. Those who are sitting in the bank are the worst affected. You have one gunman sitting at your gate; but what can he do? You must have a proper security arrangement.’

  ‘What are you saying, Rafiq sahab? How much can we arrange? Even if we have two more guards, what difference will it make? The way those people come armed and the way in which they attack, what can our security arrangements do?’

  ‘That is all very well but surely one must do what one can. The rest is whatever Allah wishes.’

  I was encouraged by Rafiq sahab’s mood and asked him the question that Majju Bhai never considered worth answering. Majju Bhai’s stock response to my question has always been: ‘Stop thinking, or leave Karachi.’

  Rafiq sahab let out a tremendous peal of laughter, and with it his normal tone of voice too returned. ‘Why Karachi? Then you will have to leave Pakistan.’ He paused, then said in the same laughing tone, ‘Do you think I am lying? Majju Bhai thinks only Karachi is an unsuitable place for a thinking person. Subhan Allah! The other day you were asking why is Karachi my compulsion when my ancestral place is Lahore, and you were saying it in such a way as though Lahore is not in Pakistan but outside it …’

  At that moment, Mirza sahab appeared out of the blue, dressed in a shervani and holding a walking strick. ‘Oh, so Rafiq sahab is also here! Two for the price of one!’

  Rafiq sahab stood up and embraced Mirza sahab exuberantly. ‘How are you, Mirza sahab?’

  ‘My dear, don’t ask how I am. I have this wretched shackle on my feet and I can see no way of cutting it loose.’

  ‘What shackle, Mirza sahab?’

  ‘The shackle of life … what else? Miyan, I want to die.’

  ‘What a thing to say Mirza sahab! We won’t let you die.’

  ‘That is the problem,’ Mirza sahab sighed. ‘I don’t have the permission to die. I don’t know what the Writer of Fate has written for me. At present, I am neither among the living nor the dead. Just the other day, I was complaining about this to Jawad Miyan and saying how once upon a time good believers used to resolve to die. It has been written about Hazrat Abul Badar Quddus Sirah that once when a murder took place in the city, he cried and said that crime had increased in the city and it was time for him to die. He immediately sent word to Sheikh Jaleel al-Haqqui to take a bath. The sheikh replied that he was clean and did not require a bath. Once again, he sent a message asking the sheikh to take a bath; once again, the sheikh sent the same reply. Then he sent another message saying the sheikh must do as he bids so that he may fulfil his duty. Only then did the sheikh follow the instruction and took the bath. He had barely completed his bath when a messenger came to inform him that Hazrat Abul Badar had passed away. With great surprise and sorrow he asked how it came to be. He was told that the Hazrat had prayed for it to be so, but before he passed away, he had asked for Sheikh Jaleel to give his dead body the ritual bath before the burial. And soon thereafter, the Hazrat closed his eyes forever, hiccupped once and gave his life over to the Creator. Sheikh Jaleel al-Haqqui has recorded that when he was about to bathe the dead body of the Hazrat, he opened his eyes and looked at him, smiled and closed his eyes again. And so my dear, when the good believers of Allah take leave f
rom this world, they themselves hand over their lives to the Creator. But for sinners like us, it is a case of “When I go drown myself I find the river shallow”. There are all these bullets being fired all over the city and I am sitting here praying for death, but no bullet ever comes my way.’

  ‘Well then, Mirza sahab, understand this to be a sign from the universe that it isn’t yet time for you to leave us,’ Rafiq sahab smiled and asked, ‘Qibla, who was this gentleman called Abul Badar?”

  ‘Hai, hai, Rafiq sahab you don’t know him? He was only attached to birds in the whole wide world. But when the birds troubled him too much, he would gather them all up in his fist and swallow them up in one gulp. But soon he would become sad to find the birds missing around him and begin to spit them out. No sooner did each bird come out of his throat that it would fly away. And soon they would be hovering around him and setting up a din.’

  ‘Subhan Allah,’ Rafiq sahab said spontaneously and got to his feet.

  ‘Miyan, are you off? So soon?’

  ‘I have been sitting here for some time. Jawad sahab is a busy man; I have already taken so much of his time.’

  ‘Arre Rafiq sahab, what a thing to say! In any case, I am not as busy as you seem to think. Why don’t you stay?’

  ‘No, no, I must go now.’

  ‘My dear, this meeting was all too brief. We have met after such a long time and for such a short while.’

  ‘I shall come to your home one day soon and then we shall talk at length.’

  ‘Yes, yes, certainly; you must come. Believe me when I say I am flickering; my wick is nearly burnt out, the oil is almost finished. I shall be snuffed out any moment. So come and meet me before I am gone.’

  ‘I will come soon,’ Rafiq sahab said, shook hands with Mirza sahab and me and off he went.

  ‘Rafiq sahab is a good man. It is difficult to find a decent person these days,’ and with these words, Mirza sahab took out a cheque from his pocket and slid it towards me. ‘Please have this taken care of.’