Mirza sahab had an account in this bank for years. He found it especially convenient since I was here. His provident fund, gratuity and cheque for monthly pension – everything was in this bank. And it was in this account that he deposited his cheque and withdrew the money for his monthly expenses. Earlier, his son used to perform the chore but now that he had moved to Clifton, the task of depositing the cheque and withdrawing the cash had fallen on him. And so he came here every now and then.
‘Miyan, I have come with great difficulty. The taxi driver was very hesitant about coming here.’
‘But this area is quite peaceful; possibly there may be some tension in the areas you would have had to cross.’
‘He said the same thing; all roads are dangerous now. No area is safe. May Allah have mercy on us!’ And after a pause, he said, ‘I won’t stay for long today; I will leave as soon as I can.’
‘Don’t worry, Mirza sahab; I will take you home.’
‘Miyan, will you do your bank work, or take me home?’
‘I have the driver in any case; but today is a half day. I too have to leave early.’
So I had Mirza sahab’s cheque encashed and left the office soon after.
‘Jamaluddin, is there any tension along the way?’
‘There is no such news yet; everything seems all right so far.’
‘We have to go to Mirza sahab’s house first.’
‘Yes, sir.’
We reached his home and found a worried Achchi Bi standing at the door, peering out at every passing taxi and rickshaw. She saw the car stop at her door and was surprised at first, then on spotting Mirza sahab getting out of the car, a wave of relief and happiness spread over her countenance.
‘What took you so long? I have been running around like a mad woman – from the courtyard to the door and back.’
‘Saadat’s mother, I had told you I was going to the bank and that it might take long there.’
‘But why so long?’
‘It didn’t take very long; Jawad Miyan had my cheque encashed right away and then he immediately got up to bring me home in his car. He is here; won’t you get him something?’
‘No, Achchi Bi, please don’t trouble yourself; I have to go.’
‘No, my son; I can’t let you go like this. Surely you can’t be in such a hurry? Stop a while. I will make some tea. What can I tell you of my troubles? We used to have that lameduck servant; he too has run away and the wretch didn’t even tell us. He just disappeared one fine day. How I fed and clothed that wretched fellow, but servants these days don’t know the meaning of loyalty. But then if one’s own don’t show loyalty, how can we complain about servants; they are not our own, after all.’
‘It is hard to find servants these days,’ I tried to make a general observation. But Achchi Bi found a topic suited to her taste in it.
‘Even if you find one, they don’t stay on. And it isn’t just servants, everyone – insiders and outsiders – are like that. And how can we complain about outsiders when our own daughter-in-law has shown such disloyalty towards us. Now you tell me: is it my age to be running around managing a household? I have spent my entire life working in the house. My back is bent. I have reached an age when I should be lolling about on my bed while my daughter-in-law manages the household. But she uprooted her husband by insisting they live separately. And there she is – living separately.’
‘Let it be, Saadat’s mother; stop talking about your daughter-in-law. Talk of something else. Jawad Miyan has come for just a short while; he can’t stay for long. These are bad times.’
‘Yes, my son, the times are indeed bad. I don’t let him leave the house for this reason; I let him set foot outside today because it was absolutely necessary.’
‘But everyone is not idle like us. People have their business and jobs; they have to get out of their homes. Take our Jawad Miyan, for instance. No matter what happens, whether there is a hail of bullets or bombs going off, he has to reach his bank.’
‘Yes, that is true,’ Achchi Bi became thoughtful. ‘My son, you must always remember to do something before you set out from your house. You must always recite the Ayatul Kursi. And when you reach the office, mark a circle around yourself.’1
‘The things you say, Saadat’s mother! Just because you remember the Ayatul Kursi, you assume that everyone would remember it. You should have said some smaller prayer. And sketching a circle is very good. If you have drawn a circle then you can rest assured that the bank will be safe; then you don’t need a guard or a watchman.’
‘You know, there was only one day that I did not draw the circle. Whatever will be will be. That day I forgot to draw the circle and, on that very day, those black-faced rascals entered our house.’
‘There is great benediction in Allah’s words,’ Mirza sahab said. ‘Who is to blame if people have stopped reciting His words? Is it any wonder that there is no prosperity in this city?’
‘Allah’s curse is upon this city,’ Achchi Bi tagged on.
‘And it is no ordinary curse,’ Mirza sahab continued. ‘Such a curse has never been visited even upon the wrathful peoples.’2 And he sighed. ‘We are also not safe; we are a walking-talking bundle of sin. How can man be safe from sin if he lives amongst sinners? But what can we do? Where can we go?’ he paused, then said, ‘Miyan, the other day I was telling you about the mentally troubled man who kept saying that when he had come to the city, he was gold and that he had become silver, and the longer he were to stay in that city, who could say what he might turn into. Believe me, Jawad Miyan, when I had set foot in this land, I was like gold. Now, I am not even silver; I am copper and bronze. No, not even that; I am a pebble.’
With these words, he remained silent for a long time. Meanwhile, Achchi Bi appeared with the tea. I don’t know when she had slipped away to make it. We drank our tea in silence.
At long last, Achhchi Bi broke the silence. She spoke in a sad voice, ‘How were we to know that we would become pebbles?’
‘No one ever knows. When the world is about to change, it transforms rapidly.’
‘Indeed it transformed rapidly,’ Achchi Bi spoke sorrowfully. ‘We didn’t know what was happening. Gold one day, pebble another day.’
‘Allah alone knows what will happen in the future.’
‘Yes, only Allah would know that,’ Achchi Bi said. And then after a silence, she spoke in a worried tone, ‘It must have been midnight when I woke up; a dog was crying copiously. My heart was beating wildly and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I don’t know who that wretched dog is who starts crying close to midnight every single night. And I wake up. I have chased away the wretched
cat. She was crying one night. I said, “Go, you witch, go and eat your own flesh and blood.” She disappeared that day and hasn’t been seen since. But I still don’t know what to do about this accursed dog.’
Mirza sahab spoke in a worried tone, ‘It isn’t a good thing when animals cry.’
‘Especially when dogs cry,’ Achchi Bi added.
‘May Allah have mercy upon us,’ Mirza sahab drew another long sigh and fell silent.
Achchi Bi was also quiet. I finally got to my feet. ‘So, Mirza sahab, allow me to take your leave.’
‘My dear, you have taken so much trouble for me.’
‘What a thing to say, Mirza sahab! It was the greatest good fortune for me. In any case, I had to leave my office; I had some work at home so I wanted to leave early.’
‘All right, we shan’t keep you. One should get back safely home early; these days are not good days.’
‘Mirza sahab, when were the days good?’ Thoughtlessly, I tossed a remark.
‘Yes, that is true. Our forefathers saw the good days. We did not have good days written in our fate. Anyhow, as Allah wills; who can go against His will?’
I left them and reached straight home. Majju Bhai wasn’t back yet.
Nemat Khan said, ‘The food is ready. Shall I lay it out?’
‘What about Majju
Bhai? He isn’t here yet.’
‘He had said as he was leaving that I should not wait for him for lunch.’
‘All right, then, lay the food.’
Nemat Khan brought out the food instantly. I too ate quickly and was done with it. Suddenly a quiver ran through me and I thought: what a life I lead? I am stuck inside the bank all day. I get out only to be cooped inside my house. Now that I had got out of the bank early for a change, why not take advantage of my freedom? I resolved to set out on foot. I was about to dismiss Jamaluddin for the day when I remembered that Majju Bhai had to go somewhere in the evening. ‘Jamaluddin, you may go home now; come back by six or six-thirty in the evening. All right?’
‘All right, sir.’
I had set out on foot after an age. How enjoyable it was to walk! I began to realize that travelling by car was like being in a prison.
At least you don’t feel caged in a tonga or ekka. A person has to be locked up in a car. He has no contact with the outside world. You can only savour whatever you can see swiftly passing by outside your glass window. Walking has its own joy. For one, you develop a direct bond with the earth when you are walking. Then, the world around you looks more spread out and more open. I was reminded of those days when, forget car, I did not even have a cycle. I either travelled in a bus or on my legs. How much I used to walk those days! I was like a measuring tape to measure distances! The distances I travelled in the heat and dust! My job at the bank had deprived me of the pleasures of walking. At first I had a scooter and then, as I rose up the ladder, I got a car and that too with a driver driving it, with me sitting in the back seat with my eyes closed and legs spread out. The living bond that my feet had kept up with the earth for a long time ended altogether.
The joy of walking is doubled during winter days when the sun is out. After a long time, I found a soft warm winter afternoon to walk in. I felt a strange sense of freedom. I could go where I wished, stop where I liked. When you are travelling in a car, you have to go on a predetermined way. And if you have to stop somewhere on the way, you have to make due arrangements. If nothing else, there is the issue of parking, whereas here I felt no such restriction. As I walked beside the park, the greenery spread out in the sunshine beckoned me and my feet instinctively turned in its direction. At first I sat on a bench, but soon I got tired of the seat and sat down on the grass. A young couple sat sunning themselves close by, but they were so engrossed in each other that they had no thought for the sun or for the stranger sitting a short distance away who was, perhaps, looking at them. But quite soon, I became disinterested in the couple. A group of adolescent boys had pitched their wickets in the middle of the lawn and begun to play cricket and my entire attention was focused on their game. Every now and then, the ball would roll over in my direction, and before one of the fielders could come over, I myself would throw the ball in their direction. And someone or the other would shout, ‘Thank you, uncle.’
The repeated ‘Thank you, uncle’ began to create a strange intoxication in me. And I began to show a greater fervor in throwing the ball. In fact, if the ball landed at some distance from me, I would go over to fetch it and toss it towards the bowler. But my joy was short lived. A fight broke out over whether someone was ‘out’ or not. When the argument escalated, I thought I would adjudicate between the two parties, but before I could offer my services as an umpire, they were at each others’ throats.
I left them fighting with each other and came out of the park. In any case, the sun was going down. The young couple too had got to their feet. As I was coming out of the gate, their scooter whizzed past me. The girl had her arm looped around the boy’s waist and her hair was flying in the wind. My eyes kept following the scooter till it disappeared from sight.
Now I was passing by the teahouses. In fact, the entire stretch of footpath here was taken over by them: rows of tables stretched from here till there. There was not a single vacant table, or else I might have sat down. The joy of sitting down at a table set out on a footpath is matchless. One has to be very prim and proper to sit under a roof in a hotel or in a mezzanine hall and drink tea. Here, you wander up and plonk yourself down at any table. But there were so many tea-drinkers about at this hour that I could not see a single free table. Then I thought, ‘It is all for the better; if I sit down, I will keep sitting here for ever and then I will be deprived of the delights of walking. So it is best to continue walking. We will see on the way back; perhaps some table will be free by then.’ And so I walked on.
On the footpath, there were one set of people who were walking, another who were drinking tea, drinking soda, buying paan and cigarettes, and the third rush was of the traffic that was hurtling past. And this last one was the biggest. A little ahead was a row of wedding halls lit up with bright lights. Evening had fallen and the coloured lights laden on the wedding halls had come alive. I was a bit surprised to see this gaity; actually not a bit but quite surprised. I said to myself: where is the terrorism? Where is the firing? People like us sit in our offices and our homes and we are fearful for the state of the city and are losing our health worrying over it whereas life is going on here – in all its splendor and gaity!
At first I was surprised. Then I drew a sigh of relief and my feet began to move with greater confidence and speed. As I walked along, my ears pricked up. I could hear a noise coming from somewhere close by. Interspersed with the noise, I could hear slogans and cries of Allah ho Akbar. Dear God, what was this noise? Was a procession of protesters coming this way? But soon the mystery was revealed. I had barely gone a few steps forward when I saw a marquee packed with people. Some rally was going on. ‘O Oblivious Musalmanon, Ghazi Ataullah asks you only one question: Why are your bosoms bereft of inner pain?’ Oh, so Ghazi sahab was here! I was startled. I wanted to pass this spot as quickly as I could, but a wave rose within me, urging me to find out what Ghazi sahab said in a public rally. ‘Musalmanon, just give me the answer to this one question. But who will answer me? Look at my foolishness, I am asking those people who are trapped in the deception of western ideas, those who have read western science and philosophy and are deprived of true insight. I am looking for light in the darkness. What is this if not my madness? Ataullah makes a full confession of his madness. This madman is in search of other men who are mad like him – mad men who will shatter the idols of modern thoughts and ideas, those who will clash with the Abu Jahls and Abu Lahabs of this day and knock down the Islam-hating mountains of the West … Musalmanon, I only need 313 mad men. The day these 313 mad men appear at the sound of plaintive cries …’
I had got a sample of his talk, so I hurriedly moved on. A new sight attracted my attention. The marriage halls looked more resplendent than before. Rows of cars were parked along the road. Ladies were getting out of the cars shimmering with pink and gold. How else can a city display its finery? And scores of legendary cities flashed before my imagination.
Hamara tumhara Khuda badshah
Kissi mulk mein tha koi badshah
(An emperor who is your God and mine
Such was a king in some kingdom)
And there was a prosperous public where the ordinary and the special folk alike were good and pious folk, and you could go where you wished wearing your gold – in jungles and bazaars – without fear of robbers and thieves. How content one felt!
I had walked quite a bit by now. I was tired. It may not have been a long walk by my old standards, but it was a long walk for me now. So I turned back and returned the same way I had come. By now I was really thirsty for tea. I thought of trying my luck at those teahouses which I had seen on my way here. Now that I had walked the lengths of these roads it was only appropriate that I should drink tea in one of these roadside places. Luck favoured me. There was quite a crowd, revellers were ordering kababs and tikkas and making loud demands for tea. I lurked beside the tables and, as soon as one lot got up, I made a beeline for the table.
I placed the order for tea and glanced at the watch strapped on
my wrist; I suddenly realized that Majju Bhai must be sitting at home and cursing me. His programme would be about to start now. I placed my order for tea and asked the boy, ‘Is there a telephone here?’
‘Yes.’
I walked up to the counter and dialled my home number. Majju Bhai spoke; he was clearly angry. I tried telling him that I was sitting at home and getting bored; I had come out for a bit of fresh air and had got late. ‘Jamaluddin would have reached by now; send him to pick me up. I am not far away; I will reach in a jiffy.’ I called Jamaluddin to the phone and gave him directions to the teahouse.
I came back and found that another gentleman was sitting at my table. That’s the way it is in these teahouses. You are in danger if you are alone; any stranger can walk up and share your table. What could I do? I remained quiet. But inside, I was feeling as though my free reign on this table had ended.
‘What’s the time by your watch?’ he finally set the ball rolling.
I glanced once again at my watch and answered briefly, ‘Half past six.’
While travelling in a train or drinking tea in a restaurant, when a stranger asks you the time, you can safely assume that it is the prologue to a lengthy conversation. And so I guessed that this man did not harbour good intentions. Metaphorically speaking, he had caught my finger and now he would make a grab for my collar. Surely he would attempt to embroil me in some chit-chat. But perhaps my dry and insipid response disappointed him. Instead of broaching the next subject, he picked up the evening paper lying on the table and began to read it with great concentration. I drew a sigh of relief. But it was strange that I had not bothered to glance at its headlines – let alone read the newspaper – when it was lying on the table. But the moment it went into another’s hands, that two-page rag became an object of immense attraction for me. While sitting in my chair, I looked at that part of the newspaper which was facing me and tried to guess the contents of the articles from the headlines.
The Sea Lies Ahead Page 28