‘Then, my dear, what happened was that the princess …’
‘Jawad, open your eyes. Look who is here!’ It was Majju Bhai’s voice. The fireflies-filled darkness dissolved, and with great difficulty I wrenched myself out of that pleasurable darkness into the light and opened my eyes slightly. Arre, there was Syed Aqa Hasan and Basho Bhabhi!
‘My dear sir, what have you done to yourself?’
‘Ai hai, why didn’t you say anything to those black-faced rascals? May they be racked by cholera! Who were they?’
‘Bhabhi, it is best not to ask who they were. Whoever they were, they hadn’t come from outside.’
‘You are right, brother, we ourselves are bringing affliction on our lives. Anyhow, please tell us how he is. We hope all is well. What are the doctors saying?’
‘The reports are satisfactory. There is no danger now.’
‘Thank God!’
‘Yes, his life has been spared. Bhabhi, actually the driver turned out to be a brave man; he showed great presence of mind. He drove the car out of there in a jiffy and went straight to the hospital. He received aid just in time.’
‘Yes, because he was fated to live. Ai Majju Bhai, I was feeling quite ill last night. The wretched cat was crying so piteously that she woke me up. My heart beat so! I said, “Ya Allah, don’t send me any bad news.” I said and recited Ali’s name three times and blew it; then I went to sleep. Believe me, it is because of the marvel of Ali’s name that his life has been spared.’
‘Yes, my dear, it is a miracle.’
‘Bhai Majidul Hasan, this city is not worth living in anymore. One’s honour is no longer safe here, nor one’s life.’
‘Yes, indeed it is no longer the place for decent people.’
‘Imagine hitting a decent person such as Jawad sahab who has nothing to do with anybody. For heaven’s sake, these are your political differences: you can smash each other’s skulls if you like or cut each other’s throat; we are not part of any of your issues. Why are you making our lives miserable then?’ And suddenly Aqa Hasan sahab’s tone changed. ‘Arre, why have I started on this subject? We shouldn’t upset the patient; let him rest.’ And with these words, he got up. Actually, he had seen that my eyes were drooping and I was doing my best to keep them open.
‘Yes, dear brother, you must rest; there is no need to talk too much. Just sleep,’ Basho Bhabhi said as she left.
How could I sleep? The fireflies-filled darkness was returning once again but this time the fireflies were scattering. Now the fireflies were swarming around me. I couldn’t understand which to hold and which ones to let fly away. But my memory was failing me. No, my memory must not perish. I must remember … What should I remember … Anything … ‘Pakistan has come!’ A voice filled with happiness rang out in the darkness.
‘Really? Has Pakistan come?’ A wave of happiness coursed through the train compartment. Life ripples through the scared timorous people huddled there. Scrambling one on top of the other, each one is trying to peer out of the window to see what Pakistan looks like. But what could they see in the dark night? It is true that the night is waning and it is the last watch of the night and morning is about to break … but it is still quite dark. The train has slowed down and is getting slower still.
‘Thank God!’
‘Pakistan has taken so long to come! My heart was jumping.’
‘I have been praying all the way.’
‘O sister, don’t ask how I have spent the entire journey: my heart was leaping in my throat. Did you see at the Jallundhar station … those ghostly figures standing there? One of those black-faced scoundrels held a gun with its barrel pointing straight at me. I was terrified that a bullet would whiz out and hit me. I began to recite the Ayatul Kursi. There is great blessing in Allah’s words; the train began to move immediately. I said, “Thanks be to Allah!”’
‘Don’t talk about bullets now; we are in Pakistan. No one will point a gun at you.’
‘Thank God we have come away from that land of fear,’ a white-haired elderly man muttered and began to recite the kalma.
‘Those were strange circumstances; neither honour nor life was safe.’
‘Thank god we have been able to come away with our honour and life intact.’
‘May Allah keep Pakistan safe and secure.’
‘Amen.’
‘Arre Miyan, my heart is still quaking.’
‘But why is your heart still quaking? We have reached Pakistan now; what can trouble you here?’
‘Badi Bi!’ Someone said in a loud voice, ‘Pakistan is the land of the faithful.’
Suddenly someone called out in a high-pitched voice, ‘Pakistan!’ and the entire compartments chorused ‘Long Live!’
‘What day is it?’
‘Friday has begun.’
‘It is a blessed day.’
‘And which day according to the lunar calendar?’
‘Today is the 9th day of the month of Zu-al Hajj. This year it is the Hajj-e Akbar.’1
‘Even the date is blessed.’
And then a blank; I could recall nothing after that. On the 9th Zu-al Hajj, Friday, a little before dawn, a most auspicious entry into Pakistan. And after that? No matter how hard I try, I cannot remember anything. Days, months, years, a day, a moment, an occasion … I could remember. Ya Allah, what is happening to my memory? A happy occasion, or a sad one, surely I should remember something? I can’t remember anything. The slate of memory is clean. Ya Allah, what happened to all those days and nights I spent here? Where have they gone to hide? There were so many years … in fact, an entire age. Was I really hit by a bullet or did the bullet eat up all those years? What sort of bullet was it that it gobbled up so many years, all those moments of joy and sadness, as though they had never existed? Can such a thing happen? I am suddenly reminded that something like this had happened to me once before. One entire period of my life had got lost once before. All those days and nights, those mornings and evenings, those long afternoons, all those seasons … But then that entire caravan of days and nights did come back with all its intensity. Perhaps I would have been at peace if it had been lost. But all those days and nights came back. They were alive as ever. In fact, they became more alive. It was a strange thing. I was hardly old enough then. Those days and nights were not too many, or too long. There were, after all, only a few afternoons, and some mornings and evenings. But they entered deep within me and acquired such a bright hue and grew so much that it began to seem as though they were an entire century of pearly mornings and smokey evenings. What worth do months and years have? A few well-spent hot afternoons, a few cool scented mornings and some poignant evenings can become an entire age. They contain so much within themselves that they cannot be confined to months and years; they keep growing and expanding. It is a miracle that one’s entire being dies, but one particle breaks away in such a way that it acquires a greater life than the original being. And in this way, an entire era comes to an end, an age ends. But some of its afternoons, some of its mornings, a few pleasant or sad evenings stretch to become centuries. Look … the fireflies can be seen fluttering about again, like birds that peck on grain and fly off at the slightest sound. It may seem as though they are gone and have flown far away, but they come back soon enough. And so my memories, too, are swarming back now. They are rushing to cover me. Yes, that memory I had forgotten in the middle … what was that? I should remember it now, now that I am able to recall all sorts of long-lost memories. Yes, perhaps it is a memory from those days when, even after the last watch of the night, the story would remain unfinished. Phuphi Amma would postpone it for the next night and insist we go to sleep. The story would go on for several nights. And finally Phuphi Amma would manage to finish it one night. ‘May the narrator prosper, and so may the listener. May he who didn’t hear, and he who didn’t narrate also prosper. May everyone prosper!2 Now, my son, go to sleep and Maimuna, you also go to sleep. It is very late. The jackals are howling.’
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��Phuphi Amma, is it the sound of jackals?’ Is this Munnan’s voice? Has he come back?
‘Yes, my son, it is very late and the jackals are howling.’
The sound of the jackals coming from afar makes his heart beat faster. He is scared that they may come here. ‘Phuphi Amma, where are the jackals?’
‘Shall I tell you where they are?’ Maimuna butts in. ‘They are howling in the strip of wasteland.’
‘You liar!’
‘Why should I lie? That day when we had gone to the wasteland and spotted a den, that was the jackals’ den.’
‘But there were no jackals there at the time.’
‘Son, the jackals come out at night.’
‘Where do they hide in the day?’
‘Shall I say?’ Maimuna butts in once again.
‘What would you know?’
‘All right, don’t fight; it is very late now. Go to sleep,’ Phuphi Amma turned on her side and almost immediately began to snore. She could fall asleep as soon as she would finish a story. The sound of her snores … The sound of the jackals howling in the distance…. And the sound of barking dogs coming from another direction … He is scared. ‘Maimuna! Hey Maimuna!’ Maimuna too has gone to sleep. It seems there is no one else around and he is all alone in the middle of jackals and dogs who are barking and screaming in a circle around him. The circle is becoming narrower.
‘Jawad, are you sleeping?’
‘Hmmm … No,’ Munnan has disappeared. Now there is just me and Majju Bhai.
‘Try and sleep.’
‘But Majju Bhai, why are the jackals howling so much today?’
‘Jackals? But there are no jackals here. Don’t get into these hallucinations; try and sleep.’
How could I sleep? My mind was refusing to sleep. A wheel was turning constantly inside my head.
Hamara tumhara Khuda badshah
Kisi mulk mein thha koi badshah
(An emperor who is your God and mine
Such was a king in some kingdom)
‘No, no, Phuphi Amma, tell us the story of the crow and the mynah.’
‘Yaar Jawad, look … Rafiq sahab has come.’
The fireflies scattered once again. With great difficulty, I opened my eyes. I could see two blurred faces. One was Majju Bhai’s whom I had been recognizing all this while only through his voice; now I could see his face. And the other face? Yes, that’s right … it was Rafiq sahab’s?
‘How are you, Jawad sahab?’
I heard him, but I did not have the strength to respond. In any case, Rafiq sahab had asked as a courtesy; he also knew that I was in no condition to speak. So he turned immediately towards Majju Bhai who began telling him all about my condition. ‘Yaar, in the beginning, he was completely confused; forget others, he could not even recognize me. I asked if he could recall how he got the bullet. He asked me in complete amazement, “Bullet? What bullet?” Anyhow, that phase is over now. He has begun to partly recognize people.’
‘So that means his condition is improving.’
‘Yes, it has improved a little but in the middle of a normal conversation, he introduces something completely irrelevant. There may be some connection in the first two sentences but the third statement is miles away from the topic.’
‘What do the doctors say?’
‘They can’t comment on his mental state yet; they say the real situation will be clear only after the operation.’
‘They are right; the bullet should come out first. Though every effort should be made to make him recall that incident.’ And then the attention was diverted towards me. ‘Jawad sahab!’
Once again, I tried my hardest to open my eyes.
‘Jawad sahab!’ Rafiq sahab was saying, ‘I had left you sitting in the bank – you and Mirza sahab. When did you leave? When did this incident happen, and where?’
‘When did this incident happen, and where,’ I muttered to myself. But which incident? My eyes had closed again. And it seemed as though a strange brew was being concocted in my head. Which incident? Hearing about it repeatedly, I too had begun to think that surely something had happened to me. But what had happened … that I couldn’t fathom. I began to struggle with my memory; I was in a wrestling bout. How much I had forced that stubborn thing to spit out every thing! And there was a great deal that I could now remember from long ago but each time, my memory would come and get stuck at one point. I could remember things from so many different times but I was not able to remember the incident that had recently taken place. Now what should I do? … I fell in deep thought. After all, how long … And now … I could understand only one thing. I decided that Rafiq sahab was right. I shouldn’t try to directly remember that incident per se; instead, I should try and remember that time. If I could recall that time and along with it that place, I would automatically remember the incident. What time was it? …
‘Who has lit this match? Put it out … put it out!’ An angry voice said in the darkness. ‘So you are very fond of smoking cigarettes, even if you lose your life in the process!’
‘It won’t be one life; these cigarette smokers are going to get us all killed.’
‘Of course! This tiny fleck of light can be seen in the darkness. The bullet will come straight in its direction.’
‘Hai Allah!’ An old woman’s terror-stricken voice came. ‘Son, don’t smoke a cigarette at this time; take the name of Allah at this time …’ And then she muttered, ‘Yours is the mercy, yours the wrath, remove the misfortune that has befallen us.’
‘Why have these wretches stopped the train in the middle of the jungle? It’s been so long; why isn’t it moving?’ Another feminine voice could be heard.
‘Stay quiet, won’t you? There must be some reason; that is why the train has stopped. Just pray.’
‘Of course I am praying. I have read the entire Ayatul Kursi. Ai, brother, how far is Pakistan from here?’
‘The last “special” was attacked at this very spot. The entire train was butchered. May Allah have mercy upon us!’
‘Who has a watch? What is the time?’
‘Twelve minutes past two o’clock.’
‘Really? Is it just two o’clock? It is still a long time to go before daybreak.’
‘This night has become a bit too long.’
So it was a quarter past two; morning was still far away. It was pitch black all around. A flicker of light would be seen on the tops of the trees in the distance like lightning.
‘Brother, what is that light? May my mouth be filled with dust for speaking ill, but are the wretches about to attack us?’
‘No, Amma, it is coming from the torchlights of the military guards; they are looking to see that all is well.’
There was a slight movement in the train. ‘The train is moving,’ exclaimed a satisfied voice.
‘May Allah be praised,’ came the relieved voice of the old woman.
I stopped myself with a start. Where had I set out? I soon realized I had wandered away. This incident is not from the present. There was a great deal of danger but there was no attack. The cigarette smokers had lit their matches and smoked their cigarettes not once but several times when the train had stopped in the middle of the jungle; still no bullet had come their way. So I thought: Surely this incident is not from that time. Then when did it happen? I was jousting with my memory and my imagination was going hither and thither …
‘Liar!’
‘No, truly … There … There, next to the bushes … I am scared.’
‘I will hit it with a brick.’
‘No, Munnan, no, it will bite you.’
Then? What happened next? … What next? … Where have I come? I was surprised but then I stopped myself soon enough. It is of those days when I was Munnan, and Maimuna … Anyhow, Maimuna was still Maimuna though back then Phuphi Amma used to call her ‘Mammo’ sometimes. But Miyan Khan would reprimand her instantly, ‘Sister, why do you distort my daughter’s name? She has such a lovely name.’ Be that as it may, I used to b
e Munnan then and how surprised I was to realize that he was completely different from me, as though he was someone else. Or, I thought to myself, that I was someone else, as though he was another body and I was another body now. And suddenly a doubt assailed me, a worrying niggling doubt. What if I too from a man had become … ‘Phuphi Amma, Jan-e-Alam was a man; how did he turn into
a monkey?’
‘Because his brain was addled and, when he regained his senses, he had turned into a monkey. And then he gave such fiery speeches that he surpassed any man. He pulled out such things from his memory and spoke in such an intelligent way that everyone was astounded.… The people were amazed, the rulers were perplexed. “So monkeys can also speak!” And the queen twisted the neck of her pet parrot and threw him out of the cage. The monkey lay in the lap of the merchant and flew into the body of the parrot. The parrot fluttered, the queen was pleased; she pulled him inside the cage. Everyone spoke in unison, “The monkey was an illusion; he was waiting to depart on the eternal journey. When his murder was proved, he died of fright and left the imprint of his memory on the pages of our heart …” And then Malka Mehr Nigar said to the Minister’s son, “Bring me a pretty little goat’s kid; I shall nurture him and try and forget my sorrow.” The children were pleased to hear this.… The queen lifted the kid and placed it in her lap; then she squeezed it so tightly that it died. As soon as it died, she set up a lament. He sat on the bed and made his spirit enter the body of the goat’s kid … Meanwhile Prince Jan-e-Alam sat in his cage and watched the entire spectacle. The body was empty; immediately he brought his spirit into his body. He said “Ya Allah” and stood up …” And then … Then … I couldn’t remember what happened next. This act of not remembering had helped me get out of this rut. The body goes off on its own path. This is a story, I thought and I was trying to remember the incident or the time when that incident took place, whatever that incident may have been …
Anyhow, I was surprised to remember some story that I had read or heard some time long ago. I must have read it much later; I had heard it first. I had heard the story of Prince Jan-e Alam from Phuphi Amma. A monkey rides atop an elephant and gives a speech, a speech where people laugh when he laughs, and cry when he cries. So many people, a huge crowd of them are virtually dancing to the monkey’s tune. I began to think who was to know which monkey would ride atop an elephant and start giving a speech and people would be completely taken in. A monkey should, I thought, stay in his own place and man should remain in his own robe, or rather in his own skin. When a monkey sits atop an elephant and a man does not stay inside his skin and changes his form, then … But Jan-e Alam had paid the price for not staying in his own skin and learnt his lesson and returned to his own body. But everyone does not return. How would he have felt when he returned to his own body after such a long time? Like a traveller who returns after a long journey, through hill and dale, after enduring many a hardship to come back to his own land? How happy he must feel upon his return. But who could tell if he remembered his monkey body? Perhaps he remembered with fondness those days spent jumping freely on the trees, and swinging from the branches. Or perhaps sometimes he might remember the parrot’s body. What a pretty body it was … green with a bright band on the neck, a bright red beak! And days spent singing without a worry, pecking grain and being happy. Parrot nostalgia! And even greater than that was monkey nostalgia! I am reminded of those transient days of joy when I was a monkey, I was inside my skin but when … But I managed to control myself. I somehow managed to bring my wandering mind under control. Why did I get entangled in this story? I stopped myself. I was trying to remember when that incident happened to me, whatever that incident might have been … And this story? How did I enter this story? Anyhow let me not speak of ‘me’, I thought. Sometimes ‘me’ is hidden behind ‘he’. After all, Munnan who is ‘he’ for me now was once ‘me’. When a man is about to change, he changes so much that he cannot be recognized. Like Nal had changed and become an altogether different person. Damyanti, who loved him utterly, also failed to recognize him.3 The poor woman kept thinking that Nal was so good looking; this ugly creature could not be him? Who was he then and where was he? Munnan too was so good looking – as though that was another birth and another body.
The Sea Lies Ahead Page 30