God will it good!
When Ramzan Nai, the barber, returned from Lahore, young and old of the village greeted him with such enthusiasm as if he were the subedar in-charge of Suba Lahore. Green tehmad, striped shirt and white turban, hardly the garb of a lowly barber!
‘Aao ji, Raja Ramzan! Your attire is truly Lahori. And why not! Khairon se, we hear you are now a resident of Lahore city!’
Overjoyed, Ramzan laughed. ‘Dekho ji, it is like this: I have been living there for three-four years now. But badshaho, the first thing those cursed Lahoriyas ask you upon meeting is – Kyon ji, district Shahpur, Gujrat or Jhelum? Which pind are you from? I ask you, what is written on our faces and foreheads that our villages become visible from afar; whether one is from Jalalpur, Alamgarh or Bhagowal!’
Shahji nodded. ‘Absolutely, Ramzaneya. The eyes can instantly tell if a man is from Lahenda, Pothohar, Multan or Manjha. Meaning thereby that the soil and water of a place speak for themselves. Then there is also the height and build, and the appearance and carriage of a person.’
Chaudhary Mauladadji took the hukkah out of his mouth. ‘May Rabb do you good, the turra-tamba, turban and loincloth of our area can be recognized from a mile off. Such are the waters of Dera Jatt – hefty build, and simple clothing.’
‘Chaudharyji, what is your opinion of the Siyalkotias across the river?’
‘Siyalkotias are fashionable folk, sophisticated in their manner and subtle in their conversation.’
Maulvi Ilmdin nodded. ‘Masha Allah, who can equal the Siyalkotias! Why lie, Siyalkot has produced men of great wisdom, famous Sheikh-Syeds, physicians, poets and scholars. Shah Sahib, you yourself were educated in the madarsa there, right?’
‘Absolutely, Ilmdinji. Siyalkot is to Punjab what the sehra is to the bridegroom’s forehead.’
Meeranbaksh used to sit in the company of Syed Salamat of Naushehra. He was reminded of an incident. ‘It is said that Shah Abdali fell in love with Siyalkot and would visit the place on any pretext. Every time he came to Delhi and Lahore to maintain his rule, he would choose to pass through Siyalkot Gujrat while returning to Kabul. While he told the Gujratis to amass supplies for his army, he himself would sit and enjoy the poetry of Siyalkot’s poets and gift them rewards and lands.’
Maulvi Ilmdin’s jaw tightened. Just look at his nerve. Treasured anecdotes of history are my forte, and Meeranbaksh makes the first strike! Maulviji immediately jumped into the fray. ‘Absolutely right. Siyalkot poet Ishrat was so impressed with Durrani Shah’s character that he accompanied his armies to Kabul. Ishrat Sahib had already written the Nadirnama in praise of Nadir Shah. When he reached Kabul, he wrote Shahnama-e-Ahmadia.’
Chaudhary Fateh Ali laughed. ‘So what else do poets do anyway? String couplets, set rhymes, and there you have your kavitt and kafiyeh!’
Najiba shook his head. ‘These warriors of song have neither the mettle nor the guts to raise crops or lift swords upon the rise and fall of empires. No, their work, badshaho, is quite different: match words and rhymes here and there, flatter the naïve by fulsome praise and take bows all around, hand lifted in salaam – Irshad! … Irshad!’
Loud guffaws resounded.
Shahji said, ‘What you said went down well, Najiba, but it was spoken like a Jatt. Writing poetry is not so simple or lowly a thing.’
Maulvi Ilmdin stubbornly defended his views. ‘Badshaho, you certainly bestowed many honours upon the Siyalkotias. But say something of the Gujratis, too. Shahji, your kith and kin are, by His grace, all in Gujrat itself. And then the tehsil of our pind is also there.’
‘Gujratis are known for their bad habits and arrogant nature. Extremely talkative and coarse-mannered. I remember one time when this habit dragged the honour and good name of Gujrat through the mud. When the sixth Patshahi Guru Hargobindji passed through the Gujrat market astride his horse, the shopkeepers sitting in their shops started by praising Guru Sahib’s horse, then went on to praise its saddle, then its stride, and then its decorations! How could Guru Sahib tolerate this? A frown clouded his brow.
‘The spiritual ruler of Gujrat, Wali Hazrat Shahdaula saw the entire scene with his divine eyes while sitting on his holy seat. He got up, stood before Guru Sahib and begged his forgiveness on behalf of the Gujratis. “Guru Sahib, forgive these ill-mannered Gujratis this once!”
‘Guru Sahib was also a man of God. He got off his horse and caught Hazrat Shahdaula Pir’s hands in his and said, “Whether you forgive them or I, it is all the same.”’
‘Waah-waah! What a fine thing to say! Such divine power and presence that a man is transfixed upon beholding it. God-given glory! One who, with God’s grace, lived to witness three regimes come and go couldn’t have been an ordinary mortal after all.’
Kashi Shah picked up the thread. ‘Shahenshah Akbar, Jahangir and Shahjahan: one who has seen all three emperors rule, praise be to that man of Allah! What to say of that soil where He Himself is manifest!’
Ganda Singh and Jahandad Singh arrived one after another.
‘Badshaho, so where has the story reached?’
‘Come, sit! Our Raja Ramzan has arrived from Lahore.’
Kriparam fanned the flames. ‘Ramzaneya, give some hot news of Lahore. It is said, isn’t it, that he who hasn’t seen Lahore was never born? Which means, we are still in the seventh month!’
Raja Ramzan lit up. ‘Ji, Lahore city is the biggest centre, the Darul Khalifa of our state. Something or the other is always happening there. But these days the news of a murder has everyone electrified.’
The gathering was agog.
‘A rich Khalsa married in his old age. The Khalsa was in his fifties and the girl, sixteen or seventeen. What was waiting to happen, did. The girl got her lover to murder her husband. Chopped his body and threw the pieces into the river Raavi.’
‘Balle balle! This addition-division of sixteen and fifty didn’t prove so good!’
The pulls on the hukkahs got more vigorous.
‘Kyon ji, so will Subhan Kaur escape the noose?’
‘Both lover and beloved are in police custody. I’ve heard that both sides have strong lawyers. The one pleading the Sardarni’s case, Lajpat Rai, is well known. It is said he is very strong in argument.’
Shahji said, ‘Fateh Aliji, in a murder case if there is no strong clue, then the case cannot be decided on the strength of the lawyer’s eminence alone. A good lawyer can at best only do so much – get his client’s death penalty converted into a life term at Kalapani.’
Deen Muhammad made frequent trips to Gujrat and was well informed. ‘Shah Sahib, you would remember that this very same lawyer was offered the title of “Rai Bahadur” for his work during the Kangra earthquake. Lala Lajpat Rai refused the title, saying that Bakshi Sohanlal was more deserving of this award.’
Kriparam adjusted his huge turban. ‘One needs a strong stomach and strength of character to reject such an award. After all, who doesn’t want awards and titles!’
Maulvi Ilmdin gave a new twist to the episode. ‘Actually, the reason was something else. Lalaji is a leader of the Congress party. Must have thought that once he accepts the title, he will be obliged to the government through goodwill.’
A pack of young boys was looking for a chance to chat with Ramzan. Ditta thumped Maulu on the back. ‘Ask, O do ask him! Ease the fluttering of your heart!’
Fajja mustered the necessary cheek and said, ‘We have heard that Lahore city is famous for its love affairs.’
Ramzan wet his lips, but mindful of the elders, carelessly said, ‘Yes, that, too, is there along with other necessary things. After all, it is the race of Adam. If it is alive, why would it lag behind in affairs of the heart?’
The old and the elderly pulled furiously on their hukkahs, while the young lads delightedly clapped Ramzan on the back. ‘Waah O waah, king of our pind, Raja Ramzan, well said!’
Seeing the boys getting too frisky, Mauladadji put the barber in his place. ‘Ramzaneya, practiced at shaving the L
ahoris, are you now trying to make monkeys out of our villagers too? Don’t tell our boys such useless and idle stories.’
One rebuke, and Ramzan came down to his station in life. ‘Forgive this sin, badshaho! Would I even dare! Never, God forbid!’
Karm Ilahiji asked, ‘So is it a very famous madarsa where you cut hair?’
‘Ji, very large and famous. It seems as if the entire state’s royal dynasties and clans come there to study. Even the Afghan princes! What wonderful health, what bodies, and what resplendent countenances! Shah Sahib, it was my aunt who took me along with her to Lahore. Otherwise, where Mission College, and where common folk like us.’
As the pandits announced the dates of Dussehra and Diwali, groups of boys and men sat down to play in front of Miyan Khan’s stables. Instead of ganjifa and cards, cowries and clay pieces were used as stakes.
One-armed Tunda threw the dice with his left hand. ‘Oye, let the armies descend!’
‘Oye, now don’t lose heart!’ Nikka scratched his topknot and threw the dice. ‘Jo Bole So Nihal! He who speaks Thy Name is blessed!’
Gauhar remembered his pirs-fakirs, touched his fist to his forehead and threw. ‘Ya Ali!’
‘Gauhar Shanaas got a six!’
Boys who had cowries started playing a game with stakes of money.
‘Here comes a seven!’
‘Here’s seven cowries. Pick up the big cowra and this ghoka too.’
‘Take this ten!’ Kande Khan threw his cowry. ‘Aha, it’s a cowra!’
Bodda got a fistful. Fatta thumped his back. ‘Oye yaara, whom did you call in your heart?’
Bodda gathered his fistful, laughed and said, ‘Goddess Lakshmi.’
Roda’s mouth watered. He said ruefully, ‘What to do, Ma Lakshmi’s munificence is for the Hindus alone.’
The boys started laughing. ‘What you say is true, yaara.’
Bodda took out a cowra from his fistful and gave it to Roda. ‘Rodeya, keep it in your fist and think of Lakshmi Ma. The goddess with four hands is the one seated upon the lotus.’
Sevens and gandas were thrown by turns. Roda opened his fist and dropped the dice.
‘Lo ji, Roda’s got a fistful!’
Pindi Das was overjoyed. ‘Jai Devi Lachhmi, the munificent one!’
Fatta couldn’t stop himself. ‘Oye Boddeya, the Devi is controlled by Hindus. That is why your homes are full of wealth.’
‘Say, didn’t she just grant Roda’s wish?’
‘She did, but it must have been a fluke.’
‘Hold this cowra and see for yourself! You just have to call out her praise in jaikara.’
‘Jai Devi Lachhmi!’
Fatta’s eyes grew round – he had got his fistful! He picked up the money, tied it into his girdle, then stood up and said, ‘Friends, I’m off. I won’t play any more. I have won once. Now I won’t lose.’ He shook Bodda’s arm and said, ‘Convey my salaam to the miraculous Ma Lachhmi!’
The others started grumbling. ‘If everyone starts leaving after winning, then who will play?’
Maddi lowered his voice and said, ‘Let him go, his mother’s not well. Down with high fever, and there’s nothing at home, no money, no grain.’
‘Why doesn’t he borrow from somewhere? Why hesitate in times of need? Tell Fatta to borrow from the Shahs.’
Maddi burst out heatedly, ‘Bas oye, don’t ever suggest this borrowing business to us! Even cattle and livestock deliver a calf or two sometimes, but interest on debt just keeps growing and multiplying day and night.’
Pindi Das’s blood boiled. ‘Oye Jatta, you criticize the very people who think of your welfare! We part with our money, render timely help. And instead of thanks we get curses! That’s the limit!’
‘Do you give in charity? By the time it reaches from grandfather to grandson, you turn principal into interest and interest into principal!’
When Pindi Das saw the rage in Maddi’s eyes, he grew obsequious, ‘That’s fine gratitude for you, friends. You talk of the Shahs as if they are butchers.’
On the other side of the village, the gathering at the Shahs’ haveli was continuing to swell.
Kriparam arrived, called out pairipauna and announced, ‘Shahji, your little son is about to celebrate his first Diwali. Khairon se, let us have some grand celebrations and special sweets this time.’
Ganda Singh’s heart rejoiced at the mention of sweets. ‘Badshaho, if there is haloofa laddoo and sugar-coated matthas, then there is joy and fun!’
Mauladadji loved sweet butter balls. ‘Shah Sahib, when Gurudas was born, we had balushahis. God help me if I lie, I can still remember the taste.’
Chaudhary Fateh Ali piped in, ‘Good that you remembered the balushahis, but Mauladadji, my preference is something else. Shahji, Moola Halwai had made andrassa balls. Any praise is less!’
Munshi Ilmdin had been to the city of Kasoor. The sweet taste of sheerni instantly flooded his mouth. ‘Badshaho, you can say whatever you like, but nothing comes even close to sheerni.’
Jahandad Khan laughed. ‘Ilmdinji, don’t you mind what I say, but until the shahenshah of sweets, the laddoo, reigns supreme on tongues and platters, where does poor begum sheerni stand a chance? Dry and hard, she can only look to strong teeth for appreciation.’
Now Shahji himself started enjoying the discussion. He said to his younger brother, ‘Kashiram, call Halwai Malai Chand of Jammu and get sweets made to everyone’s taste.’
Mauladadji shot another sparkler. ‘Kashi Shah, call fancy little Malai Chand by all means. But please see that he doesn’t make his airy-fairy Jammu phullis and batashas for big strong Jatts like us!’
Guruditt Singh ran a loving hand over his beard and laughed. ‘Shahji, talk broke down on the fact that Mauladadji likes hard, chewy sweets. Get him stone-hard corn covered in syrup.’
Karm Ilahiji chuckled. ‘These brothers have their entire thirty-two intact, so they like hard and crunchy round sweets like lotus fruits.’
Kriparam was irrepressible. ‘The fact of the matter is that, Guruditt Singh, your teeth have got used to the soft karah prasad. Tell the truth if I’m wrong!’
At the very mention of karah prasad, the rich fragrant sweetness of halwa touched Guruditt Singh’s soul. He nodded. ‘That is right, badshaho. Baba Himself decreed the prasad of khand-ghee halwa for the Sikhs. Whenever the Guru-Sikh feasts, halwa is the food for his soul.’
Hajiji kept the upper hand as always. ‘What I say is this, that Shahji should hand over the provisions, and sweets should be made by Miyan Kadir of Naushehra. I have heard that his shop does great business in Rawalpindi.’
‘Ji, Pindi is famous for its chhaina-murki. But why lie, let chhaina-murki be famous, it’s hardly a substantial sweet. Inside the mouth, and gone in an instant.’
This found favour with Fateh Aliji. ‘Rabb do you good, those tiny, gram-two gram pieces disappear among the teeth itself! If you ask me, it’s a sweet for sophisticated city-dwellers. Shahji, what say you, when one picks up a good sweet once in a year or six months, shouldn’t it pack a punch? What I say is that chhaina-murki is just for amusing new and expecting mothers.’
There were guffaws all around. The gathering grew warm in the soft glow of the earthen lamps.
Ganda Singh threw a ten upon a niner. ‘Actually, what you need are pieces of kalakand as large as Peshawar soap. Or big slabs of barfi.’
Fazal recounted a joke: ‘Our Meeranbaksh of Thalli Vand brought home a packet of sweet saunf-ajwain from Dinga. Explained to the wife, “This is a famous product of Dinga. When you feel like something sweet, take a pinch or two from the packet.” But, badshaho, who was going to heed his advice? Wife finished the packet while spinning at the wheel. Then one day when Chaudharyji remembered, he called out to his wife, “Do bring me that sweet of Dinga. Let us try a pinch.” His wife broke into a loud protest, “Husband, you are asking as if we mother and son ate our way through five kilos of panjiri! If you happen to visit the city again, pick up something us
eful. Not these silly little packets wrapped in kite paper. Arey, if a man puts something into his mouth, let the stomach, too, acknowledge it! Let the soul, too, feel that, yes, it ate or drank something!”’
‘Quite right. His wife may be crude, but she’s right.’
Shahji took up the incident of Faggu of Paniyara. ‘Our nephew from Maujoki took along Faggu as witness in a court case. As is customary, the witness must be kept in good humour. So Faggu started off with missi rotis at Barkat Bherewala’s tandoor, along with two bowls of curd and several of buttermilk. When the food finished, he belched and said to Raley Shah, “I say ji, I have a sweet tooth. Having come as witness, if I don’t eat badana at Gujranwalia’s shop, then Shahji, what’s the fun of being a witness?” So Raley Shah treated him to a quarter kilo of badana, but our man Faggu still wouldn’t call it a day. Finally, the halwai looked at Raley Shah, laughed and said to Faggu, “O Yamleya, have some sense. If you fall sick with dysentry-diarrhoea, your next chance to be a witness will come in your next life. Yes, if you want to make this witness your last memory, it’s a different matter.”’
Early morning, songs of congratulations and good wishes were heard from the house of Fakira Lohar, the ironsmith. Shahni was on the cot nursing Lali. Mabibi was squatting nearby, picking out the gravel from the lentils. Hearing the songs, she stopped and said, ‘Allah-Beli, You have brought this sweet hour to Husaina. I think it is her baby boy’s jhand ceremony today, his first head shaving.’
Chachi Mehri was busy with milk and curds. She called out to Shahni from the kitchen, ‘Bachchi, go early and offer congratulations. He’s not just our neighbour’s son, he is also our Lali Shah’s caste-mate. Fakira had pledged to Baba Farid that he would raise the infant in the Handa faith if it survived. May Rabb keep him, the hapless family has already lost four boys young and old.’
Zindaginama Page 17