Between Clay and Dust

by Musharraf Ali Farooqi

  Ustad Ramzi avoided mentioning the fixed fight, but he reproved Tamami before everyone for discussing the organization of a challenge bout with Gulab Deen without first consulting him. Tamami felt anger at being censured before everyone.

  “So what if I fight Sher Ali, Ustad?” he said heatedly. It was the first time he had argued with Ustad Ramzi. He had not learned of the arrangement the promoter had proposed to Ustad Ramzi.

  “No.” Ustad Ramzi replied in a firm voice. “He is not your match.”

  “If he challenges me, I want to fight him!” Tamami said raising his voice. The feeling that he was being treated unfairly annoyed him. His grip tightened over the handle of the mattock with which he had been turning the akhara clay.

  “It is decided!” Ustad Ramzi shouted. “If you wish otherwise, you can have Gulab Deen arrange your affairs. I will withdraw!” His tone became more grating with each syllable.

  Tamami was afraid that Ustad Ramzi might recall his nomination for the challenge bout with Imama. He did not wish to lose the trust that Ustad Ramzi had recently placed in him. His anxiety eroded his confidence, and his deep-rooted sense of inadequacy made him apprehensive.

  “No, Ustad, I won’t fight Sher Ali,” Tamami’s voice shook and the smooth handle of the mattock felt slippery in his hands. “I won’t give you cause for complaint again.”

  The expression on Ustad Ramzi’s face hardened.

  Two days later, when the promoter returned, Ustad Ramzi sent for Tamami.

  Ustad Ramzi looked at Tamami as he entered his quarters and sat down. He turned to Gulab Deen and said, “Tamami wants to tell you something.”

  Tamami had guessed what Ustad Ramzi wanted.

  “I have decided not to fight Sher Ali,” Tamami said to Gulab Deen slowly with lowered eyes.

  The promoter seemed to happily accept his decision. He took his leave shortly afterwards and the two brothers sat silently for a few minutes without exchanging a word. Tamami stood staring fixedly at the ground.

  “Do you have anything to say?” Ustad Ramzi finally asked.

  “No,” Tamami said, and left the room.

  Loss

  Gohar Jan had not seen Maulvi Hidayatullah, the imam of the local mosque, in many weeks. When she learned from the trinket-seller, Shukran, that he had passed away, she felt deeply grieved. In the thirty odd years that Maulvi Hidayatullah had been the imam, she never found his manner towards her at all condescending, or in any way disparaging. He could not have approved of her life; yet whenever he had started a collection, whether it was to put a new roof on the main assembly hall, to extend the left wing, or do other renovations, he never refused her assistance. He had never hidden it from his congregation when she had donated money for the whitewash and repairs of the mosque.

  The trinket-seller also told Gohar Jan that after Hidayatullah, his protégé, Yameen, had been appointed as the new imam.

  “Yameen?” Gohar Jan said. She remembered him as a boy who often visited the tawaifs’ enclave when food offerings for the saints were distributed to commemorate them.

  “He had been growing his beard in anticipation of this day…” Shukran said. “The old maulvi was a good soul, God knows. But Yameen! The other day it was very hot and I went in to wash my face at the ablution post when he came out and started shouting at me, ‘The water’s only for making ablutions. You should not come here again…’” The old maulvi’s winding sheets are not soiled yet, and Yameen has already become the Almighty. Now that the month of Ramzaan is here, he is going around the kothas collecting penance money from those who do not fast.” As Banday Ali entered the living room Gohar Jan asked him to bring the bundle of old clothes she had set aside for Shukran.

  “Why did you shut down the kotha, Gohar Jan?” Shukran asked. “If I had not run into your servant girl the other day, I would never have found out. In such silence, as if the whole affair was nothing. Who could have thought! And you let Malka fly away too. At least you should have made her pay for all the expenses you incurred in feeding and clothing her. If you had only let me know I would have brought ten men who’d have paid all that and more for her.”

  Gohar Jan was saved from answering when Banday Ali brought in the bundle of clothes and gave it to Shukran.

  “May God visit his mercies upon you, Gohar Jan! May all calamities be warded off from the head of you and yours!” Shukran said as she caressed the bundle of clothes.

  Gohar Jan asked Banday Ali to see to it that the servant girl brought Shukran something to eat with her tea, and got up and left the room.

  Rage

  Experienced pahalwans occasionally tested how well a young champion remembered his skills when he was exhausted. On one occasion Tamami was challenged by a respected pahalwan of his clan soon after finishing his last grappling session with the trainees.

  “Let us see what you have to show!” he called out, stepping up to Tamami.

  Nodding in response, Tamami faced him.

  After sparring for a few moments, the old pahalwan applied a drag to trip Tamami onto his back. His push triggered inside Tamami an impulse to strike back. He caught his opponent around the shoulders, with a violent shove threw him onto his back, and pinned him down by sitting on his chest.

  Tamami instantly realized that humiliating the old pahalwan in this manner was offensive and wrong. When a junior pahalwan pinned down a senior adversary during a sparring session, he placed his hand lightly on his chest.

  Tamami hastily got up and apologized to the old pahalwan.

  His opponent said nothing.

  Ustad Ramzi had watched the spectacle in silence.

  Later, when Kabira asked Tamami about it, he could not explain why he acted with such unbridled rage. The fury that had been building up inside him had come out instinctively. He had often felt such impulses during recent grappling sessions, but the violence of his counter-maneuvers was dissipated by the combined force of the trainees attacking him simultaneously. Still, two trainees had dislocated their shoulders in the last few weeks.

  ❖

  The news of Tamami’s violence in the akhara was questioned by the clan elders.

  Ustad Ramzi had felt uneasy when Tamami sat on the old pahalwan’s chest, but he did not reprimand Tamami. The incident was an expression of Tamami’s training and not contrary to its focus. Ustad Ramzi designed Tamami’s exercise routines with an emphasis on subduing the adversary by force. They were based on his own estimation of Tamami’s ability.

  Ustad Ramzi could not share his reasons with anyone. He told himself there would be time to correct it once Imama’s challenge had been thwarted. Yet, in his heart something bothered him.

  When Kabira came by later that day and asked to have a word with him in private, Ustad Ramzi called him into his living quarters.

  “What do you say about Tamami’s regime of exercises, Ramzi?” Kabira came straight to the point. “Now that he is doing well, shouldn’t you taper them down a little? His body needs some suppleness, too.”

  “If he were unable to endure it, his body would not grow in size with every passing week,” Ustad Ramzi answered evasively. “He is preparing to defend the clan’s title. You know what happened the last time he fought Imama. We cannot take any chances.”

  It was true that Tamami’s body continued to grow and without flinching he performed the new, harder tasks added to his routines.

  Kabira regarded Ustad Ramzi intently as if he wondered whether Ustad Ramzi himself understood what he had said.

  “Ustad Ramzi,” Kabira said, “I’ve known Tamami since childhood. What I see in his eyes I’ve never seen before. This exercise regimen is too harsh. Moderate it a little. Allow him a reprieve.”

  Ustad Ramzi was uncomfortable with Kabira’s words.

  “Strength may be mistaken, but the body never lies. I will taper down his exercises once the growth of his body is
settled.”

  “You can see that he is feeling the strain.”

  “In that case he can speak for himself.”

  “You know he would never say a word to you about it. He wants your approval.”

  Ustad Ramzi made no answer.

  Their conversation ended there and Kabira left.

  ❖

  Kabira saw no reprieve in Tamami’s exercise routine in the days that followed. He did not accost Ustad Ramzi again. But one day he had a long talk with Tamami, and tried to persuade him to ask Ustad Ramzi himself to reduce his exercise load. Exhausted and under brutal strain, Tamami broke into tears from the affection and friendly concern he heard in Kabira’s words. Yet, he refused to ask Ustad Ramzi to relax his schedule and persevered with it.

  Rains

  Heavy rains fell on the inner city after a long dry spell, washing away the layers of limestone paint from the old buildings, exposing more patches of their brickwork. Water, which had united elements in the process of construction, now aided disintegration, allowing decay to make deeper inroads into the edifices. New cracks formed in the aged roofs and old walls. The groundwater rose. The old sewers overflowed and puddles of rainwater formed in the alleyways.

  After many complaints were made, the municipal staff made preliminary rounds to check the situation and assess the damage in the tawaifs’ enclave, but in their sprawling, chaotic order of priorities the neighborhood had lost its place. They did not return to make any repairs or drain the water.

  The suffocating humidity had ended with the rains, however, and Gohar Jan felt relieved since it made things a little more bearable.

  One of the awnings of the Music Room suddenly fell one night. Upon hearing the noise Gohar Jan opened the door to the unlit room and saw the dust from the rubble clouding up the moonlight in the room. Disturbed in his sleep by the noise, Banday Ali followed her into the room to investigate its source.

  Fortunately, the alley was deserted at that late hour, and nobody had been hurt from the falling debris. By afternoon the following day Gohar Jan had the fallen awning removed and asked Banday Ali to find someone to make the repairs.

  Banday Ali summoned a mason who inspected the other awnings and found that they, too, had developed cracks. The awnings had to be repaired before the next spell of rain. Gohar Jan refused to go ahead with the repairs when the mason told her that the work would go on for a fortnight. She told Banday Ali that removing the carpets, and storing away and rearranging the furniture in rooms so that repairs could be made, would throw the whole place into disorder. She would attend to the repairs a few months later when she had the energy to organize everything.

  Uncharacteristically, Banday Ali did not try to persuade her to carry out the repairs. It was the second time in recent days that he had not questioned her reasons for a decision. When Gohar Jan had announced to him that she had given up her morning riyazat, Banday Ali had similarly remained quiet.

  It had been Gohar Jan’s routine for decades to get up before dawn. After saying her morning prayers, she would perform the riyazat until sunlight scaled down the courtyard walls and it was time for Banday Ali to bring her tea.

  When she had fallen sick and Banday Ali had asked her to rest, she had told him, “If I give up the riyazat I will not find the strength to carry on with my life.” Recently she had been ill again. When Banday Ali again insisted that she could not cope with the exertion of both her morning riyazat and the evening recital she held for Ustad Ramzi, Gohar Jan gave up her morning ritual instead of asking Ustad Ramzi to end his visits.

  Banday Ali’s silence at the news had forced Gohar Jan to say, “You always asked me to rest. I have finally decided to take your advice.”

  But Gohar Jan was conscious that she had compromised a principle of her life. She could not help it. She did not wish anything to intrude on or hinder her evening recital. The threat of its disruption by repairs to the room again made her conscious of how much she cherished those moments. And yet she could not bring herself to share her reasons with Banday Ali.

  Defender

  On Gulab Deen’s advice Ustad Ramzi paid for an advertisement in the newspaper and the whole city learned that Ustad Ramzi’s younger brother would be defending the title of Ustad-e-Zaman for his clan.

  Tamami stopped his exercises two days before the fight to allow his body some rest to make it more flexible.

  The trainees spent these days marking the stalls for the spectators, and turning and smoothing the clay in the newly made akhara in the exhibition grounds. The night before the bout, it was sprinkled with rose water. Tamami and Imama had separately visited the place the previous evening and had been satisfied with the softness of the clay.

  The lights in the trainee quarters were extinguished, and the words of ayat-e-karima, with which Prophet Yunus had sought deliverance in the darkness of the leviathan’s belly, were recited over each almond for up to five thousand and one hundred times. Early in the morning a special preparation of sardai made from these almonds was fed to Tamami.

  The promoter brought along a photographer who took a number of photographs of Tamami with Gulab Deen. Trainees prevailed on Ustad Ramzi, too, to have one taken with his brother.

  A clan elder sent two sacks of almonds for the akhara and a turban of braided silk with a cash gift for Tamami.

  Pitchers of sardai were sent from Imama’s akhara to the exhibition grounds for the spectators.

  People had begun turning out since early morning to secure a good spot. They filled the stalls of the exhibition ground hours before the bout. The walls of the adjoining alleys were also lined with people, who had climbed up there when they could not find a better view. Some had managed to get inside the exhibition grounds through one of the loosely guarded entrances. Gulab Deen bitterly complained that he had been cheated out of their ticket money.

  Tamami was being massaged by three trainees. He kept lying on his belly, his head turned to one side.

  It occurred to Tamami that if he won against Imama, he would have beaten the man who very nearly defeated Ustad Ramzi—the man who would certainly defeat Ustad Ramzi if they were to fight again. Tamami realized it was he who was defending the title of Ustad-e-Zaman. Did that not mean that in all fairness it belonged to him? Would Ustad Ramzi not see that and bow out in his favor?

  Tamami could read no answer in the eyes of Ustad Ramzi as he fumed Tamami’s fighter’s belt and turban with an incense burner.

  A distant beating of the dhol was heard in the alleys. It signaled that Imama was on his way to the akhara.

  Tamami got up from the massage bench.

  Ustad Ramzi tied the turban on Tamami’s head.

  Concerned that his clan should be seen to make the least show of vanity at that important moment, Ustad Ramzi instructed Kabira to ensure that Tamami entered the akhara before Imama. He also told him to make sure the excited trainees did not make any disparaging comments about Imama or his clan.

  Even as Ustad Ramzi gave his last instructions, the trainees picked up Tamami on their shoulders and headed out of the akhara to the exhibition grounds.

  ❖

  As happened with true champions, when Tamami stepped into the akhara his body seemed to have been transformed and become larger in anticipation of the fight.

  Ustad Ramzi saw Imama’s eyes flash with jealousy when Tamami removed the embroidered coverlet from his body. Ustad Ramzi realized Imama must have been reminded of his crippled son—now sitting on the sidelines.

  When Ustad Ramzi saw the contestants approach the judge for permission to begin, he felt relieved that his struggle to see Tamami through that stage was over. His clan would soon be delivered from Imama’s challenge. The next step for him would be to help Tamami choose a protégé among his trainees and prepare a schedule to guide him through the initial phase of his training. Tamami could take over his supervision from there. The clan’s
defense would then become fully impregnable.

  Ustad Ramzi saw Imama bend down. He picked up the akhara clay and rubbed it over Tamami’s body as a token of admiration by a senior pahalwan towards his adversary. By rubbing Tamami’s body with clay to allow for better grip during holds, Imama had implied he expected it to be a long, drawn-out encounter and not one that would end with a few moves. It was a gesture of goodwill and sportsmanship, and it was not lost on the trainees of the two clans who cheered the contestants. The pahalwans embraced, stepped back, and did quick leg-squats to flex their muscles.

  It seemed to Ustad Ramzi that, through the force of his will, he had perpetuated the glory of his clan to which his life had been dedicated. Immersed in these thoughts, he almost missed Imama’s opening move.

  ❖

  Tamami had broken Imama’s hold with just a shrug of his upper body. They faced each other again. In that brief interlude, as Imama was preparing for the next move, some trainees from Imama’s clan began shouting:

  “Throw him down, Imama!”

  “Show him once more who the true champion is!”

  Tamami’s eyes met Ustad Ramzi’s. He thought he saw a sneer on Ustad Ramzi’s face. Perhaps Ustad Ramzi wondered if he would try to prolong the fight. Tamami’s body became tense and the expression on his face hardened. His eyes were fixed on Imama’s. He resolved to show his brother how quickly he could eliminate his adversary.