The Man Who Defied Fate

1

I have known Babu Raseek Lal since his college days. He became a lawyer right before my eyes and shone very quickly. In no time at all, a bungalow was built, land was purchased, a car was kept in readiness and he came to be counted as one among the aristocrats of the city.

I don’t know why, but I never found his lifestyle appropriate. I could not understand why a gentleman like him would wear his cap at a rakish angle or apply surma, have his hair parted, with mouth swollen by betel leaf, with a pearl or flower garland hung around his neck, dressed in shining tanzeb kurta with a semi-transparent dhoti, and ogle at brothels, cracking jokes. It annoyed me. Not to speak of befriending him, I would not even cast my vote in his favour for his municipal membership. I would like a gentleman to be more serious and sober. If I have to engage a lawyer, I wouldn’t go for a fellow like him even if he is as knowledgeable as Raas Bihari Ghosh. Raseek Lal is one such colourful man. I admit the fact that his argumentative skills are pretty high. No doubt he is good in arguing, I also admit that. But will it make a difference to his profession if he walked straight or wore his cap at the right angle? I believe that if he behaves like a gentleman and leaves his flamboyant style? his practice may get doubled. But why should I meddle in anyone’s affairs? Whenever I happen to run into him, I turn my face or enter a narrow bylane.

I don’t find it appropriate to talk to him in public. So what if is he is a reputed lawyer and I am a mere schoolteacher! I harbour no malice against him. He has done me no harm, why should I be jealous of him. Instead he holds me in high regard. I went to borrow rugs and other things from him for my daughter’s marriage. He sent two me bags full of rugs, carpets, stools and large cushions. No, I don’t hold him any grudge. Since I have known him for a long time, I have become fond of him, but I dislike his jauntiness, his immaturity. He walks as if he is challenging the world. Look, who can do me any harm? I don’t care about anyone. Once I met him at the station. He put his hand swiftly on my shoulder. ‘You are hardly seen these days. At least show your face once or twice in a year.’ Extracting my shoulder from his grip, I said, ‘What to do, sahib, I don’t get leisure time.’ Immediately he spouted a cheap couplet:

Tumhey ghairon se kab fursat

Humein apney gham se kab fursat

Chalo, bas ho chuka milna

Na tum khali na hum khali

You are busy entertaining strangers

Lost in grief am I;

So, this much is for our union

Neither you’re free, nor am I

I laughed. How can you be rude to a person who treats you with such courtesy? And of course I didn’t want to rub a rich person like him the wrong way. Who knew when I would need his help. But I didn’t like his informal behaviour. Although I am no ascetic or devotee. A dull person is worse than someone who shows too much exuberance. A dull life, in which there is no possibility of entertainment, is not worth living at all. The beauty of a forest is made up of green trees with rich foliage, not dry ones with dry stumps. What I want is that people can do some activities in private.

If you want to drink wine, do it in solitude. Why would you roam around town in an inebriated state? There is no harm in worshipping beauty, but why should one beat the drum of one’s lasciviousness by sitting amidst whores in the car? After all, a flirtatious nature suits one till a particular age. When one’s boys mature and girls are married and the hair ripens, it is my opinion that one should become more serious. It is good if you are still young at heart; in fact, I congratulate you for this. Lust never ages; in fact, I believe that it gets younger with age. But I find it obscene to gambol at this age. I don’t approve of behaving like a dandy at a mature age. People can do nothing, but why indulge in behaviour that might prompt them to point their fingers at you?

It’s all right if God has made you rich, but it is not proper for a gentleman to show off your wealth to the hungry and the needy.

It was Raseek Lal’s elder daughter’s wedding. The groom’s wedding party had come from Mathura. There had hardly been any groom’s marriage procession that marched so pompously. The reception hall was in a big dharmashala. The groom’s father was a minister of some state. I was also busy being hospitable to the guests. There were no less than one thousand men. It was no joke to serve so many guests. People may find it difficult to manage a mere hundred guests. Then, of course, was the added hassle of dealing with the temperament of the guests. Everyone behaved like a king. Someone asked for jasmine oil, while someone would demand myrobalans. Some asked for kesh ranjana, some for wine and some for opium! Soap was needed. Perfume too. How difficult it was to manage the food for one thousand men! I think the expenditure must have been at least twenty to twenty-five thousand! Yet, Raseek Lal was least bothered and carried on in his carefree manner. He was neither annoyed nor upset. The guests would come with such shameless demands that we began to get angry. A handful of bhang was enough, what was the need for a basketful? Were they going to burn it like incense? When they demanded one hundred first class cinema tickets, I could not bear it and reprimanded Raseek Lal harshly. Then I marched towards the guests, shouting, ‘Have they come to marry their son or put a gentleman to disgrace? Can’t they even live for one day without watching cinema? If you are so passionate then why don’t you spend money from your own pockets?’ Raseek Lal just stood there and laughed. ‘Brother, why are you creating a fuss about it? They are your guests and you should not feel bad even if they hurl shoes at you. This is the spectacle of life. We go to spectacles for entertainment, there is joy there even if one has to cry. Just go and quickly get hundred tickets from the cinema. Don’t care about one or two hundred.’ I soliloquized, ‘You have amassed free wealth, so squander freely and earn a name. It is not a religious occasion that we should be slaves to the guests. Guests should behave like guests. When they start bullying and insulting, they don’t remain guests but become devils.’

After three months, I came to know that Raseek Lal’s son-in-law had died. He had gone to take his civil services exam in England and caught pneumonia there. This news thrilled me. His face flashed before my eyes. He was such a gentle and talented boy. He had died in England and his family was not even able to see him. What would be the plight of his wife whose life was destroyed? The henna on her hands had not faded yet. Her chunri was yet to gather dust. What a merciful God and how strange are his ways of justice. You draw pleasure in the suffering of people. At the same moment, I hurriedly went to Raseek Lal and when I saw his face, I felt so bad that I wept at the top of my voice. Raseek Lal was lying on a resting chair. He stood up and hugged me. Then he spoke in the same steady, unshaken voice, ‘Master Sahib, you are crying louder than a child whose sweetmeat has been snatched away. The children weep in order to get new sweets. You are weeping for such a thing which one can hardly get back. Arré, sahib, one should live shamelessly here. Get beaten and live proudly. The excitement lies in maintaining the same arrogance even when you are trampled under the feet of the hangman. If there is a God, though I don’t know for sure, but I hear that he is generous, then how can such a merciful God be pitiless? We should not think why a few are killed or kept alive. We are his toys. It is his wish to play with or to destroy them.

‘Why should we interfere in all this? He is neither our enemy nor a cruel king, who draws pleasure from our suffering. If my son sets the house on fire, I would still not become his enemy. I have nurtured him. How can I turn hostile towards him? Then how can God, whose love is manifested through this world, be cruel? If there is no God, then I don’t know if there is some other power that feels happy at our tragedies. So, I am not going to weep. Had I been powerful enough to do something and see the enemy, I would have shown my manliness. Now what is the other way to show your bravery but to keep smiling even if you are beaten? Be arrogant. If we weep, we accept defeat. No matter how much he bangs us, we will keep smiling. He is cunning as well as a magician. He attacks stealthily. I will show him my valour when he comes before me. I like the ways of poor poets who remain engrossed in the music produced by the tinkling sounds of their beloved’s anklets even in their graves.’

After this, Raseek Lal started reeling off Urdu couplets one after another continuously and drew pleasure from it, as if nothing had happened. Then he said, ‘The girl is weeping. I asked her not to weep for such an unfaithful person who had abandoned her. If you love him then there is no need to weep. Love is meant to give joy. If your heart is not ready to accept, try to convince it. But don’t be sad. Being sad is like insulting God and staining humanity.’

I stared at Raseek Lal’s face. He said all this in such an emotional manner that even I was mesmerized for a moment. After some time, I left and found my heart quite relieved. I felt courage surge in my heart which scoffed at any kind of trouble and misery.

2

After a few days, he was transferred and then, there was no news about Raseek Lal. After several years, one day I received an invitation card in a pink envelope, inscribed with golden letters. Raseek Lal’s elder son was getting married. Right below the invitation, in his own handwriting, he requested everybody to come; otherwise he would feel bad about it and the joy of the occasion would be halved. An Urdu couplet was written as well.

The passion, oh Lord, no limit knows

We wait eagerly, wishing he comes.

A week was left for the wedding. I had a new silk achkan stitched, bought new shoes and left for the wedding, appropriately dressed. I took a beautiful Kashmiri sari for the bride. Working and living at the same place for months had made me dull. ‘The merriment will last for three to four days. I would listen to good music and enjoy feasts. My mind would be refreshed. Alighting from the train, I went to the waiting room and wore my new suit. I had found the occasion to wear a new suit after a long time. Yet, even today I get excited about it as I would in my youth after wearing new clothes. No matter how unhappy one is, dressing up in a new suit brings an unusual happiness. In fact, I suggest that if one falls sick, instead of taking a lot of medicines, one should get a new suit made. It will benefit you as much as the medicine does. Does it mean nothing that you rise in your own estimation even if for only a moment? My experience says that a new attire infuses new life into us like the snakes shed their skins or like trees blossom with new leaves in the monsoon.

After exiting the station, I hailed a tonga, and reached Raseek Lal’s door. It must have been three in the afternoon by then. The hot loo was blowing and searing the face. The pennants were tied to strings. The shehnai was being played at the door. I reached the inner courtyard. A large number of men had gathered there. I thought maybe the wedding dress and jewellery was exhibited there. Somehow, I managed to push myself through the crowd. No, don’t ask me what I saw. May God spare even the worst enemy from such a sight.

It was a dead body covered with a beautifully embroidered shawl with flowers strewn on it. I felt as if I was going to faint. My eyes suddenly fell on Raseek Lal. He had come with a bundle of coloured clothes from inside. He had no tears in his eyes nor did he look sad, not even a wrinkle on his forehead. He was dressed as usual with the same tilted cap, the same silk kurta and in his fine dhoti. Everybody was crying. Some were crying openly, some were trying to hide their tears while some were numb with shock. They were all outsiders. Some were friends, some close acquaintances while the father of the deceased was standing upright, like a lighthouse amidst many tottering boats and ships. I ran and hugged him and started crying. The tears he was holding back suddenly gushed as I hugged him just like the dew on leaves starts dripping when the wind blows.

Raseek Lal hugged me and asked, ‘When did you come? Have you reached just now? I had no idea. I was so busy with the wedding preparations that I couldn’t even attend to the guests. Come, change your clothes and freshen up. You have to accompany the wedding party. We will go with all pomp, beating drums and trumpets. I have called for horses and elephants and I have also arranged rides for the wedding party. There will be fireworks and flowers all around. And we will go with all pomp and show. It is my elder son’s wedding, we will enjoy wholeheartedly. The reception will be on the banks of the Ganga.’

There was deep pain in those words. There was a disturbance in the environment.

Placing a wreath on the corpse, Raseek Lal said, ‘Brothers, why are you weeping? There is nothing new about it. This is like an everyday show, sometimes seen in our own houses, sometimes in those of others. You weep every now and then, sometimes at your own misery or at times over other people’s. Who cares if you weep? Who wipes your tears? Who pays attention to your wailing? No matter how much you weep, fate will keep on executing its plans. Then why do you show your cowardice by weeping? Bear the pain He inflicts on you bravely and smile to show Him that you don’t care about such suffering. Tell Him to give you the severest punishment. Does He prick you with needles? He is heedless of our wishes. Let Him be, we too won’t leave our stubbornness. We will take the wedding procession with the same pomp and show and enjoy to the fullest.’

Raseek Lal wept while people kept on consoling him. People were stunned by his defiant tone. Who could pacify him? To me, his defiant rambling seemed more heart-rending than tears. One gets blisters if embers touch the skin. But if one jumps into the blazing fire, one gets roasted, not simply end up with blisters. Raseek Lal’s pain was like a blazing fire.

The body was kept in the same car which had been decorated with flowers for the wedding. Someone yelled, ‘Ram naam satya hai.’

Raseek Lal looked at him with appealing eyes. ‘Why do you forget, Lala, this is a wedding. The only truth for us is life. Rest is all myth.’

The wedding procession left the house with trumpets blaring, accompanied with loud music. I have never seen such a huge procession even in cities. Usually, a wedding party comprises two to four hundred people. But the people in this procession were close to a hundred thousand. Thanks to Raseek Lal. He mounted the horse and followed the car with the same aplomb. When the body was placed on the pyre, Raseek Lal thumped his chest once with great force—the storm rising in his breast seemed to shake up all humanity. But the next moment a cruel smile played on his lips. It was difficult to decide which was a more human act—the former or the latter.

Two days after this, I returned to my job.

I now come to meet Raseek Lal during holidays. His rebellious attitude has infected me. And I simply smile when someone finds fault with his behaviour.

Translated from the Urdu by Shaifta Ayoub