THE EXORCIST

One evening as the street lights came on Rabia walked in along with her brother, Barkat. I noticed that Barkat, who loved dressing in jeans was sporting a cap which Shilpa would have termed ‘Musalmani’, was in salwar kameez. Barkat was just out of his teens and a good five years junior to us. Rabia made sure Elham was not within listening distance and in a low voice told me that people are going to come to your house this evening immediately after the evening namaz. A self-styled Maulvi, Azmatullah from Golaganj was to make his way to our place in Qaiserbagh and demand to take Elham away from me. ‘And why is that?’ I asked. Before she could answer, we saw about a dozen people at the gate and asked the gardener to open it. We came out in the veranda to confront them. There were three women in the group, including Fauzia. The leader of the group was obviously Azmatullah, dressed in a sherwani with buttons open (it was hot and sticky, a typical late July evening). He came up the veranda steps and stood there, eschewing any greeting or salaam. That is not how Lakhnavis behave. He was fat and had a skull cap on. He had a fleshy face and a goatee under his chin. Fauzia spoke first, saying she had nothing to do with this and had come along only to make it clear where she stood. Azmatullah silenced her, telling her and obviously me, that Fauzia should let him speak. Looking straight at me Maulvi Azmatullah said, ‘I am here only because some people of Golaganj have complained about this house’.

‘This is Qaiserbagh and not Golaganj. And what is the complaint?’

Before I could add anything, Rabia stepped forward and asked, ‘Azmatullah Sahib, who has given you the authority to look into complaints?’ Barkat added sarcastically, ‘Have you by any chance become an honorary magistrate?’ Even one or two men in Azmatullah’s group snickered. Azmatullah was not going to let his authority slip away so easily. He had a deep voice and looked very dignified, I must say.

‘You are aware Thakurain Seemaji that it is a sin to keep a djinn in the body?’

Holy cow, how was I to answer that. I became tongue-tied. But Rabia said aggressively, ‘Say what you have to say.’ Our bearded friend snubbed her.

‘I am talking to the Thakurain, I want an answer from her.’

It was the first time I had ever been addressed as Thakurain. ‘I am not aware what djinn you are talking of and where he has sprung up from, Azmatullah Sahib.’

‘I am talking of the djinn in Elham’s body, Fauzia Begum’s daughter’s body. Keeping a djinn in the body is a sin, it is written in the Qoran Sharif, it’s as bad as cohabiting with someone.’ I looked at Rabia, even she was taken aback. None of us knew what was written in the holy book. He went on, ‘And it is specified that there are two types of djinns, Muslim djinns and non-Muslim (gair Musalman) ones.’ Fortunately Barkat intervened here. ‘What about Sikh djinns and Yahudi djinns, Maulvi Sahib? And have the Muslim djinns been circumcized? Or how would you know they are Muslim djinns?’

‘I have no time to answer absurd questions, [fazul ke sawalat]. I am only competent through Allah’s meher to eradicate a Muslim djinn.’

Barkat persisted, ‘Do you have a certificate?’

‘I told you Barkat Mian that I have no time for absurd questions.’ It was my turn to ask, ‘Azmatullah Sahib, how will you eradicate the djinn?’

‘By reading ayaths from the Qoran.’

‘You will not beat the girl?’

‘Allah kasam, I won’t.’

‘How will we know that the djinn has left her body?’ I asked, and Barkat followed up by asking, ‘Will you chidko some itr on him so that we know by the smell that the guy has fizzed out.’

But Elham had heard it all. She came out and stood defiantly there and said, ‘I will not go to this man or anyone wanting to drive a bhoot out of me. There is no one inside me. I am there inside myself.’And she went back in and banged the door.

I have a confession to make, I have never really got into Elham’s problems because she comes across as a closed door, I am not trying to deflect my own shortcomings. She must have been very confused with her own visions/hallucinations, call it what you will. I felt incompetent to deal with this psychobabble, and I didn’t wish to deflect her from whatever she was up to in this dubious near-occult field of hers. I found myself low on taboo, but also low on empathy. I tried to empathize with her (did I?) but it is not easy to move into another’s suffering. Suffering is a palisaded enclosure—it does not always welcome intruders.