IT WAS AROUND seven in the evening. The expanding shadows of the night appeared to have strangled the vibrant energy of the village. The stench of fear was all pervasive and the gentle evening breeze seemed much too feeble to blow it away.
Boote Shah was trudging back towards the village from his fields. The listless expression on his face suggested that his legs had no vitality of their own, that they were being forced to carry him towards his destination.
The lanes and by-lanes of the village already wore a deserted look and scarcely a sound emerged from any of the houses. Every few minutes, the silence was broken by the menacing shrieks emanating from a colony of bats that lived in the ample branches of the old peepul tree. Or it was the pulsating sound from the group of vultures ominously circling above the village, their heavy wings flapping to create their own dirge in the background.
Boota Shah’s steps slowed involuntarily as he approached the Haveli of the Anands. He stole a quick glance over the crumbling wall and its old Nanakshahi bricks, heaving a deep sigh as he recalled scenes from a year ago. It was the first day of Holi and the festivities had continued late into the night. The Muslim and Khatri youth of the village had excelled themselves in putting on their one-act plays and performances of mimicry which had the audience in splits. The young fellows must have collected well over a hundred rupees that night as the elders of the village showered them with cash and appreciation. To be fair, it was Chaudhry Fazal Karim who set the ball rolling when he announced a prize of ten rupees for the actor who did the best impersonation. This was quite a large incentive and the young performers truly surpassed themselves as they vied for the award. The honour eventually went to Naseem’s older brother Aziz who pulled off a remarkable impersonation of an ascetic fakir who often passed through the village.
An ache went through Boote Shah’s heart as he recalled the merriment from the previous year. This, too, was the first day of Holi but the village seemed completely oblivious of the festive occasion. The unending reports of plunder and killings had cast a pall of gloom over the village, making the festivities of yore a distant dream that seemed to have died forever.
As he left the Haveli of the Anands and headed towards his own place, his mind was burdened by another thought that only added to his melancholy. He was getting genuinely worried about Naseem. He felt his heart sink each time he looked at her face these days.
Naseem had stopped smiling. It was always her smile that Boote Shah found most endearing. A demure, shy kind of smile that often seemed to conceal a deeper emotion. It was rarely on display since that unfortunate incident with Yusuf but the incessant reports about communal violence and pillage over the last few weeks seemed to have taken a further toll on her. Looking at Naseem’s face, Boote Shah felt that her fair countenance had been drained of all blood, leaving a pallid imitation in its wake. Her large and expressive eyes now seemed to convey a sense of deep and unrelenting disillusionment. Each time he looked at her, he felt that she was sinking under some insurmountable burden that may soon crush her heart into tiny fragments.
For several days now, he had reflected on the merits of going to Naseem’s place for a heart-to-heart, possibly to pick at some of her recent scabs and see what was going on in her heart. Or maybe to create an opportunity for a cathartic outpouring that could ease her burden. But he hadn’t been able to do that.
As he approached his place today, a fresh idea crossed his mind. I should have assigned this task to Rukman, he reasoned. She should go and have a chat with Naseem.
Endowed with a stout frame and delicate features, Rukman always had an aura of serenity about her. Her broad forehead and open smile were, perhaps, an indication of her large-hearted persona. She couldn’t be much older than twenty-five or twenty-six and had already been married for a decade or so. She had managed to look youthful despite these years of marriage, possibly because she had not borne any children. But that inability to bear a child also had another side to it, one that could be discerned in that resigned expression that lingered beneath her cheerful countenance. She tried to keep it hidden, and was seen as a jovial soul in her neighbourhood— someone who could share a hearty laugh with the young girls as easily as she could share confidences with the older women. That somewhat contrived facade helped her cope with her underlying sadness, keeping her distracted from her own sense of inadequacy.
Boote Shah went to the kitchen and sat down for his meal but got up after eating just a handful or two. He took some water to rinse his mouth, and wiped his hands dry with the small towel as Rukman turned towards him enquiring, ‘What happened? You left most of your food on the plate!’
‘Nothing! I wasn’t too hungry today.’
‘No! That’s not true. Your face tells me straight away that you are disturbed about something.’
Boote Shah sat down and explained that the reason for his gloom was no different from that of everyone else’s in the village. It was the imminent danger of sectarian violence consuming their lives. Rukman responded by repeating Baba Bhana’s sage advice about accepting the will of the Lord and keeping morale high during any adversity. Boote Shah heard her out but decided to change the subject. ‘You are right that we should have faith in the Lord and we should readily submit to His will … but there is also another matter that has been driving me sick with worry.’
‘And what’s that?’ Rukman asked anxiously.
‘Have you noticed Seema’s appearance lately?’
‘Of course, I’ve noticed. God alone knows what’s happening to that girl. She seems to be withering by the day. Her banter, her comments, her laughter used to light up this home the moment she entered. But these days, she seems to have lost her tongue.’
‘So, wasn’t it your responsibility to check on her and find out if she is facing any particular problem, my dear woman?’
‘I’ve asked her often but she always finds a way to evade the subject. Each time I raise the subject with her, she has this stock response, “There’s nothing wrong with me, Bhabi. This is all a figment of your imagination.”’
‘I believe something serious is going on, otherwise…’ He heard someone call his name and went outside to check.
A group of four men were standing in the courtyard—Munshi Abdul Rahman from the school, a youngish man with a mature beard typical of a Moulvi, the cobbler Hidayat’s son Inayat, and the butcher Nabiya’s son Illamdin.
‘Welcome! Please come inside,’ Boote Shah smiled with his usual courtesy.
‘We’ve come to see the Taya,’ Inayat responded.
‘He is resting in the living room. Come with me,’ Boote Shah escorted them inside the house. The door of the living room was closed but an old man’s melancholy tones could be heard chanting:
Recite the name of Lord Ram and keep your mind at peace,
He will solve your troubles, our Lord Ram Chandra Raghubir…
‘Greetings, Taya,’ Inayat stepped forward and addressed the Baba. The Baba peered through the thick lenses of his spectacles but failed to recognize the young man until he recognized the voice. ‘God bless, Inayat,’ he replied as he tried to discern the faces of his companions. ‘And who are these gentlemen with you?’
Inayat introduced the team to the Baba, who graciously moved to the corner of his couch and invited them to sit beside him. Boote Shah walked across to a stool and turned up the wick of the lantern to light up the room.
‘So what brings you this way?’ Baba Bhana smiled gently as he twirled his greying moustache.
‘Nothing particularly important, Taya,’ Illamdin replied. ‘We were passing this way and thought we would look you up.’
There was something about the way Ilamdin said ‘nothing particularly important’ that told the Baba that something serious was afoot.
‘Anyway, let’s do the important stuff first. Will you have a cup of fresh milk?’
‘No thanks, Taya. We had our meal before coming to your place,’ Inayat said before adding, ‘actually our Munshiji and the Moulviji wanted to discuss something with you, and I volunteered to bring them across.’
‘By all means,’ the Baba turned his head towards them as he spoke. ‘Tell me, Moulviji,’ he blinked behind his glasses as he looked at the Munshi and the Moulvi.
The Moulvi had a dark but sallow sort of complexion. His gaunt frame made him appear taller than he was but the sunken cheeks, eyes set deep in their sockets, and lips that seemed more a shade of black than purple, added to the image of a man who was either an opium addict or perhaps one suffering from a protracted ailment. He wore a pair of tight churidar pyjamas that looked oddly loose and ill-fitting on his spindly legs. His long achkan-style coat extended a couple of inches below his knees, making an unsuccessful attempt to give some kind of shape to his emaciated body. The achkan was visibly dirty, and the presence of some prominent grease stains suggested that a proper cleaning of the fabric was overdue. His beard essentially flowed down from his chin, making his cheeks look like a rough, unfinished piece of leather. A few scabs could be seen on the sides of his elongated neck, possibly an outcome of his efforts to ensure that the beard retained a monopoly on all facial hair. His Adam’s Apple appeared twice the normal size, often moving visibly as he spoke.
‘I wanted to say—’ the Moulvi had just started to speak when the Munshi intervened. ‘We have caused you this inconvenience tonight, Babaji, only because we wanted to apprise you of the deteriorating situation and of some of the emerging dangers. You are fully aware of the communal tensions around us and the fact that these are getting more and more ominous with every passing day.’
The Baba was listening attentively. Maybe the rumours that he had heard over the last few weeks were baseless, he thought. He had been informed that the school munshi had enlisted the help of an unknown Moulvi to vitiate the atmosphere in the village. But what he was witnessing today seemed to run counter to those impressions. If the Munshi and the Moulvi had indeed come to his home to apprise him of imminent dangers, they deserved his gratitude. He sighed deeply before lifting his eyes to see them from this new perspective.
‘That’s very gracious of you, Munshiji,’ the Baba looked at them with genuine appreciation. ‘But I’ve always been one hundred per cent sure that no matter what the challenge, our village will be able to weather these storms and maintain its amity. And with caring folks like you around us, we can afford to have our nightly glass of milk and sleep soundly in our beds.’
‘You are right, Babaji,’ said the Munshi as he pulled out a yellow pencil from the upper pocket of his jacket and started to scratch its tip with his nails. ‘But you must also be aware that these communal issues can be quite sensitive and even the slightest mistake can result in irreparable damage.’
‘What are you trying to say? I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ the Baba said with a hint of irritation.
‘What he is saying is quite clear, Taya,’ Illamdin hurried to intervene. ‘Munshiji wanted to have a word with you about Sugara Maasi’s daughter.’
Baba Bhana reacted like he had bitten on a pebble while chewing his food, his expression revealing a mix of shock and revulsion. ‘About Seema?’ he asked.
‘Indeed,’ Inayat responded as he poked his little finger into his right ear to deal with some nagging itch. ‘Babaji, the whole village knows that you have raised their family as your own but surely you agree that when it comes to matters of religion, you must go your way and they have to go theirs. Because adherence to our faith and religion is vital for all of us.’
The impact that the Munshi’s initial statements had made on the Baba was wearing off quite rapidly. But what were they getting at? He still wasn’t able to fathom it. He wanted his uninvited guests to reveal their true intent as quickly as possible.
The Munshi stepped in to clarify before the Baba could voice his query. ‘You see, the girl is now at an age where she would be better off if she is in the care of persons from her own faith. I know that you have looked after the family from every respect, but Babaji … you can’t stop tongues from wagging, can you? It might be a minor matter but people will add ten other titbits to make it a big story. So, we’ve come to request you that you ask the mother and daughter to return to their own house. How much longer can we place their burden on your shoulders?’
‘A burden on my shoulders?’ the Baba’s mouth remained open in astonishment as he repeated the question.
‘Of course, Babaji,’ the Moulvi interjected. ‘Munshiji is absolutely right. Besides, why should you continue along a path that will only bring you disrepute?’
‘Disrepute? Disrepute to me?’ the Baba’s breathing quickened as he spoke.
‘Isn’t it bad enough, the stuff that people are already saying?’ Illamdin demanded, biting the nail of his thumb as he spoke. ‘The village has had to hang its head in shame because of the actions of this girl.’
‘But,’ the Baba replied in a worried tone. ‘It wasn’t the girl’s fault, nor was it mine…’
‘Let’s not get into the matter of whose fault it was, Babaji,’ Inayat butted in. ‘The matter was quietly buried because of your stature. Otherwise, your son…’ Inayat turned around to glare at Boote Shah with unbridled hatred as he spoke.
‘Which son of a—’ the abuse was still in Boote Shah’s throat when the Baba scowled at him and warned, ‘Be quiet, young man. This doesn’t concern you. Go ahead and attend to your errands.’
Boote Shah swallowed the Baba’s insult along with his own anger, as though he’d been asked to drink a cup of poison, and quickly left the room.
The Baba could feel his temper rising but a regard for his own age and a certain latitude for the youth of the visitors helped him keep it under check. Changing his tone to indicate that he wanted to bring the discussion to an end, he said, ‘Alright, let’s accept that it’s all my fault, or my son’s. But can you please tell me what exactly has brought you here tonight?’ The Baba’s eyes were showing a tinge of red as he spoke. He was worried that he might insult his guests by saying something inappropriate.
‘We want just two things, Taya,’ Illamdin responded. ‘First, please ask the two of them to leave this house and return to their own home at the earliest. Second, please get Naseem’s consent for the nikah.’
That first demand, on its own, would have been enough to infuriate the Baba. But it was the second one that really got him going.
Heaving a deep sigh that tried to conceal his anger and disgust, he replied, ‘Alright, young man. Let’s say I agree with your demand and ask them to return to their old house just to satisfy you. But what do I do about your second demand to get her consent for nikah? How am I supposed to do that if I have no relationship with them? I’ll leave it to you folks to sort out the matter of the nikah.’
‘That’s not how it works, Taya,’ Inayat answered. ‘It doesn’t matter whether you are related to them or not. We know that the nikah can’t be done without your approval.’
‘And what does that mean?’ the Baba asked in yet another desperate attempt to keep his anger in check.
‘What it means,’ the Munshi interposed, ‘is that we have already explored the topic with Sugara bibi.’
‘And what was her response to you?’
‘She said that this matter is entirely up to the Baba. She will not act on this without getting a nod from you.’
‘Fine,’ the Baba countered. ‘I agree that I am also keen to see Naseem married soon. I lie awake at night worrying about this girl’s marriage because it is a promise that I had made to her father. I’ve been searching for the right person so that I can relieve myself of this responsibility but…’
‘You don’t have to worry about that, Taya,’ Illamdin butted in. ‘We’ve found the right boy for her. We just need you to say yes.’
The Baba tried to calm himself down as he spoke, ‘If you are so keen to get my consent, please bring the boy over so that I can see him. Surely, I have the right to meet him, to know him and his background.’
‘See him by all means,’ the Munshi replied enthusiastically. ‘You can see him right away. Here he is, Babaji.’ He turned to point at the Moulvi, who was busy scratching the side of his neck, his fingernails leaving little tracks along their arid pathway.
‘By the grace of Allah,’ Inayat added. ‘He comes from a very affluent family, our Moulvi. He is well-educated too. If you ask me, he is the perfect candidate in every respect.’
Seeing the Baba sink into a deep silence, Illamdin asked, ‘So what do you think, Taya?’
The Baba seemed to be paralysed. Speaking with a great deal of effort, he replied, ‘Okay, let me think about it.’
‘What’s there to think about, Babaji?’ the Munshi asked with a tone of humility. ‘Grant your consent now and do a noble deed at the same time. Say yes and let’s close this discussion.’
‘Munshiji!’ the Baba spoke with exasperation. ‘We are talking about the life of a young girl, not bargaining at the grocer’s for flour and lentils. Let me think this matter through. I also want to consult the other elders of the village in this matter.’
‘Elders of the village?’ the Munshi laughed sarcastically. ‘Forget about those old-fashioned fellows, Babaji.’
‘But I am also one of those old-fashioned fellows, Munshiji. In fact, I am probably the most old-fashioned of the lot simply because I am the oldest one in the village.’
‘So should we conclude,’ Inayat started heatedly, ‘that you are refusing to provide your consent?’
That was the last straw for the Baba. He could no longer control his anger. He had done his best to maintain the dignity of his guests and he still didn’t want to say anything that would cause offense to the Munshi or the Moulvi. But the other two were youngsters from his own village, boys that he had slapped when they had misbehaved. The way they had behaved today had breached every norm of respectful conduct. Eyes blazing as he looked at them, the Baba hissed, ‘Listen, you ruffians! You seem to have forgotten who you are addressing. One tight slap from me and your face will be twisted around to stop you from jabbering like this. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Was your marriage decided by you alone? And your sister Fajjan who got married last year. Was her nikah read out without the consent of her family? You wanted to hear from me so here it is. I will not provide my consent for Naseem’s nikah. You can do what you like. I will call the panchayat tomorrow and place this matter before the elders of the village, so get ready to face the consequences. You were born in our hands and now you want to turn around and give orders to us? Get lost or else…’ The Baba’s voice was choking with rage, and it took a while before his coughing stopped and he was again in a position to speak.
The Munshi and the Moulvi were under the impression that the two youngsters would react violently to the insult heaped upon them by the Baba but they remained frozen. And while the Baba had directed his tirade at Inayat, he left these two in no doubt that they were the real targets of his attack. They were seething over the unexpected humiliation at the hands of the old man.
‘Come on, Illamdinji. Come on, Inayat Khanji. Let’s go,’ the Moulvi lifted his gangly frame from the bed and swayed out of the room. The other three followed suit.
Inayat didn’t have the courage to look the Baba in the eye and respond but he chose to deliver a parting shot as they left. ‘Fine. You’ll see what happens now,’ he warned.
The Baba remained silent.