13

‘SEEMA!’ WHAT’S HAPPENED to you, sister? You’ve become thin as a reed!’ Aziz exclaimed with concern as he entered the house around sunset.

‘Nothing much, Bhaaji’ Naseem mumbled to reassure her brother. ‘It’s only a bit of … a bit of…,’ she trailed off as she searched for a persuasive reason. She thought of saying that she had been suffering from regular headaches, or from intermittent fever but it seemed so contrived. A headache can’t make a person so frail. And Aziz knew that she had never had any kind of fever in her life. How could she tell such a lie to her brother?

‘Really, Ma!’ Aziz continued as he sat beside Sugara on her bed. ‘I can understand that you look quite weak because you’ve been sick for a while, but what’s happened to her? She was fine when I left this place. What’s happened to her happy, chubby little face? She’s reduced herself to a miserable skeleton.’

Aziz was three or four years older than Naseem and had grown up into a fine young man. Like his sister, he also had a light complexion and a handsome face, further embellished by a fine moustache. His eyes reflected a blend of humility and masculine confidence. His broad forehead suggested an honest character.

Aziz hadn’t progressed very far in terms of formal schooling. He had left home to work in Rawalpindi at a fairly young age and didn’t spend very many years in the madrassa. But he was fortunate to befriend some respectable folks and their company had not only polished his rustic language, but also given him an air of sophistication that belied his lack of education. He was dressed in immaculate khaki shorts, brown sandals, a burgundy-coloured serge jacket and a fine muslin turban, with the tail of its fabric draping proudly across his shoulder.

Naseem marvelled at the turn of events in such a short span of time. She had started the day with her early morning interlude with a carefree fakir who had miraculously lifted her sinking spirits, whose verses had continued to echo within her long after he had left. And before dusk on the same day, she had seen Aziz arrive at their doorstep.

‘Seema!’ Sugara called her with the intention of sending her off so that she could speak privately with Aziz. ‘Why don’t you go make some tea for your brother?’

Sugara started as soon as Naseem had entered the kitchen, giving him a full and unvarnished account of everything that had transpired. She thought briefly about leaving out the bits about Yusuf but decided against it. It was best that he heard the facts from her than receive lurid accounts from some of his friends in the village. Fearful that Aziz might fly into a rage and do something violent, she gently walked him through the entire episode.

Aziz felt his body tingling with fury as he heard the details from his mother. He wanted to rush out and do something but kept his cool. There was much that he still had to hear from his mother. She paused to clear her throat before describing the Moulvi’s activities in the village and his visit to their home. He had come the previous day with some of his compatriots and had threatened them with consequences if they didn’t leave Bhane Shah’s house.

Her narrative produced a deep sense of concern in Aziz. He understood the worries lying behind Naseem’s pallid face. But his thoughts had already turned to a more pressing matter. The ill winds of communal violence were approaching their village and he had to make arrangements for the safety of Bhane Shah and his family.

He also heard with growing disquiet as his mother recounted additional details about the Moulvi’s collaboration with the school’s Munshi and their malign influence on some of the local youth. For a while, his anxiety over his mother’s health was set aside. His own anger over the Moulvi’s offensive behaviour in asking for his sister’s hand and the obnoxious manner in which they had threatened his mother would also have to wait, as would his concern over his sister’s future. Moving Baba Bhana and his family out of the village and taking them to a safe location was the first priority.

‘May we be cursed forever,’ the young man spoke in anguish, ‘if this family comes to any harm while we are alive. I have an idea, Ma. Let’s all move to Rawalpindi for some time. I will go across to Bapuji and ask him to quickly pack a few things. Honestly, Ma, we can’t afford to delay this a minute longer. I know that Rawalpindi, too, isn’t immune to this virus of communal violence. But I have a plan. Nobody knows the three of them in Rawalpindi. If we get them to don Muslim attire and accompany us, they will be safe. They can stay with us as long as they want and none will be any wiser.’

‘May you live long, my son,’ his mother spoke with pride. ‘I’ll ask for nothing more if you can take this huge responsibility on your shoulders.’

‘Fine! So I am going across to the haveli,’ he said as he left her bed and started to head towards the door.

‘Hold on for a minute,’ she called. ‘You must be tired from the journey. Have some tea before you go.’

‘Don’t worry, Ma. The tea isn’t going to run away.’ He had barely taken a couple of steps towards the haveli when he saw the Baba approaching. He was treading gingerly, exploring the ground with his walking stick as he advanced towards them.

‘Salaam, Bapuji!’ Aziz exclaimed as he flew towards the old man and clasped him in a warm embrace.

‘Who? Is that Aziz—my son?’ The Baba’s trembling arms went around him as he kissed the young man’s forehead and stroked his back. ‘So you finally found the time to come, you good-for-nothing lout? All those letters…’

‘What could I do, Bapuji?’ Aziz was still soaking in the warmth of the old man’s embrace as he spoke. ‘My work just wouldn’t let me…’

‘Work? What kind of work is that, you idiot?’ The Baba’s cloudy eyes exuded affection as he gazed at the young man’s face. ‘The hell with your work! We are all praying for his mother’s health and this joker is going on about his work. Anyway, thank God that you are finally here.’

Aziz held the Baba’s arm as he entered the house. Sugara lowered her dupatta over her face in deference as she greeted him, ‘Please come inside, Bhaiyyaji. May you live long.’

‘How are you doing?’ the Baba asked before adding, ‘I must confess that I’ve become pretty useless of late. I am mostly stuck indoors and find it difficult to even come to this place. These eyes of mine have simply given up on me! They’ve really put me in a tough spot.’

‘You shouldn’t have bothered, Bhayyiaji,’ Sugara spoke with reverence. ‘Aziz was in fact heading to your place. To be honest, there is nothing that we ever need to ask while you are around, Bhaiyyaji. Rukman dear has been sitting by my side past midnight every night. If I experience even the slightest discomfort, I discover her standing right beside me ready to help.’

‘Hare Ram! Hare Ram!’ the Baba intoned as he changed the subject. ‘So the boy’s come! Thank God for that. I feel like giving the rascal a sound thrashing but I’ll let it pass. You know these youngsters don’t care a fig for their parents these days. Your mother is so ill and you are obsessed with your work, one may ask?’

Aziz smiled at the affection hidden behind the reprimand and looked at the Baba with respect as he spoke, ‘Forgive me this one time, Bapuji. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

‘So where’s Seema today?’ the Baba looked at Sugara as he spoke.

‘She’s in the kitchen. Should I call her?’ Aziz replied before his mother could speak.

The kitchen was close enough for Naseem to hear the conversation. The pan for brewing the tea was already on the hearth and the fire had come alive. She was on the verge of getting up to meet the Baba when she heard her name being said. She sat back on her haunches and decided to wait.

‘What’s the matter, Bhayyiaji?’ Sugara coughed laboriously as she spoke. ‘Did you want to say something about Seema?’

‘Indeed,’ the Baba coughed to clear his throat before speaking. ‘I wanted to come last night itself but these damn eyes. They refuse to cooperate.’

‘You should have called me over instead of putting yourself to such inconvenience.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ the Baba growled. ‘Are you in any condition to leave this place?’

Coming back to the subject, he began, ‘He also came to your place last night, didn’t he? That fellow, what’s his name…?’

‘They came,’ Sugara hissed. ‘Those damned thugs…’

Aziz didn’t see the need to enquire. He had already heard the whole story.

‘Calm down, girl!’ the Baba admonished. ‘They also came to see me.’

‘What did they say?’ Sugara’s lip quivered in anger as she enquired.

‘Pretty much the same thing they said to you. Plus a few threats too.’

‘Threats?’ Aziz bristled. ‘What kind of threats, Bapuji?’

‘Why don’t you sit quietly, boy. Another word out of you and I’ll ask you to leave,’ the Baba cautioned the young man to nip his anger in the bud.

‘So?’ Sugara asked breathlessly. ‘What did they say?’

The Baba gave them a blow-by-blow account of his exchange with the four men.

‘Who do they think they are, these bastards, throwing their weight around?’ Aziz grimaced, failing completely in his effort to restrain himself. A withering look from the Baba forced him back into silence.

‘Wretched busybodies, if you ask me,’ Sugara wheezed. ‘Came to tell us how much they cared for our welfare! Nobody showed up all these years to ask about us. Now they see a young girl and they want to say they care about us. Aren’t they aware that the girl has parents who can look after her? And behold that fellow they brought along to propose. Utterly bereft of looks. Neither a face nor a frame. To be honest, Bhayyiaji, I wanted to give them a piece of my mind. But then I told myself let these blind dogs bark at the wind. How does it affect me? But you had to see the way they came, Bhayyiaji. Like they had come with a personal message from the Nawab. And the threats? If you don’t agree we’ll do this, we’ll do that. I say…’

‘How dare they?’ Aziz spluttered, his carefully nursed bundle of patience unravelling as he heard his mother. It took a long look from the Baba before he regained his composure.

‘Okay that’s enough about their nonsense,’ the Baba turned serious as he spoke. ‘Let’s turn to the other matter that they brought up, the one about leaving this house. I’ve been at sixes and sevens since I heard that. God alone knows why they are so irked by me. Not that I care too much about what people say. I’ve come to share something more personal. You see, this matter of religion that they brought up … I feel that it is really up to each one of us to follow our religion the way we want. So let’s put this factor aside. More important than religion is the nature of our relationship. So please listen carefully, my dear girl. Rahim Baksh passed away years ago and who knows how long I’ll be around. But he said something to me before he died and those words of his will stay with me as long as I am alive. And after me, I am sure that Boota, if he is his father’s son, will also honour my word. As far as this house is concerned, anyone who says that it belongs to Bhana is sadly mistaken. This house is yours and you are its owner. If you don’t believe me, you can take a look at this.’ The Baba reached into a deep pocket of his waistcoat to fish out an oldish parchment and handed it to Sugara.

‘What is this, Bhaiyyaji?’ she gave the document a cursory glance and asked without making any effort to open it.

‘This is the registration document for this house. I had the papers transferred to Aziz’s name a couple of months after Rahim Baksh died. This life of ours is so fraught with uncertainty. I thought it’s best that I put this matter to rest while I am still around. Rahim Baksh, God bless his noble soul, was like a real brother to me even though he was a fair bit younger. I know that there isn’t very much that I can do for anyone but I wanted to make sure that my friend’s family would always have a roof over their head.’

Sugara was stunned. An act of such enormous generosity? And done ever so quietly, without a word to anyone? Her eyes became moist with gratitude. Aziz also gulped a couple of times to keep his emotions in check.

‘I had no intention of bringing up this matter of transfer of property,’ the Baba continued. ‘Because I do understand that by sharing this information with you, I could create a sense of undue obligation. I had to bring this up today, my dear girl, only because I don’t want people to think that your children don’t live in their own house, that they are dependent on someone. That’s why I have declared explicitly in these papers that I have received the full price of this house. Frankly, I was stung by the language used by those boys last night. How dare anyone suggest that Rahim Baksh’s kids are deprived of such a basic necessity! And let me tell you another thing, my dear girl. I still haven’t cleared my debt to Rahim Baksh. That will only happen the day that we can send off a happily married Naseem in her wedding palanquin and the day this foolish boy sits astride a horse to attend his own wedding festivities.’

A kindly smile accompanied the Baba’s reference to the ‘foolish boy’. Aziz smiled for a brief moment before lowering his eyes in respect.

Sugara tried to say something but couldn’t. The tears running down her cheeks were saying what her lips couldn’t. Each droplet was an expression of her gratitude and respect.

‘Bhayyiaji,’ she finally spoke as she attempted to hand the papers back to the Baba. ‘Most people try to make a distinction between who is family and who isn’t. But I want to say that for me, there’s my Allah, and there’s…’

The Baba quickly interrupted her before she could complete. ‘So, what was I saying?’ he continued. ‘I meant that if you want to move into your old house to assuage these people, I won’t come in your way. Both houses are yours and you are free to stay in either one. And if you do want to consider a move, I can send a couple of workers to fix up that place.’

‘Please don’t say such a thing, Bhayyiaji,’ Sugara pleaded with a tremor in her voice. ‘Those people can do what they like. But you have given us shelter here. Don’t push us out of here. As for me, I wouldn’t want to leave this abode even if someone opened the doors to paradise itself. May Allah give my remaining days to you so that you can get these kids settled.’

‘Bapuji,’ Aziz jumped to take advantage of a brief pause in the conversation. ‘There were a couple of other things that I wanted to discuss with you.’

‘You too? Okay, go ahead and get it out of your system if you are in such a rush,’ the Baba smiled at him.

‘Bapuji!’ Aziz started in a deferential tone. ‘You’ve never turned down any request of mine, right? So I have one specific request today that I want you to accept.’

‘Why wouldn’t I accept it if it deserves to be accepted?’ Baba looked at him closely as he replied.

‘I want to suggest that we should all head to Rawalpindi for a few days.’

‘Certainly, if you have the funds to support both of them. But I know that you get a fairly modest wage. Will you be able to manage?’

‘Not just the two of us,’ Aziz clarified. ‘I meant all of us, including you.’

‘Including me?’ the Baba appeared a trifle nonplussed.

‘Absolutely. You, Bhaaji and Bhabiji too.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ the Baba chided him. ‘Are you assembling a platoon or something?’

‘Bapuji,’ Aziz implored. ‘Please don’t say no to me. There’s no way I’ll let you stay here. The communal riots have spread to the villages and who knows when our Chakri gets caught up in the frenzy. You’ll have to leave this place with me, Bapuji. And we’ll have to do it as soon as possible. I know quite a few people in ‘Pindi and I promise you that you won’t face any problems. We’ll dress you up in Muslim attire when we leave this place.’

‘May you live long, my son,’ the Baba stroked Aziz’s back affectionately as he spoke. ‘It is youngsters like you who now have to look after old folks like us. Who else will care for us if you won’t? But listen to me, son. What has been written in our destiny is immutable. If it has to happen, it will happen. I am touched by your concern but you do know, my son, that it isn’t easy to drag these old bones of mine very far. As far as your brother and bhabi are concerned, I agree with you. Let them go with you for a few days. And you can also give a flavour of city life to Naseem and your mother.’

‘And you, Bhayyiaji?’ Sugara mumbled, recoiling as if someone had struck a savage blow.

‘Let me be, my dear girl,’ the Baba replied with absolute assurance. ‘I don’t have a lot of time left, and I would much rather spend my remaining days here. I was born in this village and I want my funeral procession to leave from here too. That’s something I’ve always wished for.’

‘We would prefer to drown with shame,’ Sugara cried. ‘To go without the patron of this home? Then what’s the point of us going anywhere? Come on, Bhayyiaji. You have to be reasonable…’

Their discussion might have continued for a lot longer and who knows where it would have concluded, but their attention was abruptly drawn to voices from the street. A few could be heard shouting, ‘Attacks on the neighbouring village … murders, looting…’

Sugara, already in a bad shape from relentless attacks of asthma, found herself gasping for breath. She made space for herself in a corner of the bed to lie down. Aziz and Naseem ran towards the street to check. Baba Bhana followed them at an unhurried pace, his lips gently humming, ‘O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across…’