Musharraf Farooqi - Between Clay and Dust

Later in the evening he called on the elders of Imama’s clan. The initial post-mortem report identified brain hemorrhage as the cause of death.

Retiring to his quarters late at night, Ustad Ramzi hesitated as he passed Tamami’s door. He almost knocked but something held him back.

❖

For several days after Imama’s death, Tamami did not attend the akhara. He remained closeted in his room. When a week had passed, Kabira tried to persuade him to get back to his routine in the akhara. Tamami refused.

When he started attending the akhara at Kabira’s insistence, Tamami exercised alone. He refused the massage and later, when he started grappling, on occasions he abruptly left the akhara. Ustad Ramzi sent him to their ancestral village to rest for a month.

He also wanted to shield Tamami from the vicious comments that were being made concerning Imama’s death and his role in it.

“I knew that something would happen the day I saw Tamami sit on his trainer’s chest!”

“They say once they have tasted blood, they develop a liking for it.”

“It was Ustad Ramzi’s covetousness for his title that killed Imama.”

“He attended Imama’s burial too — went there to make sure they bury him deep!”

“Who would now challenge Ustad Ramzi after witnessing the manner in which Tamami killed Imama?”

Ustad Ramzi told himself that tongues had wagged against him in the past, too; that he must not pay any heed to the comments. But it made him uneasy that more than Tamami, these barbs targeted him.

Gohar Jan had heard that the mosque’s roof was damaged by the rains and a collection had been started for the repairs. She planned to send money for the repairs as she had always done, but something about the trinket-seller Shukran’s report on the young maulvi made her reconsider her decision.

In the evening as Ustad Ramzi was leaving the kotha after the recital she brought an envelope to him and said, “I would like to ask a favor of you… Please give it to Maulvi Yameen for repairs to the mosque roof.”

As Ustad Ramzi took the money, Gohar Jan said, “And please do not mention who sent it.”

She saw Ustad Ramzi hesitate. He looked uncomfortable for a moment. But he took the envelope and after counting the money put it away in his kurta pocket.

As Ustad Ramzi left, Gohar Jan regretted asking him to deliver the money. She told herself she should have found another means of sending the money.

Ustad Ramzi’s reluctance had hurt her. She recalled his insisting on paying for the recitals after the kotha’s closure, and felt that the graciousness that impelled people to accept and grant small kindnesses had no place in Ustad Ramzi’s heart. For the first time it also occurred to her that it gave him a certain privilege in his relationships: he could neither be dismissed as a stranger nor held to any commitment to anyone.

The thought made her unhappy, but she could not help feeling sorry for Ustad Ramzi at the same time.

❖

Ustad Ramzi was vexed with himself. He had unwittingly embroiled himself in a business that had nothing to do with him. He regretted giving his consent so hastily to Gohar Jan, but it was too late to refuse. The realization that Gohar Jan had accepted his visits to the kotha on his own terms had been a source of consolation to him. It troubled him now that she had felt free to make a change in their arrangement.

On the way to the mosque, Ustad Ramzi thought about the ethical value of what he had accepted to do for Gohar Jan. If Gohar Jan had any apprehensions that her donation would be rejected, she should not have sent it anonymously by his hand. And if Maulvi Yameen wished to refuse a donation on principle, why must he pass it off as from someone else?

Ustad Ramzi was further troubled when at the mosque Yameen thanked him profusely for the money. Ustad Ramzi told him that it was an anonymous donation. As Yameen continued to thank him, Ustad Ramzi felt that perhaps Yameen thought he was refusing to acknowledge the donation out of religious modesty. He felt it improper that he should receive credit for someone else’s charity.

Ustad Ramzi finally told Maulvi Yameen that the money came from Gohar Jan who wished to remain anonymous.

Gohar Jan had returned from a visit to a neighboring kotha when she heard a knock on the door. Answering it, she found the visitor had already climbed down a few steps. She could not make out his face on the dark stairwell.

“Who is it?” Gohar Jan asked. “Maulvi Yameen from the mosque.”

“Oh, Yameen,” she looked closely. Gohar Jan had not seen him for some years.

“How fast children grow up… Come inside, boy… Poor Maulvi Hidayatullah… I found out about his passing away much later…”

“I am in a bit of a hurry,” Maulvi Yameen said. “I have to go to a few other places before the Asr prayers.” “It does not look nice talking standing outside like this, child. If you are in a hurry we could send someone to the mosque tomorrow,” she said.

“All right, I will come in,” he quickly replied. “But only for a minute.”

She could barely recognize him with his beard.

Gohar Jan showed him into the veranda. Yameen avoided eye contact with her.

“What is it about?” she asked, once he had sat down on one of the chairs near the potted palms.

“I came to tell you…about the money you sent. The repair work has begun.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Gohar Jan said.

Ustad Ramzi had not been discreet, she realized.

Maulvi Yameen looked away again. She sensed restraint in his manner and wondered about its reason.

“There is something about which I…it’s about your donation…” he finally said, and stopped again. “I have to write a receipt…for amounts over one hundred rupees. At the end of the month, the mosque committee looks at the receipt books. There is a small problem. A small thing, but…someone might…they might not like the idea of…you should not think… what I mean to say is that they might object. They can object. They might blame the person who accepted it… In this case I would be held responsible. But the repairs were needed urgently. For me, the mosque and the comfort of the worshippers come first. Of course, if you would like your donation to be returned…

I can arrange for it. It may take a little time, but it can be arranged.”

Gohar Jan found herself unprepared for such presumption and effrontery. She had done something that needed to be done without being asked, and as far as she was concerned, the matter had ended there. But not only was she being reminded that her charity was tainted, she was being humiliated as well.

The sudden, impulsive glare of anger died however, even as it flashed in her blood. Seeing the man seated before her, Gohar Jan only felt a sense of loss for the child she had known. The whole thing was so contemptible that she felt the matter had absolutely no relevance or connection to her.

“I would not care for the receipt. I do not have any use for it,” she said calmly. “You can say it was an anonymous donation. I would prefer it to be that way, too. Nobody else has to know, and the matter of the receipt would not even arise.”

Gohar Jan now wondered if Yameen had visited the kotha because he did not like the idea of Banday Ali or somebody else calling at the mosque at her behest again.

“Only if it is all right with you…” Maulvi Yameen said, avoiding her eyes. “I will go now.”

When she said nothing, he quietly got up and left. Gohar Jan wistfully thought of the old Maulvi Hidayatullah again and felt a strange sense of loss.

The burdensome, depressing feeling that she had felt in Maulvi Yameen’s presence and which had momentarily lifted as he had walked away, returned. It was not so much the changing times that troubled her, but the worst they seemed to bring out in people.