This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 50
Next day, after the morning namaz, Hafizji repeated before Tara the promise of eternal peace in bahishta, heaven, to those who believed in Islam and in the wadahul mutwakkill Allah and his prophet, Hazarat Mohammed, and assured her that in the afternoon he’d try to get some news from Bajaj Hatta and Bhola Pandhe’s Gali.
Eid-ul-fitr was now only a week away. The begum and Khursheed sat on the dhurrie, making new clothes for the festival on a sewing machine, with Tara helping them in their work. Khursheed said to her mother-in-law, ‘This poor creature fasts everyday with us. If she accepted the true Faith, it’d be such a blessing to her.’
Tara felt that Khursheed had some hidden design behind her expression of sympathy, but she kept quiet.
In the evening, when Hafizji came upstairs to end his fast after the magharib prayer, he sent for Tara. He told her, with concern and anxiety that all Hindu families that lived between Rang Mahal and Shahalami had left, and their houses had been taken over by Muslim families coming from the east.
Tara, her eyes downcast, uttered a sigh, and remained silent.
Hafizji again mumbled a dua to Allah the All Merciful, and tried to convince her, ‘Beti, we humans should have faith in Allah’s will, and in the mercy of that kadirmutwakkill. Everything He does is for the good of us humans. He keeps track of the sun, the moon and the rest of creation. He does not neglect to take care of the beetle that lives inside a rock; so how can He forget you? No doubt He sent you here so that we might look after you. The holy parawardigar, Heavenly Provider, blessed us with three daughters, and we fulfilled our obligations to them. He has now brought you to shelter in our home. We humans are always ignorant of His ways. In His infinite mercy, He found a way to send you here so that you might have faith in la ilaha ilillahu, muhammedur rasoolallah and that we should acquire the sawab of causing you to come over to the true belief.’
The begum, Khursheed and her two daughters were sitting behind Tara. When Hafizji uttered the kalmah pak (There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is the Prophet of God), they all kissed their fingers, touched them to their eyes, and said ‘amen’ in one voice.
Hafizji straightened his back, recited in a louder voice an aayat, verse, in Arabic from the Quran, and said, ‘Those who do not have faith in Allah, the sole creator of this world, and in His prophet who brought His message to mankind, will burn eternally in the fires of dozakh. You,’ he added, ‘have been rescued from that punishment by the rahim-karim, Most Merciful God, and have been sent to us so that you may live in the lush gardens of heaven, beside running springs of milk and honey, and under the shade of date trees. You should be thankful for the mercy He has rained down upon you.’
Tara heard his sermon out, but said nothing. At night she lay thinking on her charpoy for a long time. It was now obvious that Hafizji and his family had been kind to her because they hoped to have the reward of converting her to Islam. That’s why they had not let her starve to death. Tara did not want to change her religion. Although she had no place to go in the whole wide world, she still did not want others to treat her with pity and condescension. It was also clear to her that whether she had a place to go to or not, Hafizji would keep her in his house in the hope of some day converting her to Islam. What should she do?
After she had begun attending college, and especially after she became friendly with the members of the Student Federation, Tara had little interest in, or inclination towards the religious beliefs of Hinduism. She found the talk of hell and heaven and of various incarnations of deities, and the ritual of praying in temples or for the spirits of deceased relatives quite ridiculous, but the pressure to convert to Islam was equally abhorrent to her. She remembered Asad’s words, one day when they were with Narendra Singh, Zubeida, Surendra and Hamid, ‘…Hinduism is not a religion or faith. It is a social culture and a way of life. It does not restrict itself to any one set of beliefs. You are a Hindu if you believe in God, but you can still call yourself a Hindu if you don’t. You can believe in the god of your choice, a Supreme Being with a face or without any form, in one god or in a pantheon of gods. You may or may not believe in divine incarnations. You can either say that the brahman, world and illusion are one, or separate entities. You are free to believe whether you are reborn or not, and act accordingly. Islam does not allow you this kind of intellectual freedom, either you are a believer, or you’re not. You can’t deny the existence of God. If you do, you’re a kafir, an infidel. And you can’t believe in an Allah of your own choosing. There is only one Allah, wahadul mutawakkill, wahadul shreik, and you have to have belief in Him. And restraints don’t end there. You have to believe that Allah had a final prophet, and that prophet was Hazarat Mohammed. And you can’t use logic and science to question your belief, because at the time when the message of Allah was revealed to the Prophet, the science of today did not exist.’
So as not to be bothered by heat and hunger pangs during the days of fast, Hafizji liked to have a nap between 11.30 and 2.15, just before the time of the zohar namaz. On the eleventh, his nap was interrupted by a blast from the bugle announcing the beginning of the curfew. His first thought was that the kafirs had attacked during the holy period of Ramadan, and that Muslims observing the fast would be inconvenienced if the curfew continued beyond sunset. He also thought of going to his neighbour, the honorary magistrate Mian Nizamuddin Kasuri, and telephoning the police station to find out the reason for curfew beginning at this time, but decided to wait until after the prayer.
Hafizji returned home a few minutes after the muezzin had given the call for breaking the fast, seeming very nervous and agitated. The begum and Khursheed were awaiting his return, a plateful of dates at the ready. It was a custom in their house to end the fast by eating dates. This practice was sunnat-ul-rasool, because Hazarat Mohammed also used to end his fast by eating dates. It increased the sawab one earned from observing the fast.
Hafizji was so upset that he could hardly eat, but it would not have been propitious to refuse to eat at the stipulated hour. He bit a piece off one date, and said, ‘May the wrath of Allah fall on these kafirs. Rioting and deceit is second nature to a kafir. The Hindu superintendent of police in Amritsar has made all Muslim police personnel surrender their arms under some trumped-up excuse, and ordered them to take off their uniforms. They were then given their discharge, and told to go to Pakistan. I have a sinking feeling. How could Amjad travel in safety without his arms and uniform? The situation is very delicate in Amritsar. It was the duty of the new administration to transport him and other Muslim officers safely to Lahore.’
When Amjad’s mother and sister-in-law heard the news, neither could swallow the dates they were chewing. Tears flowed down their cheeks. They began to curse the kafirs for their atrocious and provocative actions.
Hafizji said, ‘I also heard that an angry mob of Muslim police personnel rioted when they reached Lahore station. Who can blame them? There was ample reason for them to be upset. These two-faced Hindu Congress leaders declare in public that Muslims will have full freedom and civil rights in Hindustan, but the reality is just the opposite. It’s clear what turn things will take in the future. These Hindus know nothing but deceit and fraud.’
The magharib prayer was over, but Hafizji did not rise, and continued to sit and say prayers for his son. The face of Amjad’s mother when she got up after the prayer was streaked with tears. Khursheed too dabbed her eyes with the end of her dupatta. It was time to begin cooking food. The begum and Khursheed often gave Naseeban a hand so that the dinner would be ready sooner. Naseeban first chopped onions and garlic, and began to mix spices and grind them into a paste. The begum asked her to bring a knife and potatoes, but her eyes were filled with tears, and the vegetables lay untouched in front of her. Tara picked up the potatoes, and quietly began to cut them up.
Hafizji went back to Kasuri’s house to telephone the police station for more news. Vilayat Ali, his other neighbour, had also found out about Amjad being in danger in Amritsar. Two women from that household had come to commiserate, and the begum and Khursheed were attending to them. Tara took over in the kitchen.
Hafizji returned after over two hours, more distressed than before. He said, ‘I couldn’t find out anything more. Many constables and officers from his section are back in Lahore. Some arrived by rail, others in buses. No news yet of Amjad. Only Allah can help us.’
Amjad’s mother and Khursheed began to cry again. Hafizji told them to have faith in Allah, and to say a prayer for the safety of Amjad. He removed his turban, hung it on the corner post of the bed, and as a proof of his faith in Allah, lay down to rest for a while.
Qamaroo was hungry, and seeing Tara in the kitchen, asked her for food. Tara gave her a chapatti and some vegetables to eat. When Khursheed got up after saying her prayers, Tara said to her softly, ‘Bhabhi, why don’t you serve Farzana and tayaji?’
Khursheed asked her father-in-law to have something to eat.
‘I’ll wait for a while, beta. I’m not feeling up to it.’
Someone rattled the chain on their outside door. Since only Muslims lived around Teetarvali Gali where Hafizji’s house was, there was no cause for alarm. But to be on the safe side, Hafizji told Naseeban to check who it was by looking out from the window before going downstairs to open the door.
‘It could be that bhai has arrived,’ said Tara, out of sympathy to the worried family.
‘Amen! May your mouth be full of sugar and ghee, sister!’ Khursheed said.
‘Bless your heart! May you live forever! May Allah be kind to you!’ The begum too gave Tara her blessing.
‘Chachaji! Chachaji!’ shouted Qamaroo, who had gone to the window with Naseeban. The child ran downstairs, yelling with excitement.
Hafizji sat up. The begum and Khursheed too stood up as if they had been given a new lease of life. The begum again gave Tara her blessing, ‘Have a long life! May you prosper! You’ll be rewarded for your good intentions. May Allah’s mercy and His grace be with you.’
Hafizji said in approval of the begum’s blessings as he walked to the stairs, ‘She’s a very fine girl. That’s why Allah has sent her to you as a daughter.’
The begum and Khursheed followed him downstairs. Tara stayed upstairs.
They all returned upstairs after a few minutes. Amjad was wearing a grey linen suit, but no hat. He was clean-shaven except for a clipped butterfly moustache. Just by looking at his clothing no one could tell whether he was a Muslim or a Hindu. To Tara he appeared to be clean-cut and educated. She stayed out of his sight, in the kitchen.
Amjad sat on the bed as he began to talk. Tara could hear him in the kitchen, ‘…Khan Sahib Abdul Ghani asked me to stay behind. His wife and kids were with him in Amritsar. We had also detailed six Muslim constables for our protection. Khan Sahib has brought back all his stuff, except for the furniture. I too have managed to bring my clothes and all my other belongings. Most constables, poor fellows, could bring nothing back. That sly Hindu superintendent of police had called a unit of the Dogra military battalion. He ordered all Muslim constables to assemble on a parade, and ordered them to take off their uniforms. We engaged a bus for ourselves. Khan Sahib was carrying two shot guns and two pistols of his own.’
‘What about your police-issue revolver?’ Hafizji wanted to know.
‘All the sub-inspectors were summoned to the main police station early in the morning. That day a Sikh military unit was there, with Tommy guns at the ready. That sly bastard asked the Muslim officers to come into his office one by one. Then he asked them to surrender their side arms and take off their belts, handed them their relieving certificates and sent them out through the other door.’
‘Damn him! Curses be upon him! What depths of trickery! Tauba!’
Khursheed came into the kitchen to ask Tara to take some ghee and make paranthas for Amjad, and went back to listen to her brother-in-law’s story. As she mixed ghee into the flour, Tara too could hear, ‘…Kaul surely was too smart for us in Amritsar. We weren’t expecting him to move so quickly. I’m sure someone put him wise to our plans. That son-of-a-bitch Hasseb, he’s very thick with Kaul. I’m sure it was he. The bastard will neither be happy in this world nor in the next. Ghani sahib was nervous for no reason. He asked us to wait, so that there’d be no cause for suspicion. Otherwise we wouldn’t have left one kafir alive in Amritsar. Who can stop the police from doing what they want?’ Tara, her head bent, heard all this as she kneaded the dough, and felt that she wanted to throw away the kneading tray.
‘When did you arrive in the city? I telephoned Imamdeen several times at the police station.’
‘We left Amritsar at half-past two. We got to the police lines here around four. You know Ghani Sahib, he tries to act like a pucca European. Nothing would do for him but a bungalow in the Civil Lines. We went all over the Civil Lines without result. Then we thought of Model Town. We went and broke open locks on two bungalows there. Ghani sahib occupied one, and the other was taken over by Sattar Sahib. I went back to the police lines to report my arrival. I didn’t think it safe to move around in the city without a vehicle. It took a long time to find a jeep. Two constables came with me up to here.’
Khursheed served the men as they sat talking on the bed. Amjad broke off a piece of a parantha and said, ‘Who’s made these Hindu-style paranthas? Who’s in the kitchen?’ He had caught a glimpse of Tara.
‘It’s a Hindu girl. The poor thing was really in trouble. Since Allah the Merciful has sent her to us in His infinite wisdom, let’s hope she converts to Islam. That act of piety should take place on the fifteenth.’ Hafizji narrated Tara’s story in brief to Amjad.
For the next two days, Hafizji explained to Tara the meaning of the true religion of Islam, and the salvation that would be hers if she embraced it with all her heart, and suggested that she convert to Islam.
Tara, her head bent, replied in a tone of entreaty, ‘Tayaji, I’m deeply obliged to you and maanji, but I don’t know what to do with my mind and thoughts. Neither my heart nor my mind allows me to become a convert. If the God of Islam or the God of the Hindus had me born into one faith, let me go on in the same path to the end of my days. I am always asking myself how I can change myself into anything other than what He made me. I will remember your kindness as long as I live. If you can do so, please be so kind as to send me to some one in the Hindu community. Or give me permission to leave, and I’ll face up to whatever may happen.’
Hafizji did not lose his patience, ‘Beti, the English education that you received in college has obviously affected your mental faculties. That kind of education makes a person vain and misleads him or her. Our human intelligence is limited. The laws of philosophy and the human sciences are ephemeral and transitory. But the laws and philosophy of the Quran are eternal and have never changed, nor will they ever change. The salvation of a soul lies in having faith in the Quran.’
Amjad Ali’s duties as a sub-inspector had begun on the day after his arrival in Lahore. As he waited to be given charge of a police station, he continued to sleep at his home. On returning home on the evening of the thirteenth, he said that an official notification had been received that the city of Karachi would be the capital of Pakistan. Although Lord Mountbatten was to arrive in Karachi the following morning at 10 o’clock to preside over the investiture of Quaid-e-Azam as the Governor General of Pakistan, the new government would come into effect only after midnight on that day.
Amjad also told them that the inauguration of Pakistan as a new country would not be on the fifteenth, but on the eighteenth, on the propitious day of Eid-ul-Fitr. Quaid-e-Azam has issued an order that there were to be no celebrations during the day, or illuminations at night. The only ceremony to take place would be the unfurling of the new national flag of Pakistan. At the Eid prayers, a special dua would be said for the liberation of millions of Muslims forced to remain behind in Hindustan.
‘That’s right! That’s appropriate!’ Hafizji agreed enthusiastically, and said, ‘Quaid-e-Azam is a devout Muslim. The flame of love for his religion and his community burns in his heart. What better evidence could there be of a man’s religious and patriotic sentiments? Wah, wah!’
He continued to enthuse, ‘That kafir Abdul Gaffar Khan, the Congress leader of the North-west Frontier, and his goondas used to poison the minds of people that Quaid-e-Azam did not follow the Shariah, that he did not wear a beard or dress in accordance with the Islamic law, that he was against women keeping purdah, that he didn’t abstain in matters of eating and drinking, that his daughter had married a Parsee. Those North-west Frontier Congress-wallahs convinced a gullible Pathan to go to Bombay to assassinate Quaid-e-Azam. The door to Quaid-e-Azam’s house was open. What did he have to fear? The Pathan walked straight in. And what did he see but Quaid-e-Azam, kneeling on his jayenamaz, prayer mat, deep in devotions, shaking his head and calling on the name of Allah in a trance of ecstasy.
‘The Pathan stood watching, transfixed. Ten minutes passed, then half an hour; the Pathan’s legs got tired from standing there, but Quaid-e-Azam did not come out of his trance. At last, Quaid-e-Azam began to say a dua to wadahul-shareek khuda and rasool-i-khuda, Peace be upon Him,’ Hafizji stopped in the middle of the sentence so that he and others might kiss their fingers and touch their eyes at the mention of Allah and His Prophet, ‘… asking Him to help and show the right path to Quaid-e-Azam so that he might succeed in helping his people and his brothers in religion. When Quaid-e-Azam got up from the jayenamaz, the Pathan threw away the dagger he was hiding under his clothes, fell at the feet of Quaid-e-Azam and began to cry and ask for forgiveness.
