(A Story)
(Rendered by Gurdial Mallik from the original in
HINDI)
No sooner had I set my foot on the doorstep than I
saw Shibli Sahib standing in front. There was a smile on his lips. So I, too,
smilingly extended my right hand towards him. But today instead of a handshake
he advanced and held me tight within the ambit of his two sinewy arms and,
after a moment’s pause, said, “How have you, sir, landed here today?”
But before I could answer him he put his right hand
to my waist and, all agog with joy, led me inside the house. Glancing at my
face with a somewhat mischievous air, he said: “That day I begged so much of
you to come to my place and also repeatedly telephoned to you, even sent my car
to fetch you, but you remained as immovable as a mountain. Truly, as they say,
by merely persuading a potter, howsoever hard, you cannot make him bestride the
ass!”
“It is not so.”
“Enough, enough of your excuses. I understand
everything. My hair has not turned grey by simply being exposed to the sun.”
“But, sir, will you please listen to what I have to
say, or–”
Shibli Sahib cut me short and said: “No, never.
Today I am not at all prepared to hear your story. Do you know that that day we
had got from our village such fine fish that the like of which you may,
perhaps, never have seen in all your life? So my wife insisted on my bringing
you home, for you are so fond of fish fritters. But you have a heart of stone,
apart from being ill-mannered. And even now you are not ashamed of concocting
excuses. You spoiled that day’s feast of ours, and my wife–she did not touch
even one of the things she had cooked but distributed them straightaway among
the servants.”
“I am really very sorry, Shibli Sahib, but….”
Again he interrupted me and said: “Well, now put a
stop to all that and let bygones be bygones. But tell me, is it all well with
you?”
I was about to reply when Sister Hamida–Shibli
Sahib’s spouse– carrying the youngest child in her arms, entered the room.
Today I did not see on her face the habitual stamp of happiness; instead, I
noticed there a little sadness, and self-consciousness as well. However, with
an effort at smiling, she said to me: “So it is you, sir! I was wondering with
whom he had been arguing all along. But just excuse me; let me first tell the
servant to keep some water for tea. I shall be back presently.”
After Sister Hamida left us we sat down on chairs
and lighted our cigarettes. But soon she returned and sat down on the chair set
in front of me and said: “Brother, that day you greatly disappointed us. I had
cooked so many things specially for you. But we are so unlucky this year, for
both our Id Festival as well as Habib’s birthday passed almost unobserved.”
I felt nonplussed; nay, repentant, not only because
it is a matter of shame for a gentleman to break his promise, but because I had
also hurt Sister Hamida’s feelings. But how could I express in mere words all
that was passing through my mind at the moment? She was to me more than my own
sister. Never before had the difference of religion reared its ugly head
between us two. Today, for the first time, it had assumed the aspect of misty
suspicion. So it appeared to me. I had been all these days trying to forget the
great Calcutta Killing, though I had not succeeded in doing so. And while its
memory still festered as a wound in my heart, the gruesome news from Noakhali
had sprinkled salt over it and I had been smarting all the more. Neither could
I muster my usual self-confidence, nor was there the usual smile of happiness
on Sister Hamida’s and Shibli Sahib’s faces. I did not know what had overcome
all of us within a few days.
I began to feel somewhat heavy in the head. But I
rebelled against the stirring of Satan to overpower me. Suddenly it escaped my
lips. “Sister, I am not going to be dismissed today only with a cup of tea. I
have come here determined also to have my dinner.”
At once the misty curtain of mutual
misunderstanding which had just begun to rise between us rolled away and
Hamida’s face beamed forth. And with her habitual hilarity of disposition she
said: “Is that something to be said or stressed specially? I have ordered tea
simply because we also have not had ours as yet. You do not need any invitation
to dinner at our table, though I must tell you that I am very angry with you.”
And thus we forgot the recent happenings and
became, once more, chummy as well as cordial.
Shibli Sahib is a lively and jovial person. But it
appeared that from both sides an effort was being consciously made to avoid any
reference to any unpleasant thing, or at least to reduce such reference to the
very minimum. But often one feels helpless to exercise self-control.
So, looking at Hamida somewhat meaningfully, he
turned to me and said: “Brother Varma, today you shall have to tell me at least
one thing.”
“What is it?” I asked eagerly.
“What has been the effect of the recent killing and
pillage on you? Have these in any way affected your attitude towards us? Look
here, you must speak the truth.”
Sister Hamida’s face grew somewhat pale, and as if
to save me from the painful predicament into which her husband’s delicate
question had thrown me, she said to me: “Brother, do not pay any heed to what
he says. I do not know what madness has seized him these days that he addresses
such questions to whomsoever he meets.”
“No, no, Sister,” I rejoined gently. “Do not be
nervous. Let me first answer Shibli Sahib’s question. 1 assure you that no
daggers will be drawn between us.”
She drew her chair a little nearer, and I, turning
to Shibli Sahib, said: “I have learnt from all this killing and pillage only
one lesson, namely, how much lower a human being can fall than an animal or
Satan. But, believe me, nothing amiss or untoward has at all entered my mind
about you people. For, I know you are true Muslims and a gentleman and a
gentlewoman. I am called a Hindu and I am aware that the Hindus, too, have
misbehaved no less towards the Muslims. But our relationship rests on our
common humanity and we are not at all concerned with religion.”
Hamida butted in, “What you say is indeed, true.”
“But,” I said somewhat benumbed, “I have not been
able to understand aright all that has happened before my own eyes. How has
this killing of brother by brother, pillaging and molesting of women on such a
vast scale been possible? For instance, in a religion which is followed by such
noble people like you and Sister Hamida...”
Shibli Sahib interrupted and apologetically said:
“But excuse me for interrupting you. Why should you, because of the misdeeds of
some hooligans, think uncharitably of a whole community or creed? To tell you
the truth, even these ignorant people are not to blame. Behind them there are
pelf-and-power-greedy political leaders, who incite them to commit acts of
violence.”
“That is exactly what I also was going to say. The
people’s fight is for food, clothing and house. But the self-interested people
have given it a communal turn. It is no use indulging in recriminations, for
neither the Hindus nor the Muslims will ever be exterminated. These only
subserve the evil designs of those who can cook their food only on the fire of
factionalism.”
Just then Habib came running into the room and,
dragging Hamida by the hand, said in an excited tone, “Mother, mother, get me a
dagger quickly.”
All the three of us could not, however, restrain
our laughter at Habib’s demand. For, we thought, what could a six year old boy
have to do with steel!
But presently Hamida’s face became somewhat serious
and she asked, “What will you do with a dagger?
Habib answered excitedly, “That Ramu who stays in
the house across the street is a scoundrel. You see, he called Jinnah Sahib
names. Today I shall kill him.”
Before Hamida could answer, Ramu came running into
the room and, standing at a distance from where Habib stood, said: “Aunt, it
was Habib who first called Gandhiji names; so I also in anger called Jinnah
Sahib names. If you do not trust me, you can inquire from the other boys.”
Hamida, placing one hand on Ramu’s shoulder and the
other on Habib’s, said, “It is you two who have been playing and fighting. What
have Gandhiji and Jinnah Sahib done that you should call them names?”
Habib burst out, “It is Ramu who started it. You
can ask him.”
“Now, Habib,” butted in Ramu, “do not tell a lie to
my aunt. Was it not you who said ‘Gandhiji is……’
Habib lowered his eyes and said, “Is that calling
names? I simply blurted out what I had heard.”
Hamida thereupon sternly said, “Never should one
utter such words about a great or an elderly person.”
Then addressing me, she remarked, “You see how
communalism has poisoned even the innocent! God knows what is in store for our
country.”
Shibli Sahib’s face and mine fell, and we looked
first at each other and then out of the window.
By the time we had finished our dinner it was 9
p.m. In Calcutta, since the recent happenings, Hindus and Muslims had grown so
suspicious of one in another and so fear-stricken that they were mortally
afraid of setting foot in each other’s locality. Instead of faith and fellow-feeling,
they had now callousness in their hearts. They dreaded walking alone in the
dark.
There was no chance of getting any conveyance.
Therefore, Shibli Sahib asked his chauffeur to drive me back home. And, taking
leave of him and Hamida Sahiba, I departed.
The chauffeur, starting the car, asked, “Where
shall I take you, Sir?”
“A little farther than College Square.”
“Towards the north from College Square?”
“Yes, thereabout.”
After a slight pause he asked again, “Not very far,
I hope?”
“No. But are you afraid of going in that
direction?”
“Not quite. For, under my seat there are two
daggers. And so, if any one dares to attack us, he will meet with his death.
One has to keep these weapons, Sir, because there is no better means of
self-defence. But brickbats, how to protect oneself against these?”
“But does all that still continue?”
“Sir, you do not know, it is sheer folly to trust
these Hindus.”
The chauffeur had joined Shibli Sahib’s service
only a few days back. As I was dressed in European clothes he thought me, too,
to be a Muslim. That was why he had spoken to me in that strain. But being keen
on fathoming his mind, I asked, “Well, I also had a bitter experience of them,
but may I ask if you think that all the Hindus are alike?”
“All, all, God save us from them!”
I laughed in my own heart. Then after some time I
resumed, “In our street there are so many Muslims, but they, too, have not done
a whit less.”
“And why should they not have?” asked the chauffeur
piquantly. “They are not cowards.”
“But is it manliness to kill your neighbour, molest
his sister and daughter, and plunder his property? Will God ever forgive such
persons?”
He was silent for a while. Then, nonchalantly he
said, “Why bring in such far-fetched matters like God and religion?”
“What does one gain from all this?”
“Whoever thinks of all that?”
“But they should. The only gainers are the traitors
to the country and those who, to grind their own axes, stand in the way of her
freedom.
He was somewhat stunned. In a low voice he said:
“But, Sir, who ever considers the consequences?”
“It is true we are not responsible for what others
do,” I said, a little benumbed. “But if we have even a modicum of honesty still
left in us, we should keep our own heart and mind clean and save our ignorant
brethren from being misled in the name of religion. That should be our first
and foremost duty.”
“You are quite right, Sir.”
“But merely talking like this will be of no avail.
We should also shape our behaviour accordingly. Unawares, how many of us, I do
not know, are being daily injected with the virus of communalism and thus being
turned into enemies of our society and country! Only if we acted intelligently
and honestly, we could do so much good to both Hindus and Muslims.”
“Undoubtedly,” said the chauffeur simply.
The car was rushing in the northern direction from
College Square. Placing my hand on the chauffeur’s shoulder I asked him to pull
up. “My house is quite near from here. I shall walk down. Perhaps, you may find
it difficult to return if you went any farther.”
The chauffeur thrust one of his hands athwart where
I was sitting behind, and opened the door. I got down, but as I was closing the
door. I said to him, “May I say something? I hope you will not mind it?”
“Certainly, Sir, without any hesitation.”
“I enjoyed talking to you on the way. But I would
like to tell you one thing,–that I am
not a Muslim but a Hindu. All the same, I am as near to Shibli Sahib and his
Begum Sahiba as is the soul to the body. We have never allowed our religion to
come in the way of our cordial relationship with one another. Lately, I saved a
number of Muslim men and women, even as he saved a number of Hindu men and
women. Therefore, do not ever think that all the Hindus or all the Muslims are
alike. There are good people and bad people in every community. We are all of
this land and all of us have to live here. Then why should we not live together
in amity, instead of fighting with one another like dogs and devils? Our mutual
good lies in living in love. But it is getting late for you. Salaam Alekum.”
“Alekum-a-salaam”, saying this the chauffeur
turned back the car and I went homeward.