‘The court has given a new date. It will be through in the next three or four hearings.’
‘Only fifty maunds of grain have come in from the Cheechionwali chhahi land. Ruldu is in difficulty.’
The older brother shook his head. ‘Add the difference to the interest. As it is, he agreed only to four kilos upon every rupee.’
‘There’s the Kanduwali missi land …’
‘Kashiram, Kadir Baksh and Fatta are both eyeing its ownership. Take out the old ledger books. These are matters pertaining to Chacha Sahib’s times.’
‘The Kilachpur case is slightly complicated. Sultan has filed a writ.’
‘How much land is it?’
Kashishah examined the Siyalkot document. ‘Around fifty to fifty-five ghumas.’
‘How much is the debt?’
Chhote Shah cast a deep look at his older brother. ‘Principal amount is one hundred, total has touched one thousand.’
Shahji ran a loving hand over his head. ‘Someone has truly said, “Shah’s rupee increases four-fold on another’s palm.”’
‘But how right is it, bhraji, to squeeze the poor Jatt farmer like this?’
Shahji looked his younger brother straight in the eye and said, ‘Throw out this misunderstanding from your heart, Kashiram. Such is the profession of money-lending. It is neither made nor run to test hearts.’
Silenced, Chhote Shah kept looking at the document before him for a while. Then he resumed work. ‘Manglu has cut two branches without permission.’
‘Inform the lambardar. He will deal with it.’
‘Khairu of Jammi is after ten or twenty rupees. Says he wants to buy cattle. Lays siege every morning.’
‘Has he lightened his previous burden?’
‘He gives back a little now and then.’
‘Kashiram, soft hearts can’t sustain money-lending. If he doesn’t repay by next harvest, we’ll have to keep his land as mortgage.’
‘Even the law softens when circumstances are strained!’
Shahji shook his handsome head. ‘According to the law, Hindus can’t buy kashtkari agricultural land to rent out for crops. Non-Muslims except Sikh, Labanas and Muhals can’t establish new ownership. According to the government’s writ, the ones who can grow crops on rented land are Arai, Awan, Baloch, Gujjar, Jatt, Kureshi, Labana, Muhal, Mugal, Pathan and Rajput Syed. We are not even mentioned in the list! The government intends that land should belong to those who till it. Tell me, without the power of money, where would Jatt farmers file a case and how would they run it?’
‘Bhraji, when the mortgaged lands are freed, they will automatically be relieved of these kashtkars!’
‘In such conditions, do we have an alternative?’
‘Bakhtawar of Thalli Vand, the lower quarter, borrowed a hundred last winter. This time he paid in ten maunds of grain. If you permit, we can cancel half his debt. It will lighten the burden of the poor man.’
Shahji nodded and laughed. ‘Bhagatji, if somebody’s life is being made through you, who am I to interfere? Your heart is generous as the river but who will compensate? Who will help these Jatt labourers in their time of need?’
‘We are mere mediums, the one who sustains and acts is the One above.’
‘Kashiram, human beings are governed not by one but two forces. One, authority of the Rabb above, and the second, of the government below!’
‘The One above only is supreme. If He is kind, each particle of sand is strong. If there’s too much oppression, then the largest of large empires turn to dust.’
‘Kashiram, you are a detached fakir, renouncing all attachments. I am pragmatic. Why should I try to change your merciful, magnanimous nature? Even if you overlook a hundred or fifty, His wealth will be no less. And the shastra-maryada, the scriptures governing the way of life, say that outflow only increases inflow.’
Kashishah grew contemplative. ‘Bhraji, you must chant the Sukkhmani Sahib at least once a day. In this world, lasting but a moment, the name you make is your only true earning. Not the maya-damra, the money and coins.’
But Shahji was on a different page. ‘When I remember our eldest Chachaji, my thoughts grow clear. He used to say, “Our ancestors came to this village with just seventy-one hundred rupees. Whatever they touched became gold!” Today the world says, “It’s not oil that lights people’s lamps, it is the Shahs’ piss.’’’
‘Plenty from His mercies!’ Kashishah retied the string of the ledger and reminded his brother, ‘Next Thursday you have to go to the Parachhas’ household. Their boy has to undergo a sunnat ceremony.’
The older Shah busied himself totting up and revising various sums owed by the Mujars. He closed his eyes with great satisfaction and crooned softly to himself:
‘A sparrow’s beakful does not diminish the river
Nor charity reduce the wealth of the giver,
So spake Kabir’
The younger Shah smiled to himself. Such involvement in money! Aasakti in daulat maya. He reminded his older brother, ‘The Parachha household owes us five rupees on paper!’
Out of nowhere the glow of largesse descended on the older Shah. ‘Kashiram, auspicious exchanges where they are due. Send one maund of basmati and one maund of ground sugar through Nawab to their house. They are celebrating the birth of a son after a long wait.’
Sitting in his haveli, Shahji’s younger brother, Chhote Shah took out medicines, roots, herbs and potions and set to distributing them among the people waiting.
‘Here, Piraditta, take this brahmdandi herb and boil it in water. Take it on an empty stomach for a week. It’ll take care of itching, eruptions and all kinds of boils.’
‘Thank you, Shahji, last year you gave me pitt-papada, but it was forgotten in all the family feuds.’
Kashishah laughed. ‘It was a treatment for blood purification. Not blood-letting!’
‘Shah Sahib, we narrowly escaped having a criminal case slapped on us,’ Piraditta said.
‘Thank God! Here, Bashir badshah, this is a leaf of the saunchal tree. It’ll relieve your cough.’
Next Fakire the ironsmith showed his foot. ‘Ji, looks like some poisonous insect has bitten me. My toes have gone blue.’
‘Fakireya, wash it with akk leaves and rub it with iron. Looks like a venomous sting. Go and show it to the doctor in Jalalpur. Nawab is taking the mare at daybreak. You can ride with him.’
Fakira was worried. ‘Maine kahaji, I hope the one-armed doctor won’t chop off my leg to resolve matters!’
‘Fakira, Doctor Taylor is not some foolish Jatt to chop off your foot and throw it on the rubbish heap! He’ll think first and then start treatment. Eat two akk leaves before you sleep. It will suck out the poison, if any.’
Ganda Singh walked in through the doorway of the haveli and belched loudly.
Fakira started started laughing. ‘Chacha Ganda Singh, you got up while still eating! Had you already decided that you’d belch only in Shahji’s haveli …?’
‘I had just finished my meal when Harphool came and told me that the cow has delivered a calf. Vaheguru’s grace, the calf is on its feet.’
‘Mubarakein ji, congratulations!’
‘Kashiram, I’ve got to give the calf some soap in jaggery water. I have the ripe jaggery in the store, but no soap. I’ve come for that.’
‘Take this. Don’t put more than a chhatank or two. It’s strong.’
Natha arrived, wrapped in a khes, just as Ganda Singh left. ‘Pairipauna ji.’
‘Natheya, are you all right? Weather’s already changed, why the heavy shawl?’
‘My joints are stiff with rheum. Give me some good medicine so that at least I can move about.’
‘Take garlic in cow’s ghee for seven days and massage your limbs with Sittha sonth. It’ll definitely help.’
As Natha got up to leave, Kashi Shah asked, ‘Last winter you had taken Bahufali. That problem is gone now, right?’
‘Yes, I am okay. But the disease is such that it t
akes away all vigour. Left my body of no use.’
‘Natheya, recite His name. Just one treatment for all ailments!’
Her face swathed in a thick dupatta, Wadhava Singh’s first wife, Nachhatra Kaur crossed the threshold of the haveli and stood before Chhote Shah.
‘Bharjaaee, at this hour! Is everything well?’ he asked.
The wretched Nachhatra Kaur threw the cloth from her face and beat her head and chest. ‘Give me poison, brother-in-law, I can’t bear to see my sauten, my husband’s other wife! I’ve tried to control myself a million times, but my heart is besieged with turmoil. My fault is this only na, that this luckless womb gave no child?’
Kashishah stayed lost in thought for long moments, then reasoned, ‘Bharjaaee, go to the temple and devote yourself to Him in seva. Chant His name. This world, this duniya-maya, its illusions, are all false.’
Nachhatra Kaur lifted her tormented eyes. ‘Devara, you are a saintly soul. Your word will not go in vain. Either give me a mantra so that my husband turns away from my sauten, or that my heart finds peace.’
‘Bharjaaee, rein in your tongue and cover your head!’
Nachhatra Kaur covered her head and spread her jholi before Kashishah. ‘Devara, if you want that I should return home and not drown myself in a well, then give me a mantra that my heart finds peace. Such jealousy of my sauten that I can’t think straight.’
Kashishah closed his eyes, bowed his head and prayed to Garibnawaz, ‘Please bless this soul in torment, Garibparwar! Let her find peace.’
Then he opened a trunk and took out a carefully folded paper tied with string. Untying it, he removed a single rose petal from it and put it on Nachhatra Kaur’s palm. ‘Bharjaaee, now you are under Zahira Pir’s protection! Now you have no grievance, no anxiety, no torment. Baggeya, go and escort bharjaaee to her home.’
Nachhatra Kaur folded her hands. ‘Devara, you are my guru-pir from this day. I had come in torment, like a fish out of water. Zahira petal of rose, my jealous soul is cleansed; I’m light as air. His diktat I accept.’
Kashishah folded his hands too. ‘Sahabe Kamaal, you lord of miracles, Parwardigar, this is Your doing. In Your name, peace, only peace.’
The sound of horse’s hooves was heard outside. The older Shah had just returned from a court hearing. Kashi Shah got up and went outside to receive him by touching his older brother’s feet. As they turned to go, he thumped the Arabian steed on its flank.
After both brothers went upstairs, Nawab loosened the saddle, caressed the horse and led him to the full manger. Muhammadin spread a thick sheet on Shahji’s diwan, placed a four-wicked diya in the nook and said to Nawab, ‘Yaara, our Shah is truly an evolved sant-fakir. Look how Wadhawa Singh’s wife had come in torment and how she returned in peace and contentment.’
‘Chhote Shah has the life force of pir-fakirs,’ Nawab agreed. ‘But tell me one thing, what do you understand of the relationship between husbands and wives? It’s the stuff of ghosts and evil spirits, na? It overpowers the mind and completely rules you.’
‘Did you notice Nachhatra Kaur’s glowing beauty? And still Wadhawa Singh brought another for a child!’
‘Leave it. We two are better off being bachelors. No woman, no confusion!’
Nawab was reminded of Fatima. ‘Whatever you say, Muhammadina, but it isn’t justice. Some men get four wives to enjoy, and people like us, a lonely life! Weeping silent tears in our stomachs!’
‘Men’s stomachs don’t cry, my simple badshah, it’s their guts. Rabb has created this play after much deliberation. If men were to get children in their share, every day their hearts would be torn asunder. The father himself would eat the child alive. It is only the mother who is blessed with a loving heart. Having suckled the child once, she nurtures the family her entire life.’
Nawab sighed. ‘You’ve started talking like the Shahs. Since when did you grow so wise?’
Muhammadin laughed. ‘A few things here and there pass through these ears too. Remembered, they come to the tongue.’
‘Yaara, the Shahs have it good. Give a taka, extract a hundred. If Rabb-Rasool had made us Shahs too, then we would’ve also seen some good times!’
‘How could that be? Paighambar Sahib has forbidden Muslims to live off interest. It’s against the Shariah.’
‘Stop thinking about it! We are bachelors, no home, no hearth, no wives, no vessels. Whatever we get at the Shahs, that’s fine! Do we have to save for our children’s weddings?’
‘Forget the words you mouth, doesn’t your heart ache to say something? Allah-Pak has handed over all blessings to the rich!’
‘Leave it, yaara, if our fate is eating rotis prepared by Shahni then tell me which Husaina or Fatima will come to cook for us?’
‘If you have such a deep wish, then do something. Borrow money from the Shahs and get your nikah read. You’ve heard the saying, haven’t you, “Money in hand, marriage before night!”’
‘No yaara, my fate won’t change now. Land untilled for four years is land that is fallow; and a man without child for eight years is a fallow man. Tell me, what will grow now in a dried tree like me? We have neither the spring happiness of material wealth, nor the joys of child and family. If Rabb were to completely erase the lines of our destiny and grant us lands, then it might be something else. Otherwise, it’s just bathe cattle, feed cattle, tether them, untie them, wake up, go to sleep and begin the routine all over again.’
The hottest news doing the rounds was that of Shahdad’s murder.
Such dramatic happenings shook the village that only the name of Rabb remained. Even the Kangra earthquake hadn’t caused such an upheaval. Oh, the injustice of the gods, people; Shahdad had just sat down in the masjid to offer his evening prayers, when he’d been murdered. He was kneeling in the first row with his nephew Zafar. There were ten or twelve namazis in the second row. A lamp was lit in the niche.
Imam Sahib led the prayers. They had just kneeled in sajda when the axe fell on Shahdad’s neck. He screamed, ‘Hai O, I am killed by my enemies …’ and collapsed.
‘Catch him … catch him … run …’ There was a stampede in the masjid.
Imam Sahib took the lamp in his hand and bent over Shahdad. A profusely bleeding Shahdad’s eyes mirrored his soul. ‘Take me to my home!’ he gasped with his last breath.
Zafar tried to staunch the blood with his shawl. ‘Name your enemy, Chacha. Whoever you name will be punished for this!’ But Shahdad’s eyes remained fixed on the lamp in Imam Sahib’s hand.
When someone put a few drops of water in his mouth, he briefly came to life, tried to recognize the faces bent over him and said in torment, ‘My heir is neither Zafar nor Bostaan.’ Even as he spoke, his hands and feet grew still and his head dropped back, lifeless.
Shahdad Khan’s body was lifted onto a cot, and four men carried it aloft out of the masjid.
Imam Sahib didn’t deem it fit to leave the scene of crime. ‘Inform the police station. My presence on the scene is essential. The police will check for prints. Will identify the culprit,’ he told Zafar.
Zafar looked at him pleadingly. ‘Imam Sahib, you are my witness. I was with my uncle in the front row and Bostaan was behind.’
‘Don’t waste time. Beta, in such cases, what the eye sees can’t be heard with the ears. What can be heard with the ear can’t be verified by the eyes. Take the name of Rabb and dispatch a man to the police station and another to Hakim Ganey Shah. If Shahdad has some life remaining, he will live at Hakim Saheb’s hands.’
‘I swear by Allah Pak, Imam Sahib, I was in the front row and Bostaan was behind – You are a witness to this!’
When Imam Sahib turned his back to him without answering, Zafar snatched a shawl from Afzal, gathered all the unclaimed shoes left behind, and then joined the others. By the time the news of the crime reached the police station, Shahdad had left this world.
As the shoes confiscated belonged to the men in the back row, Imam Sahib got ready to record a false stateme
nt! Bostaan was already in hiding, but his father Shadi Khan complained, ‘The stupid lout, he ran away but left his shoes behind as evidence. He can’t escape the net.’ Shadi Khan juggled money in his hand and used it to get Maulviji’s solemn promise in return: ‘Run the plough and water over the soil of Shahdad Khan’s last statement and name neither Zafar nor Bostaan. Rest, which way the camel sits, we’ll see.’
The police arrived in the forenoon and Shahdad Khan’s body was sent for post-mortem.
A heinous murder! The police sniffed around the masjid, then reached the village. Recorded first and last statements, with Imam Sahib present all the while.
Both wives of Shahdad sat wailing on their doorstep. ‘Arey, death won’t spare you either, you murderer! You killed our badshah sultan while his head was bowed in prayer! Arey, our foes and enemies, you will have nooses round your necks! Your decapitated heads will roll on the ground!’
Shahdad’s younger wife Halima set up a howl of her own, ‘O re my king, my groom, my enemies have laid my kingdom to waste. Had I a son to play in my lap, I would have taken heart on this blood-soaked day!’
The elder wife Mariam scolded her, ‘Chup ri, have courage. By his grace, that you are pregnant. Your son himself will behead our foes. He will not rest till he avenges his father’s death.’
Halima sobbed and hiccupped, ‘O my child, May Nabi Rasool help you. If you are your father’s son, you will kill the very seed of our enemies!’
At night Mariam asked her sauten, ‘Ari, when did you last have your periods? Isn’t it four months since?’
‘Yes, aunt, more than three.’
‘Listen with your ears wide open, ri Halima! The child of he who died is with us. I’ll gouge out the eyes of anyone who sets his sights on his lands!’ Then she lowered her voice and said, ‘Let the two relatives fight among themselves. Neither Zafar is the owner of this house and its lands, nor Bostaan!’
Village upon village discussed nothing but the murder. The accursed police could inquire all it wanted, investigate a million times, but solving the case of Shahdad’s murder would prove impossible.
Zindaginama Page 11
