Zindaginama

by Krishna Sobti

  First, Zafar would coach a witness to say that Shahdad had mentioned his heir in his last statement. Then, Shadi Khan would insert some fresh complications and thus simplify things for Bostaan. ‘Why would he need to murder him? Last year Shahdad had named Bostaan his surrogate son in an affidavit!’ People would say, ‘You must either have the original or its copy with you!’ Smoking his hukkah, Shadi Khan would sometimes murmur ‘hmmm’; sometimes agree vehemently saying ‘doubtless, of course’ with conviction.

  In the meantime, Mariam bi got Halima a taveez from Syed Sarmast, the faith healer.

  Zafar’s ma would console the bereaved widows like an older sister, ‘Be brave! Don’t worry. My own son is locked in jail. Bostaan’s father, Shadi Khan bribed the police thanedar with a fistful of rupees, that’s why they arrested my puttar! Is there no justice? The judge himself will decide; dispense justice. My son, who brought his uncle’s body home on a cot is called a murderer and the one who ran barefoot from the scene of the crime is declared an innocent!’

  Mariam fed Halima raw eggs mixed in milk. ‘Drink ri, gulp it down. Within you breathes our man of the house.’

  The police made a list of the names of all those whose shoes Zafar had picked up: Shah Vali, Syed Ali, Sher Jaman and Khalib. There was one more interesting fact: only one of Bostaan’s shoes was in Imam Sahib’s possession and the other had vanished!

  Thanedar Yaar Khan sniffed around three pillars of the edifice and put his hand on the fourth. When Afzal, who stood in the second row on the left, named Bostaan’s friend Sadiq, all three corners came crumbling down.

  As soon as the murderer was identified, money blocked the flow of the case and sent it in another direction.

  When Imam Sahib heard, he got butterflies in his stomach. Without being summoned, he went to the thanedar and said, ‘Janaab, I was present at the scene of the crime. Shahdad Khan’s last words were, “My heir is Zafar, not Bostaan.”’

  The thanedar laughed a cold and cruel laugh. ‘Imam Sahib, you know the significance of a last statement in a murder case, no?’

  ‘Ji, not really, but I do know this much that the heir-to-be also cannot claim to be outside this conspiracy.’

  Thanedar Yaar Khan lifted his head like a king cobra. ‘There’s very little difference between the cards of Zafar and Bostaan, Imam Sahib, and you don’t hold the required card. Now you go and rest and give Azan – lead the village in prayer at proper times. Restrict yourself to the village. You can be called upon at any time.’

  Upset, Imam Sahib went to Shadi Khan’s baithak and described the whole encounter. Shadi Khan took long pulls off the hukkah. Instead of discussing anything further, he just said, ‘By God’s grace, everything is all right. Let them do what they would.’

  Shadi Khan got up in the forenoon. Led his horse out of the stable and reached Shahji’s along with Damodarshah of Gauroli before noon.

  Shahji carefully considered the ins and outs of the case and agreed to help. He handed over one thousand in cash, duly counted – the rules of lending and borrowing were clear, even for the near and dear.

  Chhote Shah got the mortgage papers signed. ‘Shadi Khan’s land of Jamke Nakke mortgaged to the Shahs at the rate of two annas interest on a rupee!’

  The jingle of money reached the police station and the police turned off Bostaan and on to Zafar.

  When the thanedar’s mare stopped in front of Mariam bi’s door, she didn’t bat an eyelid. She looked into the eyes of Thanedar Yaar Khan and without getting up, said peaceably, ‘Thanedara, you may dive into this murder case a hundred times, but the murderer is only one. This one or that one, doesn’t matter to us. Our shahenshah was destined to go, so he went and left us alone. Rabb Rasool forever, his own flesh and blood will play in this very courtyard. To us, he is and always will be alive.’

  The thanedar dismissed her brave words. ‘Mariam bi, who knows whose drop it is? And whether it is there at all! Neither your father-in-law nor your husband are around to oversee the games you’re up to.’

  ‘Thanedar, the heat of your status rules your head. Wait and watch, the rightful heir will speak for himself for the lands for which he was murdered. Himself will live and make his enemies’ lives miserable.’

  The thanedar started enjoying himself. Looking intently at Mariam and then at Halima, he smiled slyly. ‘Have you got Rabb also in cahoots, that only a son shall be born?’

  ‘Why not, Thanedara? At whose prayer our Sardar’s neck was chopped, why won’t that Allah Pak show mercy on his family?’

  The thanedar offered a hand in friendship to the widow. ‘Mariam bi, the case is complicated. Try to remember if, during the last year, Shahdad Khan made a will to name his heir.’

  ‘Never, Thanedara, why would our husband do so? Khairon se, his bone could raise a whole army! It was we both, good for nothing, who stuck on. When the whispering started among relatives and their mouths started watering for our lands, then I brought my niece in marriage. May God look kindly upon her, Halima is with child!’

  A crowd had gathered. Mariam bi brought a bowl of buttermilk and handing it to thanedar, said, ‘Our relatives have earned our enmity because of their greed for land. Thanedara, we’ve heard that the good-for-nothing police didn’t record our husband’s last statement. Thanedara, dip your hand in the buttermilk of crime ten times and extract lumps of butter every time, we don’t mind. But, as thanedar, putting a noose around the murderer’s neck, that’s your responsibility.’

  ‘You have my assurance, Mariam bi, we won’t rest till we catch the murderer.’

  ‘Your fullest efforts, Haddedara, you have strong bones. But know this, if your police force cooks up some other story, then the Punjab Police will most certainly writhe in the fires of hell.’

  The fragrance of tobacco and the soft, leisurely gurgle of hukkahs being pulled. Every pull adding fragrance on the inside, and smoke outside. Ya Ilahi, your benedictions! What marvellous things you have created for the sons of Adam!

  ‘Without doubt, Mauladadji, Khudavandi Karim bestowed various things on various lands: on some tobacco, on another munji; some places have sugarcane, and some have cotton and Ji, Rabb do good unto you, some have milk and some booze.’

  Chacha Karm Ilahi took the hukkah from his mouth and threw a wrathful glance at Deen Muhammad. ‘Chop my head off if you can tell me which holy book says that booze was created by Allah?’

  Shahji smiled at him. ‘What world do you inhabit, Karm Ilahiji? Our Deen Muhammad has been to Lahore, with God’s grace. Now he doesn’t need to be anybody’s pupil. The farishtas of Lahore have gone and written all their knowledge into the book of his heart!’

  Deen Mohammad’s moustache bristled with innocent swagger. ‘This, Shahji, is your sense of fun, but really, mere words are not enough. Lahore is the pride of all cities! Sheer heaven hai ji, sheer heaven!’

  ‘Deen Mohammad, then it’s proven that you’ve been to heaven. You must have seen hoors as well, the heavenly nymphs? Did one, however flawed, fall in your lap too?’

  ‘Only Rabb’s name forever! Badshaho, what would flawed beauties do in Lahore? These hoors, they are not the old bent women of our village, where one has a white nest of hair, another squinting eyes, one is hit by rheum, another by paralysis …’

  Maiyya Singh doubled over with laughter. ‘Leave the talk of our bebes, old ladies. You should talk about the youthful hoors of Lahore! Kyon, Deen Mohammad, can you see fairies on the roads too?’

  Deen Mohammad grew fulsome. ‘Absolutely, badshaho! Look this way, you see one in pink; that way, violet! Here comes yellow and there, blue! Swinging colourful paranda braids in their hair. Such bedazzling sights in Anarkali bazaar that, what to say of Jatts like us, even the best of men would fall in a faint. Unveiled faces, unveiled heads. Slim and elegant, they lead, followed by their worshipful bodyguards!’

  Choudhary Fateh Aliji joined in the laughter, enjoying the mood. Then he asked wisely, ‘Deen Mohammad, tell us, what are these Lahore women like?
How do they look? How do they talk?’

  ‘Don’t ask! Cheeks pomegranate pink and skin most fair …’

  Hamid completed the sentence, ‘Skin most fair and taste sweeter than sugar!’

  The elderly spluttered and the young broke out into raucous laughter.

  A respected white head pretended to scold them, ‘Oye, Hamidaya, such shamelessness in front of your uncles, your chacha-tayas!’

  ‘Forgiveness for this wrong, Chacha Sahib! My tongue tripped all unknowing.’

  Kriparam turned to Hajiji. ‘You also tell us something, Hajiji! You, fortune’s favoured, have been to Basra! What all you must’ve seen there … hoors, fairies …?’

  ‘I saw them. When they come before one’s eyes, a man can’t look away.’

  Bakhtawar stood up deliberately, loosened his tehmad, sighed and tightened it again, before sitting down luxuriously. ‘Hajiji, did you touch to find out or were you content just to watch?’

  Miyan Khan cautioned, ‘Son, are these your manners, talking to Hajiji like this?’

  Bakhtawar pinched his ears and begged forgiveness.

  ‘Are all hoors of Basra as fair as milk or are there black women too?’

  Hajiji continued oblivious, ‘Only Rabb knows, you can only watch the burkas moving around.’

  ‘You must have seen something at least?’

  ‘Just this, that all of them were slender, and nicely young! I didn’t see any thull kumari in the streets and markets.’

  ‘What is this thing called Thull Kumari?’

  ‘A woman who is as fat as a buffalo!’

  Long pulls on the hukkah and dry coughs skittered upon the cots.

  Guruditt Singh got bored. He stretched and said, ‘O, drop this talk of thull kumaris! Talk of the lovely and the easy.’

  Murad Ali had been going every year to Kabul with the Parachhas of Naushehra to buy dry fruit. Finding an opening, he hijacked the talk. ‘Badshaho, what to say about Kabul! There, one can’t tell who is the mistress and who the maid. All are clad alike.’

  These details of Kabul had been heard many times. Even then, Choudhary Fateh Aliji thought fit to encourage his friend. ‘That doesn’t seem very credible. After all, there must be some distinction between a begum and khanam?’

  ‘I swear by Allah Pak, everyone dresses in fine garments. No one appears to be a mistress, nor anyone a servant.’

  Nattha Singh had nodded off. He woke with a start and began to ramble about what he knew. ‘I’ve heard that our Punjab has a good presence in Kabul. After all, it’s not a small city, it’s a trade centre: silk carpets, dry fruit – the whole of India is supplied from there only. Our Parachhas, Khojas and Khalsas have big shops there.’

  Kriparam said, ‘It’s said that Kabul was once ruled by Hindu kings. Anangpal and Jaipal were two famous ones.’

  Maulvi Ilmdin’s ilm, his knowledge, came to the fore. ‘History tells us that first Kabul was under the Takkas, then under the Varaichas, then the Gakkhars got dominance, then the Janjus got the upper hand. These upheavals were always there – Tatars, Mughals, Pathans …’

  Shahji added a nugget, gleaned from his elite education at the Siyalkot Madarsa. ‘Maulviji, the names are not two or ten, they’re in dozens. History is full of them. Kabul and Kandahar are our deorhi, our nation’s doorstep. First the river Sindh-ki-Baab, then our desh Punjab. Royal armies advanced towards Hindostan from here, aggressors came down from Kabul one after another …’

  ‘Yes, Shah Sahib, innumerable races came, established their kingdom, their crown on this country!’

  Shahji, with great presence of mind, turned the face of history to another side. ‘Actually, the fact is that thousands of aggressors came and left this land, but ultimately Lahore is with the people of Lahore and Kabul with the people of Kabul! What this means is that emperors and sultans change, kingdoms change, dispensations change, but what doesn’t change is the people of these nations. Right, Chaudharyji?’

  ‘Waah-waah! Shahji, that is so wise,’ Mauladadji applauded.

  Fateh Aliji was not to be left behind. ‘Absolutely ji. People are bigger than nations, even bigger than shahenshah’s Kohinoor crown! Think of it, if the shahenshah sits in court wearing his crown and there are no people to rule, it becomes a mirasi’s swaang, just a farce.’

  Ganda Singh said, ‘Shahji, what it boils down to is this: if a Jatt doesn’t have lands, then what does he have to be proud of? A Jatt is a Jatt only if he has land to till.’

  Mauladadji said piously, ‘Two professions are supreme in this world. One, the crop growing and farming of Jatts and, second, the government which rules and dispenses justice.’

  ‘This is hundred per cent correct. The government may be strong or lightweight, if it keeps collecting revenue from the farmers, the nation will run itself!’

  Taya Tufail Singh groped for his turban, and opened his eyes, ‘O, I nod off for a moment and you get together writing us shopkeepers off! According to you, either there are farmers or the government. We shopkeepers and businessmen, don’t we count for anything? Okay, we are Aroras and Karars, what will become of these Khatri Shahs? They have never had to till soil.’

  Maiyya Singh started to laugh. ‘I say, Shahs also do farming but of another kind. In that farming, coins are seed and crops are wealth!’

  Karm Ilahiji took the hukkah pipe out of his mouth. ‘Khalsaji, Shahs help and protect everyone with money, then why this bad-mouthing?’

  Kakku Khan clearly had some old score to settle. He said, ‘Leave alone the Shahs, by this definition even the British are traders like the Aroras.’

  Shahji changed the topic. ‘Mauladadji, the cattle fair of Layalpur was a big crowd-puller. People came in droves from Thaal-baar and Chhajj, must have been somewhere around a lakh men.’

  ‘Ibrahima, how much was the Sohawa camel?’

  ‘Ji the cursed Baloach of Haider Malkhan drove a hard bargain. He was asking for two hundred, I made him drop thirty. Hundred and seventy, cash counted, and I settled the deal with a pot of ghee. Still he got twenty–twenty five above the rate.’

  ‘Don’t fret, Ibrahim, still it wasn’t a bad bargain!’ Karm Ilahi said. ‘Shahji, our Ferwan cow was a good purchase. Wife is very pleased, there’s milk for the little ones. Let them drink to their heart’s content. Yes, your Fabban horse was also a dashing beast, Shah Sahib, but why didn’t you go for Panjkalyan?’

  Mauladadji started laughing. ‘What? That Padam horse of Bengal Infantry, with a star on its forehead? Shahji didn’t even glance at him! Kyon ji, you went and did business with Colonel Kole’s old memsahib?’

  ‘Mauladadji, the other horses were also not bad, but this Rohaalchaali – sit astride him with a bowlful of water in one hand and go for a gallop, and not a drop will spill! There was another reason too. I went and stood in front of the horse, gave him a small pat. This gazi, the brave one, neither flinched nor neighed. That was it, he was mine!’

  ‘There was another horse, but it was Mushqui – only he whose Saturn is strong should touch a Mushqui. Otherwise the Mushqui will be on this side of the world and the rider on the other.’

  Najiba had talked with Muhammadin a few times. What he’d heard he made his own. ‘The colonel’s wife’s ranch is a colourful place. It’s said that her daughter is one flamboyant rider. The young deputy of Layalpur has lost his heart to this girl.’

  Shahji started laughing. ‘Najibeya, only time will tell whether their stars match or not!’

  Bakhtawar was about to say something, but just then Kalu passed wind loudly.

  Handa commented, ‘Kalu Badshah, looks like you have a shitting complaint.’

  Bakhtawar grinned. ‘Must’ve been lazy going to the fields. You’ve heard that jingle of Bhambhiri, haven’t you?

  ‘Yaaron, consider the bane of the shitters;

  Their three plights:

  January’s cold wet night,

  June’s blazing mid-noon light,

  July’s rains their blight,

&nb
sp; Yaaron, the shitters and their three plights!’

  The elderly took long pulls on their hukkahs and the young ones roared with laughter. Kriparam applauded, ‘Badshaho, why lie! The poet has strung the kavitt well. If on a January night one feels like shitting …’

  Bakhtawar sat on his haunches and chipped in, ‘If he does, he does! Recite the kavitt and visit the field. One doesn’t need to ride!’

  Taya Tufail Singh was stuck in some other thought. ‘What needs to be seen now is, whether the deputy defeats the mem or the mem defeats the deputy.’

  Hajiji was cheesed off. ‘As if he’s the deputy of our tehsil, and as if that colonel’s mem is our phoophi-aunt. Nor do we have any special kinship with Layalpur’s officials that we should worry about her marriage and dowry!’

  Tufail Singh got irritated. ‘Ilmdina, once in a while you should relax, be merry of heart! The elders have always said that cribbing and crabbiness is not good for health. Right, Hakeemji?’

  Aitbaar Singh, who recommended a dose of chirayta for every ailment, started groping for his turban. ‘Did you ask me something?’

  ‘Na ji, stay cool. No one in the village is ready to leave for the next world yet.’

  When Gama Pehlwan, the body builder, came looking for Najiba, he paid respects to everyone in his deep baritone. He had just won the dangal, the wrestling championships, against the Gujratis this time.

  Karm Ilahiji applauded him, ‘Puttarji, this time you crushed the strapping Gujratis! Our pind’s turban has become famous everywhere.’

  Shahji also showered praise. ‘The city folk were present in large numbers, but, Gama Ustaad, the moment you defeated the Lundpurwalas, I and Kadir of Jammi grew ten feet tall!’

  ‘Why not, Shahji, with God’s grace, it’s our village that gained in fame!’

  Just then Kashishah came down the back stairs to join the gathering. Shahji told his brother, ‘Kashirama, Gama Pehlwan represents our village in the wrestling championships now. Arrange for him to get a kuppa of ghee and a pound of almonds regularly. Let him build his body!’

  ‘Ji.’