‘I don’t think that is necessary,’ said Rasheed. ‘He is my friend, that is all. Like should be introduced to like.’
Maan ventured to come forward to stand with Rasheed, but Rasheed with a gesture kept him out of the main line of fire.
‘Do you propose to attend the dawn prayer at the mosque at Debaria tomorrow, Maulana Sahib? We understand that you are a late riser and it may involve some sacrifice,’ said the thick-set man to Rasheed.
‘I will attend what prayers I choose to,’ said Rasheed hotly.
‘So, Maulana Sahib, this is your style,’ said someone else.
‘Look –-’ said Rasheed, almost beside himself with anger, ‘if any of you want to talk about my style, come any time to my house and we’ll talk about it, and we’ll see whose style bests the other’s. As for whose life is more decent and whose religious beliefs are deeper – society knows and can say. Why society? Even children know about the disreputable lives of many of the punctually pious.’ He gestured towards the semicircle of bearded figures. ‘If there was any justice, even the courts would ensure –’
‘It is not for society or children or courts, but for Him to say,’ cried one old man, shaking his linger in Rasheed’s face.
‘Well, that’s a matter for opinion and argument,’ retorted Rasheed.
‘Iblis knew how to argue before his fall!’
‘So did the good angels,’ said Rasheed furiously. ‘So do others.’
‘Are you calling yourself an angel, Maulana Sahib?’ sneered the man.
‘Are you calling me Iblis?’ cried Rasheed.
He suddenly realized that matters had gone far enough, had in fact gone too far. These were his elders, however insulting, reactionary, hypocritical, jealous. He also thought of Maan and how bad a scene like this would look to him – how unfavourable an impression it would convey of his religion.
Once again a pulsing pressure had begun building inside his head. He moved forward – his path had in effect been blocked – and a couple of men moved aside.
‘It has become late,’ said Rasheed. ‘Excuse me. We must go. So, we’ll meet again – and then we’ll see.’ He moved through the broken arc, and Maan followed.
‘Perhaps you should say “Khuda haafiz”,’ said a final sarcastic voice.
‘Yes, khuda haafiz, God protect you too,’ said Rasheed angrily, walking on without turning back.
10.16
THOUGH Debaria and Sagal were separate villages about a mile apart geographically, they could have been a single village for the purposes of rumour. For whatever was said in one was repeated in the other. Whether it was someone from Sagal coming to Debaria to bring some grain to be parched, or someone from Debaria dropping by at the post office at Sagal or the schoolchildren going to study in the common madrasa, or someone visiting someone in the other village or happening to meet him in an adjoining field, the two villages were so indissolubly interlinked through networks of friendship and enmity, ancient ancestry and recent marriage, information and disinformation as to form one single intersecting web of gossip.
Sagal had almost no upper-caste Hindus. Debaria had a few brahmin families, and they too formed a part of this web, for their relations with the better Muslim families like Rasheed’s were good, and they would drop by sometimes at each other’s houses. They took pride in the fact that feuds within each of the two communities dominated any friction between the communities. This was not the case in some of the surrounding villages, especially where there were memories of violence against Muslims at the time of Partition.
The Football, as one of the brahmin landowners was popularly called, was in fact just on his way to pay a morning visit to Rasheed’s father.
Maan was sitting on a charpoy outside the house, playing with Meher. Moazzam was hanging around; he was delighted with Meher, and from time to time passed his hand wonderingly over her head. Mr Biscuit hovered around hungrily.
Rasheed and his father were sitting on another charpoy, talking. A report of Rasheed’s altercation with the elders of Sagal had reached his father.
‘So you don’t think namaaz is important?’ he observed.
‘It is, it is,’ replied Rasheed. ‘What can I say? I haven’t observed it strictly these last few days – I’ve had unavoidable responsibilities and duties. And you can’t roll out a prayer-mat on a bus. Part of it is my own laziness. But if someone had wanted to correct me and explain things to me with sympathy, he would have taken me aside – or spoken to you, Abba – not damaged my honour in a full and open gathering.’ He paused, then added with fervour: ‘And I believe one’s life is more important than any namaaz.’