“And you murder.” Those words from Musthafa came out with such a sudden force that the man sitting on the sofa was startled. “First of all, if you want to become a part of any religion, you should be a human being. Those who kill their fellow human beings are just animals, not humans.”
A mocking expression on the man’s face reappeared. “You are still very naive and ignorant, my boy. Islam says you can kill to restore the honour of your people and religion.”
Hearing those words, Musthafa’s face became red with anger. “You follow distorted versions of the preachings and you are trying to preach the same nonsense to the whole world. If your words are true and my religion permits such a thing, then I prefer to remain ignorant, for I would hate such a religion. And as for the revenge you are talking about, I would rather take it with love and affection, thereby attaining the spiritual summit. Not by killing my fellow human beings. When you were exploding those bombs in the city, it was not only my parents and relatives who had worried about my safety but also my friends, most of them Hindus. They hadn’t thought, before calling me, of whether I am a Hindu or Muslim. Because they knew bombs – whether made by Muslims, Hindus or Christians – kill all living things on earth, notwithstanding one’s religion, region or country. Bombs don’t discriminate against Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims or Indians or Americans or Pakistanis. Every body is the same for them. They kill whoever comes in their way. So, my friends worried about me, for they are human beings above all. Then only they are Hindus, Sikhs or Muslims. But you?” Musthafa paused to let the man answer his question.
The man said stubbornly, “I am a Jihadi.”
“You are neither a Muslim nor a Hindu, neither a theist nor an atheist, neither spiritual nor intellectual. You are just a fanatic born out of the preachings of other fanatics. You have no spirit, no strength of mind. That’s why you kill others.”
“Stop,” shouted the man. “I haven’t come here to listen to your lecture. I will complete my task and go.” Suddenly a gun materialised in his hand. He raised and pointed it towards his target.
Even at this moment, there was no fear in Musthafa. “If Allah is there, He knows that you are killing Islam in people’s heart with every bomb you blow up on the street. He knows how to protect His religion and His people from Satan.”
The gun in the man’s hand exploded and a deadly bullet began traversing at the speed of light towards Musthafa’s heart, which was soon to be blasted into pieces. But it didn’t; his heart was intact. The bullet surprisingly vanished in the middle of its path; the young man too was not there, only smoke. It seemed maybe somebody had transformed him into grey smoke.
When Musthafa woke up in the morning, the Sun God was already up, warming his bedroom with His warm rays through the open window. Musthafa remembered his nightmare and his thoughts of the previous night. Slowly realisation dawned on him and he was no more ashamed of his religion, for he came to know a great fact: killers are just killers everywhere. They are neither Muslims nor Hindus, neither theists nor atheists, neither spiritual nor intellectual. They are just killers. They deserve the punishment that a murderer deserves. Nobody, Hindu, Muslim or Sikh, should be ashamed of their religion in front of these killers. A religion resides in people’s heart, not in guns.
The Scene Behind a Veil
Thank God! Tomorrow was Sunday. She had just made a lot of plans for tomorrow: a visit to an old friend of hers in the morning along with Nausheen, then a movie with all her friends in the afternoon and at last a little time in the local park. Oh, what a jolly day lay ahead!
Bouncing and dancing, Zareen came home from college. But, as she stepped into the house, all her happiness melted away quickly when her father said, "Zareen, I want to talk to you".
What's the matter, she wondered. Her father could talk to any family member at any time without asking for their approval, but he asked like this only when he wanted to discuss some serious stuff. "Yes father," Zareen said obediently.
The old man was sitting in a sofa and asked his daughter to sit beside him. When she obeyed him, he said, "Beta, listen to me carefully; this is very important."
Zareen nodded her head, trying hard to guess what he was going to talk about.
"I have told you about this many times but you didn't listen to me. I thought you were a kid, so I haven't forced you. But today I realized you are no more a small girl."
Zareen had put on a puzzled face, unable to grasp why her father was so sentimental at this moment.
He continued, "I can't see you suffer in this evil world, beta. I am always worried about your safety. From tomorrow onwards you had better wear a burqa before going out. Quite a grown-up you are now."
Zareen hadn't expected this topic. She had thought he was going to scold her for some mischievous and careless thing she might have done. But this was really something she despised having to discuss. "But father, I don't want to wear any burqa. Moreover, how can I go to college wearing a veil?"
"Why? Is your friend Nausheen not going to college wearing a burqa?"
"I don't know about her. But I don't feel comfortable wearing it."
"You will get used to it soon, Zareen. Even you will begin to like it as people respect you more."
Zareen didn't know how to convince her father that she wouldn't like to wear any kind of veil. She wanted to be free, without any restrictions and boundaries on her life.
She said hesitatingly, "Father, what you are thinking of as respect isn’t a real respect. I don’t want people to run away from me. Why are you trying to snatch my freedom away from me? You know if I wear a burqa I can't feel comfortable going out with my friends".
In response to this, her father got furious and said angrily, "Freedom? You think you are more intelligent and experienced than your father after getting a little education. I know how much freedom a girl should have. And I have already given you more freedom than a girl should have." Her father's harsh words pierced Zareen's ears.
Her father continued. "A woman should always be protected, as she is the most delicate thing God has ever created. I saw in the morning how those boys were looking at you and what kind of comments they were making."
Oh! This was the reason why he was talking like this today, Zareen thought. She remembered how Latif and his gang had made rude comments at her and her friends while they were going to college in the morning. Her father must have been somewhere on the road at that time. But, when he saw somebody was harassing his daughter, why didn't he come forward and teach a lesson to those bastards?
"Father," Zareen said with hesitation. "It's not my fault. Those boys are troubling us every day. If you had seen this you should have warned them".
"Oh..! Now you begin to tell your father what he should do,” he said mockingly. “Don't forget that I have seen all these things for more than fifty years on this earth. I don't want to tarnish the reputation of our family. If I scream at those guys in the street, it's my daughter who would lose dignity, not those boys. And in turn, you know, all the family members would be treated meanly in society. A girl should always be behind a purdah. Only then she is respected."
He then abruptly turned to his wife, who was listening to the conversation all the time without uttering a single word. "Why don't you try to bring around your daughter? Whether she likes it or not, she must wear a burqa. Tell her this is my order." Screaming those last words for emphasis, he dashed out of the house.
Zareen looked at her mother with hope. "Mother, what is this? Why are you sitting idle there without saying something? Please tell Father I can't wear a burqa. I look awkward in that."
The woman looked at her daughter sympathetically. "What your father is saying is right, beta. Moreover, he is angry now. He thinks you have given those boys an opportunity to think evil of you by not wearing a burqa. He loves you a lot and thinks a lot about your safety."
"If he really loves me, ask him not to put any restrictions on me."
&
nbsp; "Zareen, don't you feel ashamed to talk like this about your father. Have some shame. You don't know how evil this world is. If a woman goes out alone without a burqa, all men eat her up with their eyes; and please don't make me tell you what kind of blatant suggestions they pass. At least for our family's sake, listen to your father."
"Who told you the world is evil? You have never been out without a burqa. You believe what your father and your husband and all your brothers have taught you."
"Shut up, Zareen! I have never thought you would be so stubborn and stupid. You are talking as if you were my mother."
At that time, Zareen's elder brother, who was in the next room listening to the conversation, came into the living room. Encouraged by his father's absence, he said, "Zareen, you had better follow what father has told you. You don't realize how much risk you are taking by going out without wearing a burqa. Just think how much I suffer if somebody makes a rude comment to you; and if something happens, who else but I have to come to your risk. Do you want to put me in that kind of ugly situation?"
Zareen became furious at his intrusion into this matter. "Hey bro! It's you who made rude comments at my friend, Nausheen. When she reported your misbehaviour to her family, you know what they told her? ‘Wear a burqa.’ Now you talking about your sister putting you into risk?" She uttered her last words with as much venom as she could get out of her throat.
Her brother was dumbstruck with this unexpected assault on him.
"Instead of asking Nausheen and me to wear a burqa, why don't you guys wear a veil?" Zareen screamed.
"Zareen, is this the way to talk to your elder brother?" her mother asked.
"Mother, just see what rubbish she is talking! She has no respect for elders," the guy yelled. "If we leave her freely like this, she will one day bring shame on our family. Do something to control this tigress."
"Hey! It's not me but you who are spoiling our family's name. Apart from roaming the city and harassing the girls, do you have any other work?"
"Zareen and Munna! You both stop fighting,” said their mother.
“Munna, go out. It doesn't concern you; it's our problem."
Muttering something inaudible, the boy left the room.
"Mother!" Zareen walked to her mother and sat beside her. "Please mother, you must help me. Tell papa I can't wear a veil."
"I don't understand why you are opposing it. You know wearing the burqa is more comfortable, beta. People won't stare at you. They will respect you."
"What do you think of me, mother? Am I a doll? So that you can preserve me behind a veil and when a proper person in the form of a husband comes, you can sell me."
"That's enough, Zareen. I can't take any more of you.” Her mother's face became stern and harsh. “This is my final word, listen to me. From now onwards I am not going to let you out without a burqa."
***
Zareen no more went out without a burqa; it had become a part of her life. When she walked on the road, it was true nobody dared to look at her or make a comment at her. She should have felt safe now but she wasn’t feeling that way. She felt as if she was hiding from the world. If the world was evil she wanted to face it, not run away from it. She didn’t even have to display her emotions, for nobody could see the expressions on the face of a veiled woman.
Whenever she was sitting in a bus or in a reception hall surrounded by women, she felt alienated from the whole world. She thought she was no more a human being, just a beautiful slave whose duty was to follow orders from the master.
One day, Zareen asked herself why she was so conscious of her veil. She thought deeply and decided to put a stop to her agony.
Soon she forgot that she was wearing a veil.
Her Smile
Her smile! How beautiful it was! Sometimes I wondered whether I loved only her smile rather than her as a person.
In keeping with our annual ritual, we all friends decided to go for a picnic to Alibagh, our favourite spot. I had already made a grand plan for this trip. I was going to open my heart to her and express my love to her.
The preceding night, I practiced my dialogue for almost two hours in front of the mirror for the major occasion ahead. I chose my words carefully, checked my body posture while uttering those words and put a pleasant expression on my face. But I was still not convinced I was doing it in the right manner. For the first time realization dawned on me that it is easy to love somebody, but hard to express it.
The next day, we reached Alibagh at ten in the morning. That whole morning and afternoon, we engaged ourselves with lots of play and picnic games. She was chatting merrily all the time. How queer she was! She liked loneliness, but she talked non-stop while in someone’s company. I was sure God made her for me only; I didn’t talk much and she talked a lot. I just loved to hear her.
In the late afternoon, all of us left our cottage for the beach. I knew I had to make my move soon. My attention was on her all the time, and how could I ignore the smiles she gave me repeatedly. My heart said again and again that I definitely had a special place in her heart.
Suddenly, she left all of us and walked away. I knew she wanted to spend some time in solitude at the beach. After a few minutes I traced her footsteps and there she was, sitting alone in the sand, looking at the vast waters before her. Wind was blowing into her serene face. How peaceful and beautiful she was looking!
Mustering all my courage, I went to her and sat beside her. She didn’t look at me, neither did I look at her. I didn’t say a word, neither did she! I kept staring in the direction she was looking. We remained that way for some time.
Strangely, I began to feel as if we were talking in silence. We were conversing about the beauty of the sea before us. We were conversing about the softness of the sand we were sitting on. And we were talking about our love.
I didn’t know how time had elapsed till she said, “Let’s go back. It’s time to return”.
I came out of the trance, suddenly. Oh my God! I had wasted all the time. I had forgotten my mission. “I want to…”
“Shhh…” She put her right index finger on her lips, gesturing for me not to talk. Then she stood up and began to walk towards our friends. I remained there, looking in her direction and unable to decide what to do.
After a few steps she stopped, turned back and smiled at me. Only for a second. Then she resumed her walk. Some magic had happened. My heart leapt with joy and said to me, “You idiot! You have got the answer. Don’t you see?”
I saw it. Finally, she had answered me with her smile. Her lovely smile.
A Slice of Life
You couldn't say when it would rain in Mumbai. One moment it would be sunny, the next moment it would be raining. That is the mystifying way of the Mumbai rains.
As he was waiting under a tree, all at once the sky became cloudy. “God! She better come now,” he said to himself. “Otherwise I would be trapped in the rain.” He prayed it wouldn’t rain. But his prayers were not heard. And it began to rain. First slowly, then fast.
That place had nothing but trees to offer him as shelter. He knew the rain would drench him soon, but he remained under that banyan tree, helpless and powerless to stop the rain. His heart urged him to wait there and told him she would come to meet him at any cost, even in this heavy rain. Hopefully, his eyes kept staring at the direction where she would come from.
Then, there she was, walking swiftly towards him, holding a colourful umbrella against the rain. “This girl is always late,” he muttered, and his face lit up on seeing her.
“I am sorry I am late,” the girl said, as she approached him. He said nothing, feigning anger at her being late. But, artfully, she did not acknowledge his displeasure. “Oh, see, you are completely wet,” she shouted and made room for him under her small umbrella. “How many times have I told you to carry an umbrella. This is the rainy season, not summer.”
“God is punishing me for wasting my time here waiting for y
ou,” he replied.
“Oh dear, I told you I am sorry. Come on, hold this umbrella,” she ordered. Without saying anything, he obliged her. “Bend your head a little.” Saying that, she threw her dupatta over his head and began to rub his hair.
This was unexpected to him. All his anger gone, he just let her go on. At that moment he felt as if he was a small boy in her hands and she was delicately taking care of him. What a beautiful experience it was! Her soft hands rubbing his head vigorously!
She finished. Putting her hands through his hair to check the dryness of his hair, she said, “I won’t come late next time. I promise.”
He looked into her beautiful eyes and said, “No dear, I wish it always rains; I wish you always come late; and I wish you always rub my hair and make it dry with your dupatta.”
They both laughed.
This time his voice was heard; the rain got heavier and heavier.
Not a Love Story
Just imagine you are going from Bangalore to Mumbai by bus. The bus stops before it leaves Bangalore and you are informed you can start your journey only after two hours. How wretched the situation would be! This is what happened to me on that day. Just fifteen minutes after our Volvo bus had left the starting point in Bangalore city, it halted at another pick-up point. Usually it would have resumed its journey within five minutes. But, to our dismay, we passengers were informed that the bus did not have a national permit, so all of us had to wait for two hours till another bus came and picked us up.