“Hukum Singh, just get me the numbers of good kabadis in the city. I
want a spare tyre for my car. I want all the good kabadis (dealer
of spare parts and second-hand goods). After all, we obliged many”, inquired
the legendary Kommandant, once again after his good for nothing sons damaged an
ancient tyre that the Kommandant had extorted from Razzak Bhai kabadiwala in
the year 2002. “Sir, is it the same car which that poofy, little drunken gujju left
on the Ambaji Highway, in the inebriated state ?”, asked Hukum Singh with a
smile that comes from the confidence which one acquires after years of
experience in squeezing the capitalist paunches with deep purses.
Finally,
Hukum Singh managed to find Mushtaq bhai, Razzak’s son and manage a spare tyre.
“Beta, your father was very dear to me. For me, he was like a younger brother.
What else do you deal with? Hukum told me that he saw an old piano at your
shop. You must give it to someone who has an eye for such antique and priceless
legacy. I have been very fond of antiques. In fact, your father promised once
to manage a piano for me,” said the Kommandant with the most charming
finesse in setting the cordon for the hunt. Kommandant went inside and saw his wife
pouring milk in the Mushtaq bhai’s tea and, he pounced upon the
vessel saying “no, no you can’t do this !!! these days such large amounts of
milk are dangerous and it is out of fashion. The youth do not exercise”.
“His idiosyncratic ways and thrifty nature
are getting worse day by day. My goodness, police job in a state like Rajasthan
makes one addicted to freebies and turns them into parasites”, murmured the
Kommandant’s poor wife. Mushtaq bhai left smiling but could not quite
feel either the sweetness of the sugary over-boiled tea or the bitterness of
the Kommandant’s hidden sarkari “sponge”.
I was accompanying the legendary
Kommandant to his ultimate fief i.e. Marwar that day. Some old accounts were to
be settled, still, some of the Marwar’s ghee was left to be gobbled up his
majesty and for a writer, some pristine lands were yet to be explored. But
before that, some calculations pertaining to the classical economic concepts of
average cost, marginal cost, and the opportunity cost were ravaging the mind,
body, and soul of the Kommandant and as a consequence, I was made to wash the
car, change the stepne and buy a new tyre before we
departed. And, I could witness the smile of victory on the Komamndant’s face.
The journey was pleasant as it was
already seven in the evening and the sweltering heat had dropped its armor for
the day. I was back on the roads which I had measured intensely with Colin banna in
his queen of the roads Contessa for years before my higher studies in the US.
When I left India was still ruled by the Congress and despite its saga of
corruption, one did not feel scared of transporting cows, staging a human
rights demonstration, and still, the Kashmiris remembered Vajpayee’s kashmririyat and
Insaniyat as the terror of pellet guns were not in the picture. And, the word
secular was not an abuse.
After the meandering trails of Iswal, sadri, choti sadri, dadai and
Narlai finally we reached Ranakpur. At Mana resort, Thakur Chund Singh
of Larkana house was there to receive us. Kommandant’s first instinct was to
make a monetary estimate of his host’s generosity. Mana is high-end resort
built in western-styled architecture unlike the other resorts in the area built
in haweli style. Mana made him happy but immediately started
pondering upon other alternatives which at the top included getting the cash
equivalent to the value to stay and dinner in Mana. Kommandnat, had
still kept his economist soul intact after 30 years of police service.
Thakur Chund Singh was
another legendary character. Hailing from the glorious Larkana house, he was a
direct relative to the royal family of Jodhpur. His ancestors were
well known for cricket, wine and their mistresses in Bollywood of 1950s.
None of their heirs who went to Mayo and Oxford returned with proper degrees.
Almost everyone made and exemplary record of dropping out and dating at least
10 French and British ladies. 1960s and 1970s brought a decline in
the fortunes. The hukum culture was fast disappearing and they were
losing their lands in wine, women, and gambling. Two of their men committed
suicides when the Cambridge returned royal ladies were caught making passionate
love to painters and writers who visited the palace. With this legacy of love,
lust, and ego, Chund Singh was smart enough to realize the futility
of such archaic and royal attitudes. From his childhood, Chund Singh
was friends with the Marwari baniyas and hardly went for hunting. Chund Singh
was more often seen with Jain munis like Roop Muni ji than with the
swords, horses and drunken women.
Kommandant took a quick shower before
as we were to join Chund Singh Ji for dinner. We were halfway through
the lobby and Kommandant made a U-turn. I was puzzled and followed him to
discover that Kommandant was packing all the toiletries in his shaving bag. I
asked the reason for such a hurry. “We gotta leave early tomorrow morning and I
never leave the business half done……mine is always a final solution”, he
replied, once again with the familiar smile of victory on that huge dark face
with egg-sized eyes which often reminded me of Karl Gustav rocket launchers.
The evening was spent amidst the
wilderness of Ranakpur with Vat 69 and Fratelli. Cool breeze added flavor to
the churning of minds with love, liquor, and lines. Chund Singh
ordered his favorite teetar sulas and rabbit keema. He had deputed his
10 best hunters for two days in the scorching loo winds of Marwar to
find a delicate one. The delicate ones were delicately devoured by the
Kommandant. He, dressed in his characteristic white kurta-pyjama dripped with atar and
talcum powder, enjoyed every bit of the rabbit, fish, and teetar.
Chund Singh regaled us with the
stories which brought me far away from the world of Wall Street and think tanks
of DC. He had been to Pakistan a few months back to visit his relatives who
were Sodha Rajputs and still ruling the Principality of Amarkot, once the
birthplace of Akbar. He was given a warm reception in Pakistan by the Sodha
clan which was still living the memories of pre-independence India when Rajputs
reigned supreme in Rajasthan. Chund Singh was invited to hunting bouts,
lavish drinking parties where the royal ladies were still trying to relive the
colonial era. He also enjoyed the hospitality of air force officers in Karachi.
For a moment it seemed that India was never partitioned. Sodha Rajputs were
still living in the era when there were clan rivalries, court politics, and
feuds among the Rajputs over succession and possession over the thikannas.
However, things had changed a lot in India. Sodhas never faced the
sweeping land reforms which uprooted the royalties in India. Even Chund Singh
was more a merchant by mindset than a Rajput. He enjoyed curd rice more than
the mutton curry. Except for his upturned mustache, his every bit had turned a
wise merchant.
These days Chund Singh is
going through personal crises. His daughter married to a good-for-nothing son
of a retired Lt. General of Indian army. Lt. General Sahab got good
promotions owing to the seductive looks of his wife and her insatiable lust
which had made many generals happy. Both of them never realized that the son
did nothing except flirting with the young wives of majors and captains and by
the time Lt. General retired he had turned into a useless devil. He had thrown
his wife out and refused to give any compensation. For a proud Rajput like Chund Singh daughter’s
divorce is a nightmare as interiors of Rajasthan are still on the ventilator of
old traditions that had far outlived their utility.
In these matters, Kommandant is a nice
man as he goes out of the way to help his friends out of the problems, in
return expecting good green leafy vegetables, corn, and some refined ghee.
Kommandant has a very strong and earthy persona with years of experience in the
sands of Rajasthan and a network of contacts. He could manage to get a good
compensation for Chund Singh’s daughter which made the proud Rajput
feel indebted to the Kommandant. While going back Kommandant had already
started releasing lethal fumes which could send any sane man into comma within
split seconds. Then he brought that sadistic smile which comes after making
someone smell the evilest and unholy farts. Chund Singh Ji tried to
cover up with his royal dignity and used his oversized mustache to guard against
the onslaught of stinky and colonial farts.
Next morning, Kommandent and
I finished a beastly breakfast that was complimentary. After two days of stay
even I had acquired the essence of his expertise. We rushed to the SDM office
where he had to finish some work. I got a chance to see the office compound.
Old structures had ruined and the hew ones were just a shoddy replica of the
colonial British buildings albeit with a much poorer quality.
Bakhtawar Khan, his batchmate had
invited us for lunch. I was expecting to meet a burly retired Inspector General
of Police but I came across a mystique. Khan Sahab while his posting at Alwar
came to know of his wife’s stage four cancer. He thought of Shahjahan and
remembered Mumtaz of his life. The thought made him embark on a spiritual
journey after the doctors failed. After 40 days of death-like spiritual
practice in the graveyards with ten tantriks, he finally got his
enlightenment. The other tantriks died in the course of the sadhna.
It was a horrifying journey. “Huzoor, every night the spirits came and beat us
black and blue, tested our guts and courage. By Allah’s grace, I emerged
successfully”, told Khan Sahab. Now a 1400-year-old Sufi soul visits him every
three months and helps him find solutions to people’s ailments like cancer and
mental diseases. Khan sahib has disciples who are 1200 years old. I could not
control my amusement and asked if he is 500 or 600 years old. Given the average
age of his company, that was the least I could quote. Today his wife is healthy
and Khan Sahib is a revered saint with 1000s of disciples visiting him from
Gulf countries and different parts of the country. He has become a sought after
man by politicians and business tycoons.
It seems not much has changed in India.
World community might be feeling scared after Brexit, Trump’s ascension to
power, Erdogan's militaristic fervor and China’s threat to the world order, but
India still appears living happily with the 1000 year old Jinn’s and
Sufis. Their lores and magic tales still fire the imagination of a
country facing acute water shortages, separatism, malnutrition, communalism,
and Naxalism.
While coming back we had our dinner at
Singhvi Sahib’s house in Sumerpur. Singhvi Sahab is an old friend of Kommandant
from the days when the Kommandant had joined the police force as a young Dy.
Sp. But Mr. Singhvi mentioned that in those days Kommandant was not so brutal
and shameless with his lethal fumes. With age, he seems to have developed this
strange hobby of rupturing the nostrils of quite and docile men and women
around him. Singhvi Sahab is another legend in his own way. His ancestors had
ruled Marwar as prime ministers of the Jodhpur riyasat. They had a huge
collection of antique items and Berreta revolvers, many of which some
very refined charan darogas whisked away. Singhvi Sahab looked like a
smuggler with his black shades and Charles Shobhraj styled hat. He looked
coming straight from the Bollywood movies of the 1960s as some assistant of the
villain Ajit. Singhvi’s sahib's real life was also quite like the Bollywood of
the 1960s. He had worked with Haji Mastan in the prime of his youth and then
went on to become a successful entrepreneur in Chennai.
There were times when he funded
elections, dated the Bollywood diva Helen but the honeymoon period didn’t last
long. Suddenly the gods were infuriated (as told by his wife) because of his adharmik activities.
Police was desperately searching him in some old cases of financial
fraud. Somehow he escaped and reached his village in Rajasthan in the late
1990s. Since then he has been trying to build his life again but the past glory
never came back. With the Kommandant, he went to dangerous dungeons with
the police dragon light and .38 Smith and Wasson, in the hunt for hidden
treasures but they got nothing. He still lived in his past glory and ceases to
relent. These days he is desperately searching for the Nagmani and wants
Kommandant to be his strategic adviser in this paranormal venture.
After stuffing ourselves with a rich
Marwari meal of gaata saag, ocra, kadhi and loads of paapar soaked
in ghee, we were heading back to Udaipur. But this time it was me who was in
the direct range of lethal fumes and expectedly the radioactivity levels and
the lethality was much stronger than what Chund Singh Ji had to bear
with. Finally, I came back and took shower twice as those fumes had penetrated
my each and every cell.
Kommandant said with the familiar grin,
“ I hope you enjoyed the journey back home”, and went in his study giggling
under the breath with the victory of carpet bombing my nostrils.
अटलांटिक महासागर का डॉलफिन बीच
और, केप टाउन का शहर
ढलती साँझ
और,
डूबते सूरज की गोद में;
एक सुनहरी शाम आने को है,
हुस्न और मुहब्बत का ये शहर;
रौनक और उल्लास की रौशनी में नहाने को है.....
और, ऐसें में,
ये तुम्हारा ही ख्याल है जो, मेरी रग-रग में रवां है,
इस हसीं शाम की बातों में जवां है...
कही दूर जो शाम ढल रही है,
और, सूरज धुंधला रहा है....... क्षतिज के उस पार,
कोई ढलते सूरज की रौशनी में मुस्कुरा रहा है....
वह तुम्हारा ही तो अक्स है....
कोई जाना-पहचान सा चेहरा है...... दिल को छु जाने वाला
कोई पुराना गीत है,
अपना सा....
प्यारा सा....
मुहब्बत सा....
ये जो तुम्हारी आँखे है; कभी साँझ बन जाती है.....
ये जो तुम्हारी प्यारी-सी आवाज़ है, लहरो का संगीत बन जाती है.....
और,
ये जो तुम्हारी हंसी है, अक्सर लालिमा बनकर असीमित व्योम में बिखर जाती है.......
और,
ये जो तुम्हारी नरम उंगलियां है....... यूँ ही अचानक लहरो सी चली आती है;
मुझे छूकर चली जाती है....
और,
बस,पूरा का पूरा भीग जाता हूँ ....
पूरा का पूरा भीग जाता हूँ .......
पूरा का पूरा भीग जाता हूँ.......
जानता हूँ, लहरो का सफर तय नहीं कर सकता ...
हवाएँ बहुत तेज़ है,
और,
तुम भी तो नज़दीक आती नही...
मेरी हमनफ़ज़-
जानता हूँ , की तुम्हे छु नहीं सकता;
चाहकर भी तुम्हारे करीब आ, नहीं सकता;
मगर फिर भी..... और, कुछ यूं ही..... या, फिर कह ले की शायद इसिलए,
कविता में तुम्हे ढूढंता हूँ,
पर,
आप इतनी हसीं है... की,
कविता शुरू ही नहीं हो पाती,
लफ्ज़ आकर लौट जाते है,
और, समंदर की लहरो में घूम हो जाते है.......
शायद, तुमसे मुहब्बत कर बैठा हूँ......
और, कर ही क्या सकता था.......
मगर, एक बात....
एक बात कहना बहुत ज़रूरी है,
तुम्हारे होने में तुम हो....
और, हो तो फिर बेइन्तहाँ हो.....
शायद मेरी रूह में.....
मेरी सांसो में,
मेरी मुहब्बत में,
मेरी कविता में,
मेरी ज़िन्दगी में,
मेरी मौत में,
या, शायद मेरे होने में......
की, महज़ तुम्हारे होने में तुम हो...
और, हो तो फिर बेइन्तहाँ हो...
जानता हूँ की दिन के उजाले में तुम नहीं आ पाओगी;
इसीलिए, सागर किनारे,
इक, सुनहरी रात का इंतज़ार करता हूँ....
की,कहीं तुम आ जाओ;
चांदनी बनकर..
या,
कोई हसीं तारा बनकर-------
बस इक नज़र तुम्हे ऐसे देख लूँ ....
की, ये चाँद पिघल जाये----
और, तुम चांदनी बनकर बिखर जाओ;
और, रात अँधेरे---- गहरे, अंतहीन सागर में.....लहरो के संग ;
ज़रा प्यार से,
ज़रा हौले से,
थोड़ा नशे में,
ज़िन्दगी के उस पार.....
चाहत की बेपरवाह गलियों में,
और, मुहब्बत की जन्नत में,
तुम्हे छु लें
तुम्हे छु लें
इक बार;
बस ----इक बार
सिर्फ.....
http://www.mainstreamweekly.net/article6176.html
Today I read Irfan Habib's lecture which says that idea of India is being challenged by Hindutva extremists. First of all, I would like to clarify that RSS or Hindutva movement is not an extremist movement. RSS does not want to establish a Hindu caliphate or plan bomb explosions in Paris. RSS does not want to convert Muslims or destroy mosques.
Secondly, Mr Habib as an intellectual and historian has lost credibility. He is and intellectually dishonest man incompetent historian who is basically provides an apologetic defence for Islamic extremism. He is politically motivated, ideologically driven and communal. Such a person can never be an objective historian.
Proofs: 1) He lied on oath in court that there was no temple below Babri masjid. ASI excavations have proved that there was a temple. Leftist historians lied and misled on Babri masjid issue, says prominent archaeologist KK Muhammad ( http://www.firstpost.com/india/left-historians-connived-with-extremists-mislead-muslims-on-babri-issue-says-archaeologist-in-new-book-2592188.html)
2) Mr. Habib distorts history in order to prove Aurangzeb a secular man.
3) He called RSS as an equivalent of ISIS which shows that he is mentally challenged.
4) He calls RSS a fascist organization and sings paeans for Subhash Chandra Boss who openly sided with fascist powers in second world war. Why is Mr. Habib inconsistent?
5) He lies that Subhash had no links with RSS. Subhash met Hedgewar. Many congress politicians like PD Tandon, MM Malviaya, Sardar Patel peddled soft Hindutva. All these were sensible people and if Hindutva was an extremist ideology, these leaders would never have had a soft corner for it.
6) In the essay, he says that Amir khusro was the first one to talk of patriotism for India. He also says that Indians had no sense of identity before the Persians called them Hindus.
Answers: Indian civilization was into the metaphysical quest. They spoke of higher ideals like vasudhev kutumbkam. They always had an open heart and mind for foreigners. The people who invented numbrs, zero, Pythagoras theorem, relativity and other things were not fools that they did not have a sense of identity. By the way, the right word is Sanatana dharma which should be used in place of Hinduism. Secondly, Hindutva and its flag bearers are not against Muslims and minorities. Ashfaqullah Khan, APJ Abdul Kalam, Maulana Azad and the nationalist muslims are never criticized by RSS people. RSS has a small number of muslims also and a national level platform for muslims too. RSS has never advocated that the Muslims should not be allowed to keep beard or wear burqa. They have always respected the religious rights of minorities. They are simple aggainst the Islamic extremism, Wahhabism and terrorism which is not a figment of imagination but a reality. Amir Khusro praised india and all Indians have respect for him. He is almost worshipped like a sufi. But that does not mean that the barbarians like Tughlaq, Gaznavi and Aurangzeb who were forefathers of Baghdadi, and massacred millions should not be criticized.
Mr Habib often uses the term massacre of Muslims. I think he is trying to play a communal card. As far as Gujarat is concerned it was a spontaneous reaction of the generally non-violent and business-like Gujarati people when the 1000 local Muslims buried innocent RSS car sewaks.
Then, I would like to assert that those who equate Hindutva with Islamic extremism are highly mistaken and mentally challenged or spiteful people. Even today, the idea of India has a threat from Islamic extremism not from Hindutva. RSS has no brothers like AL Qaeda, ISIS, LeT, and JeM. At the maximum shiv Sena, which is considered an ultra-right Hindutva organization can either slap a person or spill ink on their opponents. They have never planned and will never plan attacks like September 11. Mumbai 11 and Pathankot.
Today, the idea of India faces worst kind of threat from three categories of people;
1) Left-liberal media and intellectuals who are fanning communal and casteist poison.
2) Rising Islamic extremism and Wahhabism. In Bengal, Muslims now are 30% of the population, thanks to their fastest breeding drive and opposition to family planning. They are heavily under the influence of Jamat. In Murshidabad, one can't bury a dead according to Hindu customs. Hindus are being converted, their girls are raped and religious leaders are beaten. Imagine if the Muslims hold same degree of political influence in entire India, how would Hindus live. It is not a concocted a story but a reality. Kamlesh Tiwari questioned the sexual orientations of Prophet and the Muslims of India want him to be hanged. IB has reported that ISIS is sending child suicide bombers to kill Modi.
I request Mr. Habib to pay attention to what is happening to their fellow Muslim brethren not just in India but also in Pakistan where there are shooting school children in their heads, killings Shias, Hazaras, and raping women in Germany.
Again, please do not misunderstand me. I am not saying this for all the Muslims but certainly there is a substantial number which is coming under the influence of Wahhabi maniacs.
3) Leaders like Nitish and Mamta who appease Islamic extremists for the sake of votes.
I
am on the last leg of my stay in India for now. In the last one year I have
realized that my intimacy with India is deeply spiritual, rooted in
consciousness and the burning quest to shed off the chains of existence. This
place will offer me a mother’s lap where I will pass off into an eternal and
soothing slumber, when I will come back after the full circle of my destiny’s
wheel. However, the underlying cosmic undercurrents of my destiny will take me
places, discover, explore and alter the lands, jungles and seas of human mind
and when all that will be done, the dusk, the setting sun and the evenings of
India soaked in the fumes of cow-dung, and temple incenses will wait for me
along with the eerie silence and the haunted tales of mystic nights which will
merge into hustle and bustle of the day.
Superficially,
the phenomenon known as India seems like a medieval zoo and a land of
ridiculous ironies with its middle-aged practices like caste system, child
marriage, worship of monkeys and elephants – which all makes a perfect masala
for a derogatory article for NYT by the likes of Arundhati Roy and Pankaj
Mishra. In a myopic perspective i.e. a perspective of the millions of
file-pushing Sharma jees and Varma Jees spread across the length and breadth of
this country, India presents a picture of highly rigid, monotonous and
extremely boring society of rigid death rites, birth rites, same caste marriage
rules and orthodox religious doctrines. However, there is a third way to look
at India which is above the previous two, and in a way which transcends the
plurality of perspectives. This is a perspective of a detached witness, an
observer, most appropriately referred to as Drishta in Indian cosmology. This
view is a view of a spiritually consciousness being where one is just a
chronicler, a note-taker of his senses. Unfortunately, we Indians seem to have
stuck in the previous two ways. And, surprisingly a large number of foreign
scholars ranging from Magesthenes to Bernier have seen India with this third
perspective.
In
the last few weeks I have heard rantings of semi-literate reporters with
dubious credentials on TRP hungry channels about the increasing communal
violence or rather communal rhetoric in India. The killing of a poor old Akhlaq
Muhammad in Dadri and the tweeting -Modi’s studied silence on the whole issue
has raised several questions. My friends from other nations have asked me questions
like –“Is India headed for a civil war between Hindus and Muslims?”, “Is
India’s rendezvous with secularism over and are we becoming a Hindu version of
Pakistan or Taliban?” or “Is it the time for minorities to flee India?” and “Is
RSS a de facto power wielder in India and Muslim hatred the dominant
narrative?”. Before I begin to answer
these questions in an academic manner, I feel restrained and a little hemmed in
because of the grand red-revolution staged by our secular and leftist liberals
in the brothels of dialectical materialism. It becomes a little difficult to
deconstruct and analyse this complicated and shaded relationship with
structures and theories, that at the best fail to comprehend the real picture
or even if they do, we are left with a highly distorted and moth-eaten truth.
(Our liberal intelligentsia and media bigwigs are well-trained moths; though
they all learned to wear a tie and some of them speak great English on NDTV).
Therefore,
I decided to follow a different approach. Lately, I got a chance to visit my
maternal uncle’s village. It’s a typical village in the remote and backward hinterlands,
located on Gujarat borders, with a sizable Muslim population. In the rest of
the post, I have written what I saw with my bare eyes and heard with highly
inquisitive ears. This village can be a highly representative village for the
whole of India with some minor deviations. However, temporarily my observations
will throw some light on the real situation between Hindus and Muslims.
The
total journey of 100 kms included a rough patch of about 40 kms from the
nearest town of Dungarpur. While I was driving through the narrow and shoddy
roads flooded with potholes, I felt my car scratching a couple of times against
Thoor[1]
. In the night which was fading into darkness and haunting silence, I could
hear some religious chanting and songs by the Bhil tribals on the way. I had
been strictly advised not to stop my car on the way as in the night the tribal
youngsters get drunk and rob the travelers for petty drinking bouts. The
encroachment of modern development initiatives had taken away their
forest-based livelihood and made them a little restive.
My
maternal grand uncle Mr. Babulal was ready to receive us. He is a man of 40 kgs
but exudes an aura of authority, arrogance and dominance. He had come with his
man Friday Akbar bhai Pathan to receive us. I found the duo a little strange in
their interactions, body language and demeanors. I guess with all the
intellectual baggage that I had I was trying to find out the ‘identity
consciousness’ or to put it bluntly –a hindu and a muslim. I would not say that
I could not find it out at that moment but it definitely raised my inquisitiveness
to know a little more about the village.
Geenth Rawla i.e. the house of Thakur,
which is now kept on mortgage with Babulal ji,
as the royal family squandered
its wealth on wine,
women and donations
Akbar
bhaijaan told me that there were about 4500 Muslims in the village. Akbar bhai
was a tailor and a shopkeeper by profession. But, immediately he said with a
tinge of pride and glory,” bapu hukum, we are originally pathans. We are from
the lineage of Mughal pathans.” I said, “wow, that’s impressive.” And,
immediately he was joined by Babulal ji, saying that pathans are sahukari and
good Muslims. “What do you think of me? I do not hang out with Ganchis (local
Muslim converts from low caste Hindus)”.
“Akbar
bhaijan is a high-caste and noble-blooded Pathan”, said Babulal Ji with a grin
of pride and social status”. “Bhaijaan, Moo tamane kau kea me pathan ghanchi
thaki vivaah nee karaa ne hathe bai na khaa bhi nee. Ame pandit, Thakur, sayyid
and sahukara hathese meljol rakhaa” (brother, I tell that we, proud pathan
Muslims never marry or eat with Ghanchi muslims because they are of lower
caste. We interact with sayyid muslims, Hindu pandits, Thakurs and other
sahukari i.e. noble and high caste people.)
Akbar
Khan was a Mughal pathan by origin and tailor by profession. When he uttered
Mughal Pathan, faces of my Pashtun friends like Rafi, Shabbir and central Asian
friends like Romanbek started flashing across my mind. I was expecting the huge
built, fair complexion, thick whiskers, big faces, and the thick pathan accent.
But Akbar Khan was dark-skinned man with an average built who spoke Vagri-Gujarati
in highly local accent and in no way exuded his pathan ancestry. But, there was still something unique in his
persona. When I looked at him for a moment, I could locate brownish almond eyes
and an aquiline Pathan nose. His ancestors had been brought by the Rajput
zamindars of Geenth village, which was a big and rich thikana of Dungarpur riyasat, as archers, police and palace
guards. Even now the pathans in the village and neighboring areas were known as
sipahiyaas (Sepoys or armymen). In Rajasthan, almost all the Rajput
principalities brought Pathan mercenaries as gunners or archers for the
superior marshal abilities. Vijaynagara kingdom in southern India was the first
major Hindu kingdom to induct Turkish archers in its armies, to fight its wars
against the Bahmani rulers of Ahmadnagar.
These pathans who were brought as warriors enjoyed great prestige,
social status and power in the court and society. In Maharana Pratap’s army
Hakim Khan Sur was holding a major command against Mughal armies led by Maan
Singh of Jaipur. In the history of Mewar Hakim khan is revered as a great
martyr who died fighting for his master. Later, these pathans were also given
administrative posts of Dewaan and malgujars. They settled in the remote lands
of Rajasthan, flourished and prospered there and became an indistinct part of
the local religion, culture and folklores. There were many Hindu religious
festivals and local gods whose worship was initiated by the pathan landlords.
With their noble manners, military prowess and hard-working nature they won
people’s heart and were assimilated into the society in a very smooth manner.
In this process, they lost ties with their ancestors in Afghanistan, their
tribal origins, culture and language. When I asked Akbar khan about his
ancestors’ tribal origins in Afghanistan, he had no clue of the names like Yusufzhai,
Sherzhai, Durranis and Sur etc.
“Saheb,
Babulaal ji has been a great support to me in the times of distress. My father
Haji khan ji had married twice. Choti Ammi was a very clever woman who used to
add little amounts of opium in my abbu’s tea. Gradually, he kind of lost his
neural strength and in his last days was strictly controlled by choti ammi. She
controlled everything i.e. access to him, his food, his movements and the
visitors. In his last days his will was changed and we lost our jagirs to my
step-brothers, who are now big merchants in the near-by town of Bhaiswara.
Aslam is dealing in imported electronics and Salim is selling oil. Though they
took away our hordes of wealth but they lost the social prestige. You know,
sahib, Salim married a weaver Muslim girl from Badhoi (UP). In our Pathan
panchayat, they hardly visit and even if they do, our elders hardly respect
them. They are not allowed to sit on the samaj jhajham[2] . But I still command the respect which my
dadajani(grandfather) and abbu (father) commanded. I married a pathan girl Rubina
Khan from the near-by town Kheemalwara. From my mother, we are four- two
brothers and two sisters sahib. I am the eldest. In spite of bad finances, I
married my sisters in pathan families.
Bauji, our family always enjoyed high caste status. Saheb, you can ask
anyone here, when dadajani was dewan bahadur, our buajani was married to Thakur
Banka Singh of Rantagarh state in MP.”
“Did
you just say Thakur Banka singh, a Rajput Hindu married to your bua jani (Grandfather’s
sister)? How is that possible?”, asked I. I was quite amazed to know of this
strange union. Although I had heard of Kings like Man Singh marrying off their
daughters to Mughal King Akbar, but never heard of this practice among the
common folks of India. But, it was rather strange, a bit funny and interesting
phenomenon. For a time, it felt like music to my ears in the times of
love-jihad and beef riots in India.
“Saheb,
you look a bit surprised. I should have told you before. In old times influential
Pathan families had roti-beti (dining and marrying) relations with the Hindu
Rajputs, because both served the royalty and both were warrior communities. In
those times religious identities were not very important. They were old days,
loyalty towards your master mattered a lot. Kings and landlords were regarded
as divine agents and we always followed their social, cultural and religious
behavior. These days, it sounds strange because the politicians have spread a
lot of communal poison. Things have changed a lot. Hindus have changed, Muslims
have changed. Kings are gone, landlords have become beggars and we have lost
our wealth and clout.”
I
was quite impressed with Akbar khan’s knowledge of the social customs of his
ancestors. He often used to sit with his grandfather and Thakur Banka Singh ji
for hours and talk about society, politics, culture and their times. With his
stories, I was reminded of the incident in Ain-E-Akbari, where Raja Maan Singh
offered his gratitude to his master Akbar, while having a discussion on
Di-e-Ilahi, to the extent of becoming a Muslim if he ordered. I guess, in those
feudal days loyalty towards one’s master brought prestige and authority in
society. The feudal ethos venerated the master as gods, be they Hindus or Muslims.
Akbar
bhaijaan’s stories were accompanied with piping-hot cup of ginger-tea in the
rice fields of Babulal Ji. I was having that kind of tea made over angithees,
almost after an era. The tea smelt of ginger, cloves, tulsi and smoke. While
sipping the tea and listening to Akbar khan, I felt myself being hypnotized and
transported to a different age where evenings greeted warriors tapping the
village streets hard with their horses and spending the evenings over a bonfire
and folk music of mand singers. The place smelt of burning woods and cow dung
and earth was reeking with its freshness. I just wanted to close my eyes and
lose myself in the flow of my breath high on the pristine odor of burning wood
and dancing on the rhythm of aartis and evening azaan. After a while, Akbar
bhaijaan took leave of us, for his Namaz.
“Did
you see my raub(power) in the village ? I have cultivated all these Rajput lads
and muslim chaps so that no one can mess up with me”, said Babulal ji, curling
his thin, clownish, effete and insignificant mustaches upwards (it was a trend
among young Rajput lads, who he was trying to copy). Mamaji further informed me
that Rajputs and Muslims are like brothers from two different religions and they
have the tendency to backstab. They suck milk from one breast and slash the
other breast with their swords. Mamaji’s pitch got a little intense and he
sounded a little aggressive. “Rajputs sold their daughters to Mughals so they
also deserve to be punished. Now the time has come for the rise of and dominance
of Brahmins. We have always been the teachers.
And we will be vishwa-guru again (Teachers of the world)”, roared
Mamaji.
After
a while, Mamaji’s close friend Nirbhay Shankar shastri , the block head of RSS
(Hindu rightwing organizations)joined us. He was followed by Bajarang Panchal,
the local VHP cadre (Radical and extremist hindu outfit). We were served with
potato curry (aloo ki subzi) and poori, with some halwa. “Abhinav Ji, you
should not be so nice to people like Akbar khan. Though they are upper caste and
noble blooded people but they are Muslims, and gone are those days of bonhomie
and love. These Muslims committed atrocities on Hindus, forcibly converted
them, broke our temples and now they deserve to be punished”, argued Nirbhay
Shankar Ji.
I
tried to convince him that we have lived together for centuries and both the
communities should exist as brothers. “Saheb, you are being too liberal. See,
what they are doing in the whole world. They are exploding bombs. They killed
100ds of people in Mumbai. In Gujarat, before the riots of 2002, local Muslims
had made life hell for Hindus. They used to terrorize us, abduct our females,
bully us and our faith, and openly eat beef. But we taught them a lesson and
since then there has not been a single riot. We, Hindus are not violent by
nature. But they are violent by nature and custom, because their book teaches
jihad to them, their prophet allows them to indulge in all kinds of debauchery
in the garb of four marriages. They have forced us to become violent and reply
them in the language they understand. They should have been sent to Pakistan in
1947”, argued Nirbhay Shankar ji like a ferocious Hindutva ideologue. He was
interrupted by Bajrang Panchal, “Shahstri Ji, you guys just talk, we Panchals
brought them on their knees in 2002”. “Shut up you bloodthirsty demon. I know
what you did. You packed off those thirty innocent ganchi Muslim boys and girls
in a mini truck in Kheemalwara and set fire to the truck. And, you were the one
who got Ramjan Bhai Patel chopped by his friend Bhairolal Damor. You lured him
with your sleazy land deals. You also took the entire cash of 25 lakhs from his
departmental store. It is not Hindutva. It is a wild demonic behavior. The
Muslims here have always been peaceful, humble and nice. They have respected
our customs and beliefs. Even now in their marriages, they do our
religious-cultural dance of garba and some of them even worship Goddess Durga.
Why did you have to kill the innocent Muslims here and spoil the years of peace
and brotherhood? In Gujarat, it was justified because they killed our car
sewaks, but here that dance of blood was the blot on our Hindu values of mercy,
tolerance and peace. I know you did it because you wanted to take their
property papers and I also know that Rahmat khan did not let his daughter elope
with you, so you took revenge. RSS never
supports such barbaric behavior. Our Hindutva is different from your
barbarism”, complained Nirbhay shankar with a pain that lied deep, buried
inside his heart. Babulal Ji intervened with his hawkish idea that we don’t have
to spoil the peace. The aim should be to cultivate them and other lowers castes
of Hindus as good economic resources. “But yes, we should be generous and nicer
with Pathans and sayyids, as they are upper caste Muslims. You Panchals, can
never match the noble blood and regal
manners which they have. You have this newly acquired wealth but not what one
calls Rawayat(traditions) and Khandaan(pedigree).
Village pathway to Akbar house
After
a sumptuous meal, I decided to take leave of my old friends. Next morning I was
greeted by Akbar Bhaijaan, who offered me to show his shop and the local
Masjid. After a quick cup of tea, I left with Akbar, much to the annoyance of
Mamaji, as he was scared of being revealed to me as a shrewd money-lender of
the village and a local mafia. It was
hardly 11:30 in the morning and the village seemed dead. There were few
mongrels eating the leftovers from the temple waste. There were a few octogenarians
lying lifeless and deep in reverie with their small and wrinkled eyes gazing at
the skies, on their old charpoys, as if waiting for their departure with
complete poise, detachment and equanimity.
Akbar’s
house was a dilapidated and shoddy structure which was, though newly made but
looked like poor quality toilet constructed by government of India with its
damp ceilings and thin brick walls. There was just one room and one dark
kitchen where Kasim bibi (Akbar’s mother) used to blow air in the phookni over
the chulha. He had two sons and two daughters. One of his sons could hardly
walk and his younger daughter Sakina was mentally retarded from the birth. He
had shown her to several doctors, peers, fakirs, Pandits and sadhus but to no
avail. One of his brothers was also staying with him. His brother was once a
normal man but a few years back while coming back from the village pond, he
urinated at an old deserted tomb. After that, he had become lunatic. People
said that he was possessed by several Jinnats who were very powerful and they
would not set him free until he is dead. Akbar told that once Shahbaz got a fit
of ginni and he walked for 120 miles and he was found outside Udaipur after 15
days. But, Akbar love his brother a lot. His other brothers had already stolen
his family jewelry and escaped to Bahrin.
Selfie with Akbar Khan's family
Akbar’s
shop was a small cabin, which he had purchased with Babulal ji’s help. He
greatly revered Babulal Ji because when all the Muslim members of the village
had voted to expel him out of the village because of a fraud Maulvi, Babulal Ji
came to his rescue and lent him money to buy the shop. Since then, he had great
regard for Mamaji and Mamaji also, on many occasions like his daughter’s
wedding etc. helped him generously. Akbar earned a meager $241 per month from
that shop. A few days back a burglar broke into his shop and stole the goods
and cash. People suspected it to be some Bhil tribal’s work but later Akbar
found out that it was local rival and drug-addict from his Pathan community
only who did it for buying drugs. Police was still investigating bit Akbar did
not want the proud Pathans to be taken to the court.
Akbar's family
It
must have been extremely difficult to manage so many dependents with that small
amount but still I found a smile of satisfaction and inner happiness on Akbar’s
face. He offered me some fresh sugarcane juice which I relished for its purity
and the love of Pathans, after ages.
I
was sitting on the back-seat of his bicycle and the cycle was meandering its
way on the rough terrain with several potholes. Boulders used in MGNREGS(government
scheme) were strewn around laying the truth and corruption of such schemes
threadbare. The twists and turns and the ups and downs, in the beginning tended
to rupture my innards, but after a while, it felt like an Indian folk music
laden with its powers of making you a little tipsy, emerging out of its chaos.
I think chaos is not all that bad. When one leaves things and systems to chaos,
then he surrenders his will, his abilities and in a way accepts his inefficiency
and expresses his desire to fall asleep in a lazy afternoon. But often, out of
such chaos emerges a highly superior symmetry, a divine and cosmic rhythm which
synchronizes with one’s soul, one’s breath and teaches you to be in harmony
with snakes, lizards, bears, panthers, tigers, ghosts and celestial dancers.
Such rhythm is internal and not very often visible. India offers such rhythm
out of its chaos of million gods which include cows, monkeys and elephants,
stinking public toilets and corrupt officials. One can go completely berserk for
the first few months if he is visiting India, but after a stay of an year or so
in a remote village of Chhattisgarh, he or she realizes that things like
nations, development and climate finance, sustainable development are vanishing
like a writing on the water, and he is quite at peace with himself even if
there is no electricity for ten hours.
Sleepy, deserted and lazy pathways
of the village
After
a tumbler of buttermilk, I enjoyed a nice afternoon siesta in the fields of
Babulal ji. Akbar khan informed me that those fields previously belonged to the
king of Geenth and lower caste people were bonded laborers there. Now the king
is reduced to penury and has kept the fields on mortgage with Babulal ji. Akbar
bhai called it a result of his karmas and stated that the king should now
devote himself to bhagwan (god). He brought me cool and fresh water of the
nearby well which was famous for being a resting place of an 18 feet long
python. The fresh breeze brushing against my cheeks while I was gulping down
the water, was absolutely refreshing and energizing.
I
asked Akbar bhai about that episode when he exposed a fraud Maulvi. At my
question, he started giggling and said, “leave it sahib, people are superstitious
and they will never change.” I insisted him to narrate the whole episode.
“Babusaheb,
about 8years ago, we started the practice of bringing Maulvis from the madrasas
of UP and Bihar. Although, I was against it but the fellow Muslims said that
Deobandi maulvis of UP and Bihar have sound knowledge of Islam and we must
bring them if we want our kids to be practicing Muslims. I mellowed down against
the majority. Then they brought Mushtaq Muhmmad from Sasaram, in Bihar. He was
trained in Deobandi Taleem (study or discipline). He was quite a young fellow
with mild and pleasing manners. As a religious mentor in Masjid, I was not
satisfied with his job. I mean, our kids were not learning anything. He himself
had those warped notions of Islam like not to visit Dargahs and stay away from
peers. He was teaching strange things like not to mingle with Hindu boys and
girls, not to dine with them, and he even told our children to stay away from
the garba dance. He became quite popular among our community for his
fundamentalist views. Our people started distancing themselves from Hindu
festivals and minimized their interactions to business purposes only. I was not very happy, but still I paid my
respects to him because he was a religious man and popular in our community.
There,
started a strange phenomenon after a couple of months. Every morning our people
would find pieces of human excreta outside their houses i.e. right outside the
main entrance. People got scared and though that it was the indication of some
supernatural evil force i.e. some kind of bala. They all went to maulvi sahib and
he started writing tabeez to them. He would charge 5000 to 10000 for each
tabeez. People were getting impressed with his ilm (knowledge and supernatural
powers). They did not face any problem after getting the tabeez. His popularity
was increasing and people started visiting him form far-off villages for divine
interventions in the case of diseases, ghost-problems etc.
In
the midst of this popularity, one day, I raised the issue of his poor teaching
methods. Some people supported me but he could sway the majority with him. But
from that day, his relations with me became bitter. I used to greet him and pay
my respects. He kept a cold and formal demeanor. After few days, I also faced the same problem.
I found pieces of human excreta outside my newly purchased shop and house. Ammi
got scared like hell and accused me of the problem. She believed that since I
insulted Maulvi sahib, the Allah got displeased and now the satan would play
its nasty game on us. We would be ruined. She went to Maulvi sahib and said
sorry like a million times. Even I begged him to get us rid of that evil but he
always asked me to find some other way. I even cried in front of him but he did not
budge from his anger. Then, one day, Rahma told me that Maulvi sahib is leaving
the village for his home town in Bihar to see his ailing mother. I was pondering over my situation and
expecting that Maulvi sahib will shower his blessings on us before leaving.
After a while, I was called by Maulvi sahib. In the masjid, he told me that
since I had requested him many times therefore he would capture the bala and
get us rid of that problem. He said that his heart melted at our situation and
he didn’t want to be a culprit in the eyes of God. I was on his feet and I was crying like a
baby. He gave me holy water, tabeez and other petty things to spread them in my
house, but while coming back he warned me that this solution will be effective
only for about 28 to 30 days. Still, I was happy.
I
could not follow his instructions for a couple of days but surprisingly, I did
not find the excreta next morning outside my house. My ammi was so happy. Her
faith in Maulvi sahib increased manifold. She thought that a mere visit to that
holy man could do such a great miracle. But, then, I somehow could not
understand the whole thing. I had not even used his tabez and the problem
vanished.
I
was chosen by village elders to receive Maulvi sahib when he came back after a
month. We organized a small get together at Masjid to say thanks to Allah for
his safe return from Bihar. Maulvi sahib seemed very happy with me. I told him
that the problem had vanished but he warned me that it might resurface after 30
days as the bala was a 500 year old gini and was a very powerful one. I
expressed my unconditional faith in his ilm and returned home. Next day, I saw
the excreta again in front of my house. Ammi panicked and whole house was
fear-stricken. We all went to Maulvi sahib and offered him 25,000 to make a
powerful tabeez. But there was something which was disturbing me.
I
decided to stay awake that night on the roof top. I carried my tea kettle and
began to wait. At 3:30, I could see someone coming towards, our house with
small container in one hand. His other hand was wrapped in a polythene bag. I
used my torch a little and discovered that, he was coming from the direction of
Masjid. When he came closer, I found that he was wearing a green turban. Then,
I saw that a lean and lanky fellow with those deep, and cunning eyes, looked
hither-thither and when he was assured that there was no one, he took out a
fistful of shit with his polythene wrapped hand and smeared it on the walls of
my house and spread the rest of it in front of my house and the shop.
Saheb,
Not even in my wildest dreams, I could ever think that a Maulvi would do such a
lowly thing. That creepy, Bihari was the dirtiest and the most evil man I had
seen in my life. I wanted to smash his head with my lathi but I restrained
myself. I wanted the whole village to know his truth. For next ten days, I
brought other members of our community and made them see the whole thing. They
were all enraged. They were angry and
wanted to expel him from the village. But, none could dare as they were scared
of his religious powers and they thought that Allah would ruin them if they
hurt a religious man. I could not control myself. One afternoon, after the
Namaz, I broke his legs with my lathi. He started howling. He was abusing and
cursing me.
In
less than 15 minutes the whole village gathered, including the Hindus. The
Maulvi accused me of bashing him. I told everyone about his deeds. But, that nasty fellow started crying and then
said that the gini was taking on the form of Maulvi and doing that nasty act. He
said that the gini was a very powerful bala who wanted him to go out of the
village so that he could make life hell for the villagers, and deviate them
from the path of Allah. He even accused me being hands-in-glove with the gini
and practicing black-magic. When I asked the people who saw his sleaze, then
those people joined the Maulvi and said that the shaitan was visiting in maulvi
jee’s garb. Even the Hindus of village accused me of disrespecting a religious
elder. Pandit Nirbhay Shakar Ji, the RSS chief and that Panchal fellow of VHP
were the first ones to come and kiss the feet of Maulvi jee and they were
seeking pardon for the insult hurled at him.
Finally,
our sadar mufti ji and Nirbhay Shankar ji passed a resolution in village panchayat
to expel me out of the village for three years. I was heart-broken. I could not
convince these superstitious fools and backward idiots. Everyone was accusing
me, abusing me and my family. In those narrow straights, Babulal Ji used his
clout, threw large sums of money to the Masjid, Maulvi jee and sadar mufti. He
knew one secret of Sadar Mufti i.e. his illicit alliance with a bhil female who
was married. Finally Sadar mufti gave in and, I were saved from the expulsion.”
I
did not know whether to laugh or to express my sympathies with Akbar. I was
looking at him with a dumb faced, and he was in splits,” sahib, how could that
rascal put his hand in human excreta for 5000 bucks? The idiot was giving vivid
descriptions of Jannat and driving our youth crazy and he himself was in such
hell, such gutter!!!!!! Tauba tauba !!!tauba tauba!!!! Astakhfarullah”.
In
the evening, Akbar bhaijan took me to the newly constructed village mosque. I
must say that it a beautifully constructed structure with nicely carved domes. The
building had greenish interiors and in many places blue glasses were used with
Persian effect. While I was watching the hustle and bustle of
the evening, I was greeted by a middle-aged bearded man who was popularly known
as Ibrahim bhai Ghanchi. He was a sadar Mufti. He looked rather fair, red and
well-built for a Ghanchi community. One could feel the reflection of his newly
earned treasures from gulf countries and the pride of authority which comes
from the position of Mufti and connections with the bigwigs of the district. He greeted, “Khushamdeed khushamdeed!!!”. I
could feel the poorly made effort to speak Urdu heavily dominated with Gujarati
accent. Akbar bhai standing beside me, whispered
in my ear that Ibrahim Bhai could only speak Vagri-Gujarati, but he had developed
this new passion for Urdu and Arabic under the new Maulvi jee who hails from
the esteemed Wahabi school of Islam.
The
moment he uttered “wahabi school”, I went back to the book of William
Dalrymple, that goes by the name,” Nine Lives”, in which he mentions the deplorable
plight of Sufi Islam in Sindh (Pakistan) after the advent of Saudi sponsored
Wahabism in Sindh. While I was thinking
about “Nine Lives”, I saw a bunch of robust dark skinned man climbing down the
stairs in “Thobe or Kandura” , traditional ankle-length Arab garment for Namaz.
It was getting a little dark outside. When the white light of the tube-light
splashed on damp green walls, with those robust men in Kandura offering Namaz,
I felt as if I was in remote mosque of a war-torn West African or North-African
country.
Ibrahim
bhai came back and he seemed impressed with my Urdu. “Saheb, I must tell you
there will be a day when Islam will rule all over the world. And, what the
great Nabi said, is irrefutable. Now see that fellow, Yakub, the one who is
doing wazoo. Until yesterday, this fellow did not know that the pyjama should
be worn above his ankles. Maulvi ji gave him an earful and slapped him. He
learned from his mistake and see, today he looks like pious Muslim, the pride
of Prophet. Saheb, these youngsters are
wasting time in flirting with Hindu girls and whole day they are on whatsapp
and facebook. This facebook is a new weapon of satan which has come from the
west. Saheb, Islam is being threatened by
everyone these days. In India, we have to get ready to protect our community
from the RSS and BJP. But these guys don’t know the power of Jihad. In India
also, you see Muslims are suffering a lot. They are poor. The government does nothing
for us. We are slaughtered like carrots in the riots. We have become aliens in
our home land. You must listen to our new maulvi sahib. He was in Saudi for
years. Akkal thikane laga dee hum logo ki (fixed our brains). He taught us that
these tombs and dargahs are the lands of Kufr (Apostacy). I issued a circular
yesterday that no one will play garba in marriages”, opined Ibrahim Bhai, with
a firm conviction and strong political vision for the community (or I guess,
for himself).
With Ibrahim Bhai
While
coming back to Mamaji’s place, I asked Akbar bhai about his feelings and views
on the general condition of Muslims in the village. He said that sahib, we have
been living with each other in peace for years, for centuries. In fact, he felt
that his Islam was very different from what the new Maulvi jee was teaching. It
sounded very alien and dangerous to him.
He further told me that over the years, friendship and warmth has
vanished. Akbar was lost in the year
2002, “In the riots, our Hindu neighbors who had lived with us for decades butchered
us or were an accomplice to that pogrom. But what do I say sahib, if one man
kills, than another one saves. The Hindus of our village only saved us,
otherwise we would have been massacred by the rioters and hooligans who came
from Gujarat. Here the youngsters are misled by the politicians on both the
sides. The older generation of Hindus, might not be dining with us as the
brahmins are pious vegetarians, but they do not have that communal hatred which
I see in the youth. But, sahib, our people i.e. Muslims are also no saints.
These young boys of our samaj are not interested in studies. They go to
madarasa for few years and after that they are just wasting time in smoking and
running after girls. They get into
looting, kidnaping and anti-social activities. Once they become a little
powerful gundas, they start terrorizing Hindu merchants and they make life hell
for the Hindu girls. They run away with them and after having sex, they are not
interested in these girls as they come from a different religion.
Now
tell me sahib, we had never eaten bada janwar (beef) for centuries. We always
ate goat and chicken. But our youth, under the influence of these new Maulvis
have started eating cows. In Gujarat, they were butchering cows and in some
Muslim areas, Hindus could not enter. And Saheb, these monsters were even
talking to Jihadis in the neighboring country. I have heard the police seized a
wireless set. One of my cousins worked in Gujarat police. How can they eat cows? It’s a sacred animal.
I
am not happy with these changes. Now a days even Hindus don’t interact with us
that much. They do not invite us to their marriages. I mean, I understand if
they dont invite Ghanchis, but me!!!!! I am a Pathan, a sahukari. My ancestors
played key role as neighbors and village heads in their marriages and
festivals. Things are not the same. We don’t fly kites together now. I don’t know
if there will be a riot in future, I will be safe or not. People like Ibrahim
bhai and Nirbhay Shankar ji have no guts and spines. These Ibrahim Ghanchi has bought
several plots of land. He has done a big ghapla ( embezzlement) in the
donations which came for building this new mosque. He has built excellent
relations with the state congress chief and sahib this fellow is eyeing for the
MLA ticket from Congress party. And sahib, you will be surprised to know that Ibrahim
and Nirbhay Shankar ji must be speaking against each other in public like dogs
but these rascals are best friends and they have grabbed several benami properties
from the bhils in the nearby town of Khemalwara. The poor people have hardly
anything. Leave aside beef or mutton, they don’t even have khitchri to eat. Most of them earn like less than $100 per
month and spend it on marriages”. Akbar
sounded like one of those last few sane voices in this insane scenario where a
man gets killed on the suspicion of eating beef and the media, along with
politicians leaves no stone unturned in adding to the pains of that family,
going crazy in increasing TRP ratings and making political gains.
And, on top of it the Prime Minister, who otherwise makes record
in giving excellent speeches in India and abroad keeps a studied silence as if
his Hindutva credentials will get washed away if he spoke one word of sympathy.
And, the foreign media is going absolutely
crazy as if India will see 21st century’s biggest genocide of its minority
communities. Organizations like RSS and VHP are being branded and depicted as
Nazi thugs of 1940s, which is far away from the truth. The other day I saw a
shakha ceremony of RSS where its leader was wielding a stick, his shoes were
torn and his socks were stinking like hell. I heard him explaining the virtues
of eating vegetarian food and Jaina values of non-violence. I am quite sure
Hitler would have laughed his heart out if he were alive and known the people
who his organization was being compared to. I guess he would have found it a
great insult. And, the truth – Either someone like Akbar Khan Pathan knows or I
get to know which hardly makes any difference. I felt like singing the old song
of Mera Naam Joker,
“kahta hai joker,
Sara Zamana
Adhi haqeeqat, adha fasana
Chashma Utaro, phir dekho yaro
Duniya wahi hai, Chehra
Purana
My generation did not bring BJP and Modi into
the power for the kind of Hindutva which these guys are practicing and
propagating. Well, in my years of experience of Indian society and its intensely
emotional nature when it comes to religion, I found that Hindus and Muslims,
both are communal. When it comes to matters like pigs,cows, conversions,
mosques and temples, they are ready to slit each other’s throats at the
slightest spark. But, at the same time, these same people exhibit such great
human values of mercy, love, detachment that you feel they are the greatest people,
the torch-bearers of peace and spirituality. India has always been a land of
contradictions which are beyond the limits of my cognitive comprehension. I
find them cosmic and metaphysical, many a times.
I
feel that in such a society, the role played by government becomes immensely important.
Prime Minister should take a cue from Singapore and unleash his ideas to
maintain peaceful race relations and inter-faith relations. The nuisance
unleashed by media and third grade Hindutva organizations must be dealt with
firmly. The damage which such unfortunate incidents do to India’s image is
immense and with such an international image, no economic development can take
place. And, India will lose its credibility of a tolerant and multicultural
society in the world community. No one will take us seriously in the diplomatic
community.
I
feel that there is another and much superior way to advance the cause of
so-called Hindutva (personally for me such terminology smacks of short-sighted
political motives). The government can initiate a major program of research
into the scientific, literary, dramatic and philosophical and metaphysical
achievements of ancient India. The Prime Minister, who lobbies so hard for Yoga
day at UN, does not look nice when he keeps a political silence on the most horrendous
and condemnable violence of killing a man for eating beef.
Santan
Dharma and Yoga have no room such barbaric intolerance. When I say this, I don’t
mean that beef eating or cow slaughter should be legalized in India. The intellectuals,
who are demanding this or taking proud in eating beef, are adding tons to the
nuisance value already generated by our politicians and media. What I am
suggesting is that we need to find a way to manage our inter-faith relations
and we must have a strategy for that, if we want to be known as civilized and democratic
country which is worth investing time and money.
[2] a
Hindu caste rule that if one follows caste rules they are allowed to share the
mat with the other respectable members of that particular caste (Over the
interaction of centuries Muslim immigrants adopted many Hindu customs and those
who converted from Hinduism carried their caste identities)
Back in late 1990s life in India
had become quite uneventful. We had kind of forgotten the drama of Mandal, Ram
Mandir movement and economic liberalization. It seemed that things were coming
to a dull and dead end. The era of stable governments has already become a
bygone one. One could witness the monotony and gloom in the conversations of
the common people at several tea stalls. However, for me it was not as gloomy
as it was for the people of my previous generation. For me, things were quite new.
In fact I had developed a new
sensitivity to look at things, a perception to feel the things happening around
me in a very novel and unique manner. I would say a kind of journey which Kant
would have called the discovery of noumena. On Sundays, I used to visit one
such tea stall called Kaka café in the vicinity of my house. The place was
about 30 years old and it owner had named it after Rajesh Khanna. At Kaka café,
the Sunday samosas were the main attraction and for me it was a big respite in
the midst of a regimented life which one leads when your father happens to be a
police officer and all your relatives want you to become a civil servant at the
age of 15.
Every Sunday, I would go there and
while having tea, overhear a jovial and hefty man dominating some
conversations. The man was Ratan Lal Bhatt. He was popularly known as Bhatt ji
and was present as an inevitable presence in almost every social, religious and
political event of the locality. He was a very talkative man who regaled people
over endless cups of over-boiled ginger tea, with his stories of the past, the
past which for him was a true golden era. With his wits and humor and intense
narration, he would surely make the most progressive of the intellectuals
believe in and long for those fairy-tale days. Suddenly the villains of yester years
like kings, queens, darogas and Thakurs would appear as heroes with all their ‘evil’
and ‘not-so-evil’ traits.
Today while writing, when I look
back I feel that the story of Bhatt Ji’s life is the most interesting one, much
more than all the stories narrated by him. Bhatt Ji was Brahmin by caste but
his features and physique told a completely different story. They were the aquiline
features of young princely Rajput- sharp nose, tall roman face, thick whiskers,
dense, snake-like mustaches and a tall, muscular built. Bhatt ji in his
manners, ways, style and demeanor acted like a noble and felt like a royal
jagirdar. After his stories, he would always say, after all, I am a Thakur. There
is a slight twist to this demeanor of Bhatt ji.
Bhatt Ji’s father Ambalal Bhatt was
a nagada Brahmin in the service of Durbaar Saheb i.e. Thakur Jee. Thakur Jagat
Mad Singh was one of those few kings left in India who still enjoyed some
power, money and influence in his region. However, he was fully aware of the
fact that his power and health were waning like a moon and this change is not
one of those medieval changes when one king would be replaced with another. The
change that he felt was devastation, fuelled by the dance of democracy just
like the tandava of Shiva which destroys unleashes destruction and death.
Therefore he concentrated his energies in living like a king to his last breath
which means ‘wine and unlimited wine’, ‘sex, sex and lots of sex’ and a dark
curtain of intoxication descending on his mind, matter and soul.
In the aristocratic circles of
Mewar, there was an unsaid and unofficial custom of Nagda Brahmin females
entertaining the kings and other royal males. There were many other unsaid
customs but this one was peculiar because Brahmins which is a higher caste and
had say in the society and court, agreed to an unethical sexual slavery. But,
in those days it was the king or rather the man with divine origins who could
desire, conquer and alter any earthly system of morality, religion and social
order. Bhatt jee was a result of one such communion between Sharda bhatt and
Thakur Jagatmad Singh. Sharda bhatt was a stunningly beautiful Brahmin girl who
was quite modern for her times. Even after her marriage with Pandit Ambalal Jee
bhatt, she continued to be in the royal, dark and lusty embrace of an
adulterous king. She was a very powerful woman who wielded tremendous influence
in the court until a Bengali singer Leela Dasgupta, charmed rana jee with a
dusky magic of her inviting bosoms and the jungles of her dark, long and snake
like hair locks. It seemed that Rana jee got lost in the jungles of sundarbans
and never came back.
After the arrival of Leela the
musical magician, Sharda jee was dumped and she retired into the eternal
sorrows of her life. She lived a simple and an austere life full of repentance
just like any other female who had ruled the portals of royal harem in her
heydays, would live. She raised Ratanlal as the last souvenir of her heydays
and always reminded him of his true rajput blood. Ambalal ji was a man devoted
to religious pursuits and he hardly had any influence in the life of Ratan Lal
Jee.
Ratan Lal Jee grew into a hefty and
pricely looking handsome young man for whom the loyalty towards rana jee was
the ultimate duty. He became a decorated archer, swordsman, shooter and an ace
equestrian. He took pride in his natural ability and affinity with these
princely sports. On the other hand he hardly showed any interest in purohitai
(priestly services) which was his family profession. He often accompanied Rana
Durjan Singh, elder son of Jagatmad Singh, in his hunting expeditions. Rana
Durjan Singh was another typical spineless royal scion, which emanates from an
overall decline in the moral sub-conscious of the kingdom. Ratan Lal was an
accomplice to Durjan Singh in all his existential adventures or sinful
creativity which included violating the tribal women and feeding her to his
ferocious dogs, ravaging fields, hunting innocent bhils and raikas for a
pompous display of princely power and an absolute authority in a democratic
state. Ratan Lal Ji was in reality the half-brother of Durjan Singh. Durjan’s quest
was the endless lust, money and authority which comes when the waning power
completely intoxicates or rather usurps one’s consciousness. In such a state
the notions of morality and immorality become the objects to be trampled upon
by the King’s Juti (royal footwear) and self-obsession becomes a disease. Ratan
Lal Ji’s quest was to be recognized as a Thakur with a royal lineage. The idea
and the feeling was hardwired into his mind since his childhood by Sharda Jee.
He had always thought of reclaiming his true identity. This blind search for
the identity brought him closer to Durjan. In fact, deep down inside he had
nurtured intense hatred and jealousy with Durjan. But in a feudal society, if a
person is not born in a royal family, he hardly gets the fortune to know his
real mind, real soul and true desires as everything is owned by the divinity of
the king. There is only one way to discover one’s true self in such a milieu
and that is to attain Buddhahood. Certainly, Ratan lal jee was not among those
enlightened ones. In a feudal society, someone like Ratan Lal ji is raised on
fictitious notions of morality which are in the best interests of the state or
rather the royal family.
In his heydays Ratan Lal ji had
become a very powerful man because of his proximity to the king. He had been a
part of court intrigues and conspiracies that silenced 100ds of people in the
dead of night, with in the ramparts of the fort. Such cases neither came out in
the press and nor were they ever investigated by the police as the lower
officials of police also held the durbar as their mai-baap and anndata. Random dead bodies were found floating in
some lone river or a haunted nala. These murders always became a part of folk
lore and haunted stories. In connection with one such case, Ratan lal Jee had
once even slapped a young IPS officer who had come to arrest the king. Ratan
Lal jee had done that to prove his loyalty. He had become an overnight hero
after the incident. But the superintendent could never forget the feudal slap
that came from loyal servant of debauched king. It was like a slap on
democracy, a slap on his uniform and his ego. He was in a look-out for Ratan
Lal jee.
Durjan Singh was facing a challenge
from Mritunjay Singh, who was also his half-brother; son of Leela, the magical
musician and Rana Jagatmad Singh. In the dispute to the royal throne,
Mrityunjay was coming out to be more deserving and a rightful heir. He was also
backed by his father Rana Jagatmad Singh. The Bengali charms had still kept the
dying rana in an ideal hypnotic state. When Durjan found himself utterly
helpless, he sought Ratan Lal Jee’s help and Mritunjay was silenced.
The matter could not be hushed up
like the previous. It left a trail which was soon followed by Superintendent
Mangla Ram. Durjan struck a deal with Mangla Ram and Mangla Ram who was waiting
to heal the feudal wound, which hit hard his newly acquired hierarchy, arrested
Ratan Lal ji in the matter. With that, an era of hot-headed sword wielding,
faithful and energetic young man who had bathed his sword a number of times for
the rana jee in several court intrigues, came to an end.
Ratan Lal jee came out after 20
years. When he came out , he was no more the princely looking fellow who
symbolized the royal authority. He was a
bag of bones, with hairline already receded to the middle of the head. Those
dense snake-like mustaches seemed lifeless now.
Durjan Singh had died and he was survived by his son Rana Kunwar singh
who had turned the palace into a hotel and had become an entrepreneurial rana.
When Ratan Lal Jee came out, no one came forward to receive him form the royal
family. Ratan Lal jee, himself found the new ways of the maharana very merchant
like and unbecoming of a chivalrous prince.
“All the ranas have become waiters
and they are cleaning dishes used by white monkeys. They are no more the royal
kings and they don’t even have the blue blood now. I doubt this poofy fella
with his fashion and hotels can even lift the sword of great Jagatmad Singh ji
or Durjan Singh ji.”Ratan Lal Jee uttered, while sipping the piping hot tea in
January winter Sunday. He further continued,” those were the days Jain Sahab. I
get lost in that dark, haunting night when Durbar hukum shot the man-eater. Actually,
I shot the beast. Durbar sahib had almost fainted when the beast leapt. What a
ferocious and beautiful beast it was. The animal claimed 33 human lives. Those
days are lost and lost are the dances and grand feasts of the palaces.
The conversation was interrupted by
the hot-piping samosas brought by Lasiya, the small raika kid who worked at
Kaka café. After having another cup of tea, Ratan Lal ji continued, “
Bhairosingh I must tell you about the day when I slapped Mangla ram,
superintendent police. Durjan Singh jee gave me an exotic gift that night. In
the stillness of gangaur ghat, I explored the curves and dark alleys of lust,
love and wildness that night. Those were the days and those were the people and
those were the girls and those were the horses and those were the boys. Life appears so dull today. No desire to live
and no human relations left”. The
talkative man became a little monotonous and boring after a while. He always
had the same set of stories. When people got bored they avoided him. Since
Ratan Lal jee had nothing to do, he would go and sit in some other gathering or
become a part of some social, political or religious event that happened in the
locality. He was all alone in the family. His wife had died while he was in
jail and the elder son was murdered in a local street-fight. The younger son
got a job in Delhi and ever looked back.
I had known Ratan Lal jee for
almost four years but with every year I saw his energies dying. When I went for my vacations in my undergrad,
I found a different Rattan Lal Jee. These days he had fallen under the charm of
a very old Bhagwad Gita which belonged to his father. The person who for his
entire life was the most insignificant in his life became such a good friend
and relief in his old days. Through that book , he would often talk to his
father and surprisingly, he was turning into a true Brahmin. His only quest
i.e. recognition as a Thakur was vanishing into the thin air. He began reading
Gita for hours and hours now. I often spotted him in near-by temples. He would
often talk about the temporariness of life and thought of becoming as serene as
a lake. Once he told me, that he was getting closer to his atman.
Then one day, someone came from the
palace and informed him that rana jee wanted to meet him. He dressed up in his
royal attire and pulled out his rusted sword which had pierced Mrityunjay Singh
once. He was escorted to the palace where Kunwar Singh jee addressed him as
‘Thakur Saheb hukum, Khamma’. Ratan Lal Jee was overwhelmed as if his purpose
of living had been fulfilled. He got a new lease of life and rorared, “ jo
hukum mai-baap” . Rana Jee wept for a while and remembered his old days of
glory. Then Rana Jee asked him to sign a paper which would transfer his jagirs(
which were given by Durjan Singh Jee) to the palace. Rana Jee cried and said, “
We are building a school in the memory of Durjan Singh Jee.” Ratan Lal jee readily agreed and signed
saying, my life is yours, lordship.
He went back home like a proud
conqueror of Chittor fort. He offered his prayers to his mother Sharda Devi and
truly felt like a royal Thakur, a Rajput who ruled the earth with all the might
and divinity. That night, he got drunk and in the red wine of power, glory,
history he felt a journey of soul coming
to life. It was a dark, still night just the one like that when he shot the
beast or when he got lost in the lusty eyes and hairy, sweaty armpits of
Bhanwri. He secretly entered Gulab Bagh, the local zoo. In his old days he
would often visit Gulab Bagh and sit for hours outside the cage of Phool Singh,
who was an ailing tiger. When people started running away from his stories, he
found a friend in Phool Singh and often told stories to him. That night, in a
drunken state he met Phool Singh and roared, “ I am a Thakur, a tiger just like
you. You have to salute me. I am coming inside to meet you my friend. You have to honor me. I have killed a beast that
looked like you. But I am your friend. You are a nice man, a holy tiger just
like my religious father. I am coming. “
Next morning a dead body was taken
in the state mortuary and burnt after a post-mortem. The forest guard was
suspended. An Italian restaurant was inaugurated in the name of Durjan Singh
Jee.
The Thakur was no more. I left for
Delhi, next morning.
