“Yes, go on, ask.”
Dara responded: “If faith is one, if God is one—if the entire mankind is one, why so many religions?” Fani smiled at his pupil, then casting a glance over the entire congregation began, “Dara has asked a fundamental question. If Faith is one, why religions are many? The moon shines on a moonlit night, if you look up at the star-studded sky, you will find millions of stars shining, sparkling. But then night gives way to a dawn, the sun rises in the horizon and the moon, the stars, they all become invisible. Faith, my dear Dara, is above the stars, above the sun and the moon. They shine at their own appointed hour, depending on time and space. They are all in harmony with each other. Imagine if they cross each other’s paths what would happen? A catastrophe. All religions must travel in their own orbits and never, I repeat, never cross each other’s path. This is the crux of my book. This is the crux of God’s word.”
Gani sat silent, imbibing Fani’s every word. The discussion shifted to Fani’s latest ‘fad’ as his critics called it. The ‘Kasb-e-Mah’, or ‘Taming the Moon’. Dara had got a sort of an observatory constructed halfway up the mountain overlooking not only the picturesque Dal Lake but almost the entire valley. On a full moon night Dara, along with Fani and a select few, performed a set of rituals directed at imbibing the luminescence of the moon. They believed that the moonlight not only invigorated the body but also soothed the soul. This practice had become a point of discussion among ulemas and Fani and his band of followers were ridiculed for adopting pagan ways.
At the end of the discourse Fani addressed Gani, whose latest composition he wanted to hear. Gani was reluctant to say anything, but Fani would not let him go. Gani finally read a few of his verses and Fani stood up and came to him. All those present got to their feet. Fani embraced Gani, kissed him and said, “Gani, from now on you are fit to be my tutor, this today I declare, though it was long ago that you had actually surpassed me in knowledge, intellect and wisdom.”
Kalhan Pandit, lying in his bed and unable to sleep was sure that he had heard a knock at the door. This room was where he had taken refuge after banishment from his palatial house. He sat up in bed and became all ears. Presently he heard it again, louder and persistent. He stood up, lighted a match and then a candle. Fearful and apprehensive he walked to his door. In a hushed tone he enquired, “Who is there?” A commanding voice responded, “Open the door.” Kalhan unlatched the door and it swung open under pressure from outside. He moved aside and three young men wielding AK-47 rifles barged in. Kalhan Pandit was now totally terror stricken. He felt his end had arrived. His legs began to sag. His throat become dry and a cold shiver ran through his old frame. One among the intruders shouted at him, “Come pandit, you are wanted.” Kalhan moved a step backwards and hit the wall. Weakly he managed to ask, “Where? Where am I wanted?” The youth gave him a taunting smile. “You will know, come let us go.” His two companions held Kalhan by his arms and began moving out. Kalhan made on effort to pull himself together and managed to walk.
Out into the street a taxi had been parked. Its doors were thrown open and Kalhan was shoved into the rear seat. He was sandwiched between two men holding guns. The leader of the squad sat in front along with the driver. The car began to move and in a while came on to the main road. The leader of the party turned back, looked at the frightened Kalhan and reminded his boys that the prisoner had to be blindfolded. One of them caught Kalhan’s collar and pulled up the pheran above his head. Kalhan tried to protest but could not. His head was now totally covered and the car continued to run on a deserted road. After what appeared to him as an eternity, the car came to a halt. He heard the doors being opened, the men got down and one of them pulled him and brought him out. He was led to an adjoining house. Once inside they entered a room on the ground floor and made him sit on a mat. He was ordered to wear his pheran properly and show his face. As he pulled down the pheran and opened his eyes he saw five of them squatting in front of him. The one seated in the middle reclined against plump cushions. He looked straight at Kalhan. It was a menacing stare. Kalhan shivered. Unable to bear the suspense any further, he began in utter desperation, “Son, why have you brought me here? What have I done? Please tell me.”
He was about to break down. His tormentor perhaps sensed it.With a reassuring smile he began, “Panditji! you are an old man and we respect you. We have nothing against you so please be at ease. It is a small matter. We have been informed that you…well. Let me be very clear. One of our contacts has informed us that you maintain records of the Mujahideen, their whereabouts, activities and so on. We are inclined to suspect that you are working for RAW. So we thought it necessary to confront you. You see we cannot tolerate any informers amidst ourselves.” Kalhan Pandit was really horrified. He knew that everybody who was killed was an alleged informer. He began to plead. “No, no! I am nobody’s informer. By God I tell you I am not linked to anyone. I am a simple man, deserted by my own sons. An old man like me, what should I do such a thing for? Nono, someone has given you a wrong brief. Please believe my word. I do not maintain your records.”
“Then what records do you maintain?”
“Oh! those records! These are ancient records, initiated by our ancestors. They are genealogical tables. The history of families of kings, nobles, men in high places.”
“But we too are noble.”
The interrogator picked a hole in Kalhan’s submission.
“We aren’t fit enough for your records?” Kalhan was at his wit’s end.
“No sir, it is not like that—you see we only add to the existing tables.”
The interrogator continued with a twinkle in his eyes, “Oh, and we do not exist in your tables. Why?” Kalhan could only manage a feeble reply. “Well what can I say.”
He realized the futility of arguing a lost case. His interrogator gave a short laugh. “Pandit is cornered. But let us leave it at that. Tell me, all your sons have escaped from the valley.” Kalhan saw a ray of hope; he could perhaps generate a bit of sympathy.
“Yes son, they have left me alone.” His tormentor placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “You have a lot of property. A big house, plenty of land. What do you propose to do with it?”
“What can I do?” Kalhan knew what was coming. The commander asked with a straight face, “Do you have any cash?” Kalhan stated honestly, “Only few hundred rupees.”
“Oh no, I mean bank accounts etc.”
“No my dear, I have nothing,” was Kalhan’s honest answer.
“Then Panditji, I am sorry but you are doomed,” the young man said in all seriousness.
With a shiver running down his spine Kalhan muttered, “What have I done? For God’s sake tell me.”
But his interrogator had now assumed the role of the jury and he pronounced his verdict. “Your guilt is proved. Now you have an option—either you pay five lac rupees in hard cash or you die. Choice is yours.”
Kalhan Pandit began to shiver. He pleaded with folded hands, “I have no money. How can I pay you such a big sum?” The man interrupted his pleadings, “You can, even if you have no money, you can.”
Kalhan could not understand this. “How, how can I?”
“We will arrange the sale of your property; the money so realized will save your life. You have only to affix your signatures on some papers.” Saying this, the commander looked towards one of his men who got up and left the room.
In a moment he returned accompanied by an elderly person holding a bunch of papers in his hands. He handed over the papers to the commander who placed them in front of Kalhan. The Commander rose from his seat and began to leave the room. At the door he turned back and said, “Pandit ji, I hope you still carry a pen. Boys look after him well—his son was a friend of mine.” Saying this he moved out and closed the door behind him.
Madam escorted Budshah into the hall. There stood a string of beauties in front of him. Pointing to the girls, she said to him, “They are all at your service, chose the one you like most. They are fresh and delicate like the Jasmine petals from the garden. Look at her, she is Mahjabeen, truly moon face, and look at the curves. She comes from Baluchistan. Here is Mahpara the beauty from the Frontier. Look at her eyes and the black hair. And lo! there is the beauty queen, Zoon, from Kashmir. Behold her red cheeks and black eyes. Choose Sir, choose, they don’t cost you much. You know, before the turmoil in Karachi, they cost a fortune, but now, no customers. It is a job to keep this joint going. Near starvation we are, yes.” The Madam continued drooping her jaws to convey a picture of misery and want. Budshah silently surveyed the grils. Suddenly the Muezzin’s call to the believers from a nearby mosque rent the air. As a reflex, the madam stopped in mid-sentence and covered her head with the dupatta that hung from her shoulders. All the girls present there repeated the ritual. The Muezzin continued “Allah-o-Akbar, Allah-o- Akbar…Allah is great…Allah is great….”
When the Azaan concluded, the madam lifted her stretched hands to her face, closed her eyes, mumbled a short prayer and rubbed her face with her palms and straightaway resumed business. “So what have you thought? Which one would you take for the night?” Budshah, as if in a trance, managed only a few words, “Madam! This is sin.”
“Oh come on Sir! What sin? We have complete arrangements here to avoid the sin, thanks to our brothers in Islam, I mean the Arabs. You chose the girl. I will call the moulvi who is on our payroll. He will perform your Nikah. You will take your wife, and in the morning you divorce her. Pay her Haq meher and of course a little bit of money for the room and services. It is so simple and in no way sinful.”
An excerpt from Ayaz Rasool Nazki’s book SATISAR, THE VALLEY OF DEMONS published by Vitasta Publishing and the book is available on www.vitastapublishing.com
