How much land does a man need?
Entire Bemina was already inundated and his corpse was lying in hospital. His brother was willing to bury Aba Jan at Natipora, but Basharat had some other options. A tussle between the wife of Basharat and Ab. Rahman, the brother of Aba Jan was indeed very ugly episode, but the father without sons around becomes the property of all. Basharat’s intervention turned the matter into a serious social issue. Where to bury a man if his ancestral graveyard was submerged? Different people suggested differently, but then aunty who had lost everything came up with a suggestion. Basharat’s wife was adamant not to carry the dead body of his father to Natipora for the reason Aba Jan was not given a due share from the property by his brothers. Female folk is what they are. Everything comes at fore when someone dies. She narrated the tale of struggle Aba Jan had to undergo while constructing house at Bemina. Woman folk weep and mourn, but God knows how they find rhythm whatever they utter and wail. These wails I thought must have been natural, but I felt how Basharat’s wife was wailing with a kind of story line behind those cries. It was hard for aunty to control her. She was repeating the tale of loss of property on one hand and on the other she was crying for loss of her mentor. Her wails seemed cloaked by criticism and hatred for the brothers who for their own good had left their parents alone amidst of their old age. Her wails were abundantly packed with abuses for her Bhabies for not settling their families here. I had never paid heed to such wails, but then Basharat’s wife had found a new way to bring the matters of family to public.
“Take these bangles from my wrist and purchase a piece of land somewhere nearby to end the tussle”, aunty declared.
Placed her golden bangles on the palms of Basharat, she managed to calm her daughter.
“Don’t worry mother, you keep them, these might serve you for other purposes”, Basharat appealed.
“There is no other purpose holier than this that a widow shall sell her bangles to buy a piece of land for her loyal husband’s burial”, she wailed.
There was a pause, she immediately added, “He is unfaithful, he has left me half way for the worst.”
I requested aunty not to bother herself anymore and for some unknown reasons she placed her head in my arms, hugged me perhaps in the disguise of her own son. The sobs slipped from the crevices of my lips, but I composed her like my own mother. In that hug, the warmth was same; the clutch was similar to that of my mother whom I found alive in her bosom.
I realized how valuable a piece of land that dumps us for the ages together was. We carried Aba Jan’s dead body to our areas and Basharat’s father played an important role to calm everyone.
A meeting in the mosque was called to discuss the issue. A piece of land was allotted in the graveyard by the elders of the area. The decision disturbed the new neighbours who were denied the access to the local graveyard.
“They must pay the price of the land to the local committee”, one of the neighbours suggested. His option hardly found takers, but certainly encouraged another neighbour who made one more announced. “They must not claim the inheritance later on”. Basharat’s father ensured them all. Aba Jan was calmly waiting for Gusul. Since in the campus of Zadibal Hr. Secondary we had a camp for flood victims going on, the volunteers arranged the coffin and the burial and within two hours the grave was ready and Aba Jan was buried.
His funeral turned to be significant for few reasons. First, all his sons were away and young people volunteered in digging the grave under the supervision of Imam Sahab and the people in the camp joined the funeral not as obligation, but as a man want of land. Second, the father of three sons had to be carried to his destiny on request. Third, that Basharat’s wife shouldered the bier and followed the mentor of her life up to the gate of the graveyard.
She put her shoulder under the bier and never let it go down. She denied all the requests and warnings. “What then if Aba Jan’s sons are busy, I am enough to replace them”, she claimed.
She was scolded by Imam Sahab not to be a part of the funeral, but she had that day promised not to listen to any one.
After the burial took place, Ab. Rehman, the brother of the deceased tried his best to plead the wife of Basharat not to burden the husband anymore. He was indeed willing to carry the family to Natipora where from Aba Jan had moved to Bemina. The wife of Basharat folded her hands and begged him not to act anymore.
“My husband is generous enough to shelter us, you need not to shed crocodile tears”, she announced. Ab. Rehman’s sobs were frequent, but then his inaccuracy in particular had brought him under a severe condemnation. He was exposed before all. The other two brothers of Aba Jan were unlike Ab. Rehman, they attended the funeral and left, but their wives and daughters ignored the wails and abuses.
“What if I am a daughter, I am not like my brothers who left their parents to find better life, let them enjoy their life wherever they are, I will adopt my mother even if Basharat divorces me”, she shouted.
Volunteers of relief camp after three days of mourning pleaded the case of new neighbours. They identified an old graveyard which was lying unattended for ages. The issue was raised in the mosque after the Friday prayers when people of the area gathered for Fateh Khawani. Imam Sahab pleaded the demand of the volunteers, but by the rarity of the space in the graveyard, the matter failed to find the takers.
With the death of Aba Jan, things moved on, the new neighbours identified a piece of land in the area and purchased it against a hefty sum. It was the last service a dead man did for the new neighbours.
Mushtaq B.Barq is a Columnist, Poet and Fiction Writer. He is the author of “Feeble prisoner, “ Wings of Love” and many translation works are credited to the author like “ Verses Of Wahab Khar” and “ Songs Of Sochkral”
