3. Back Home & School
I heard that two girls in the neighborhood were going to school and
even the transport was available. I once again got obsessed with the idea of
going back to the school. The primary purpose was to escape this depressing
environment I was forced into due to the catastrophic earthquake. With great
difficulty it was discovered that the school had reopened and the classes were
going on for the last two weeks. Thank God, soon Bhaiya arrived to meet us. He
often used to visit us in his baby Austen car. Those days baby Austen used to
be like today’s auto rickshaw what is popularly called a “tempo”. It had two
separate seats in the front as well as in the rear. This car could easily ply
inside the narrow lanes of Patna city. So when Bhaiya came, Amman asked his
view on the issue of resumption of my school education. It was an issue that
appeared to be more critical than the decision of partition of India.
Eventually it went the way I wanted. So I started going to the school once
again and Bhabhi also started coming from her parent’s place in Kadam Kuan.
This was also an opportunity to meet Bhabhi every day. I told her that she took
a wise step by not shifting to Patna City as it is difficult to feel at home
there. I asked Bhabhi to tell Bhaiya to get our damaged house repaired as soon
as possible so that we all could stay together once again like it
used to be before. Bhabhi agreed. The day went by in a jiffy. It was the night
at this new place which was always depressing and scary. It was a huge house
with long verandah and massive courtyard. There was a single lantern to cover
this entire area. Another kerosene lamp was kept in the kitchen. To make my
life further difficult, all the time the oldies relished to tell stories of
ghosts. Saffoo went to the extent of telling about a particular ghost who was
occupying the first floor of her house and her father offered sweets and
flowers to him (the ghost). After consuming the sweets, the ghost leave behind
a note slip specifying the name of the sweetmeat shop from where the sweets
were to be procured the next time, and the desired quantity as well. The
portion where we used to stay, had a graveyard and a mosque at the back. That
was the meeting ground for the local thieves. They used to distribute the loot
at night. To remain undisturbed the stories of ghost was widely circulated.
Their movements and voices were sometimes heard at night that was frightening
enough. Once it happened that the thieves stumbled over a large
earthen pot which fell off the roof and the noise of their fall at the pitch of
the night was so horrendous that everyone thought the earthquake had come
again. All of us started shrieking uncontrollably. There was no male member
close by. Dark nights were a nightmarish experience there.
We had shifted to Patna City in winter, and after the summer rains had
just started. The room where we used to sleep had a thin metal roof. The rain
drops had a frightening sound effect. So we went to the inner portion of the
haveli and God! that was even more horrifying. The huge bed belonged to Nana
Abba’s era. There were two large cupboards containing
china, cutleries and utensils. The room had remained deserted for so
long that snakes had given eggs there and during nights hissings were clearly
audible. Amman warned me about the snakes and warned me not to get close to it.
There was another small room which was full of bats that had made it their
home. It was believed that if a bat gets clinged to your ears only
the beats of a drum made of gold could separate it. So I used to move in that
room with both my hands clamped over my both the ears. The only consolation was
Amman to whom I used to get clinged whenever the lightning struck close by. I
used to cry and plead before Amman for going back to our home. She assured that
we will as soon as the house was getting repaired. The frightening impact of
that rainy season still lingers at the back of my mind and during heavy rains,
even nowadays, I feel extremely uncomfortable. I have always wished my close
ones to stay back at home, whenever it rains.
The month of Rabbiul-Awwal, as per the lunar calendar, had arrived and it
was celebration time for Partigali (that locality). The month marked the
occasion of zayarat (glimpse) and a local fare. I could not understand all that
and so I asked Amman. She explained to me that Our Prophet Mohammad (SAW) was
born on the twelfth of this month. The footmark of the prophet was preserved
there in Partigali which used to be taken out and rinsed in rosewater and then
made public for everyone to have a Zayarat (glimpse). Also Miladunnabi was held
the same day. So I started counting days. Since the morning of the fateful day,
clean sheets were spread on the floors. At Fatma Khala’s place variety of nice
food was being cooked. I also overheard that everyone from Dhawalpura are also
expected. And of-course Milaad had to be there followed by distribution of
sweets to all. All the rooms were washed. A small wooden platform was washed
for the holy item to be placed there. After all arrangements were complete,
they all started to wait for the Dhawalpura caravan to arrive. As their arrival
was announced, I jumped the corridor to check who all had come from there. They
had come in a buggy. When they came inside it was the familiar face of Humaira,
Sakku and Hassu along with their Amman (whom I used to call Mumani Amman).
There were two maids. They all came in and settled down near Amman. I knew the
girls since the days of wedding of Chanda Khala, so I signaled them to come
along with me. I took them around the entire campus. Introduced them to Saffoo
and Asia who were also the same age. With great difficulty I could convince
Zafar Mamoon in favor of getting Saffoo admitted to my school. She had also
started going along with me.
Eventually at 4o’clock in the afternoon the ceremony of rinsing the
footmark of the holy Prophet was done with rose water and much fanfare. The
used rosewater was collected in a bottle. The Men folk recited Milaad and
Salaam. Though all of them were somewhat belonging to the family, still only
after all of them went away, did the ladies came out for the zayarat. All the
girls present there were older than me and far more matured and sober. But in
height and built I was much ahead of them all. Saffoo was almost tiny. Humaira
and Sakkoo though were older than I was, looked younger. So I called
them by their pet names. The oldies had a fair idea of everyone’s age. I was
always crticised for my ways of addressing others. May God’s mercy be on my
Chhoti Nani, she was all the time, more engaged in finding about the movements and
engagements of others. Who’s doing what. Who’s saying what. That seemed to be
the ultimate purpose of their lives.
Amman’s manager used to come often to deliver food grains and money. Amman
used to remain in purdah and never went in front of him, so I had to get from
him the accounts and give it to Amman. Even this act was discussed by other
inmates in suppressed tone. Nothing could be more irritating but I kept quiet
on their faces. The commandment of the time was to keep mum before the elders.
One day when I reached home from the school, the maids informed that my
Dada and Dadi had come. I wondered where they could be hiding till now. Amman
elaborated that they were not my real grand parents. He was the sibling of my
Dadi. When he was forced to join a school he fled from home. The name was
Waizuddin Dada. He was fair complexioned with a decent built. Dadi (his wife)
had a quiet nature. He had three sons, Noor was the eldest, Shaukat was just
older than I was and the youngest was roly-poly Hashmatullah. After he left
home, Dada had taken refuge in the house of a wealthy person. As further
education could not be pursued, he was trained to drive the car. He got married
there in Monghyr at someone’s initiative and thereafter got his own house next
to his in-laws. The earthquake of 1934, which had devastated the
entire state of Bihar, had affected Monghyr and Sitamarhi the worst. Later when
I went to Monghyr on a posting in 1950, double storied houses were still rare
to come across.
One day I went to meet Aapa. She was expecting her second baby. I saw her
washing lots of clothes by the side of the well. I felt sorry for her. Manzoor
Bhai never got employed and there was no other earning member in the family
either. It was hard to imagine how their expenses were met. The social pattern
at that point of time was that only criterion for the girl’s marriage was that
boy should belong to the same family. Whether he was a dullard or uneducated or
unemployed, was none of the concerns. No matter what, the daughter was not
married to an unknown family. This kind of prevalent practice was
far from wholesome.
When the day of the delivery came close, Amman was expected to go there.
By the time could reach, the midwife had already arrived. She was to charge
Rs.20/- for the delivery plus post natal oil massage for 6 days. Next day
morning, we got the news that a boy was born. I went to see them. The room was
almost dark. There was a fire burning in one corner of the room. The idea was
that whoever goes in along with any evil spirit, the malevolent elements will
get burnt in the fire. I saw the baby. Her first child was born at our house in
Bankipore with much fanfare and under best of treatment and care. The occasion
of Chhatti was expected on the sixth day of the childbirth. Amman got some
unstitched clothes from the market and made kurta and a cap for the present. In
the morning of the Chhati day, when it arrived, we heard the bathing
ritual will not take place as Aapa had fever and was unwell. Only the baby’s dress
was changed after a bath. But the Geets were sung in the usual
manner. Post natal pangs were aggravated by the fever and the drum
beats at full bloom. Situation for Aapa must have been unbearable. No doctor
consulted for any proper treatment and on top of it, all sorts of junk eatables
were given to her for gulping down. After a few days passed by without any
improvement, Amman got extremely worried. Dr. Masood was called for a fee of
Rs.2/-. Medicines were prescribed by him that continued for nearly a month Thereafter,
Amman asked for a Rukhsati from the Sasuraal and brought her to our
own establishment. She was kept in a ventilated space. A maid was appointed to
feed the baby. The fever still persisted. Then eventually Bhaiya consulted a
couple of senior doctors from Bankipore. In the opinion of these doctors
, some infection had been caused by the crude delivery method of the
midwife. The treatment continued and so did the debility. She got bed ridden. A
doctor was called again who suggested that proper formulation of blood is not
taking place due to illness and blood transfusion was needed. Only slight
improvement was witnessed after the blood transfusion. She had become
absolutely pale and food intake was a miniscule. Next time when the blood
transfusion was to take place, four doctors were present there. In the middle
of the process, the condition worsened and eventually by 11 o ‘clock at night
Aapa passed away. A few other children of Amman had earlier died but not at
this age. Amman went in a pathetic state. The worst part was that whomsoever
came for the mourning, would sit next to Amman and cry so that Amman also would
start weeping again. Somehow the year 1936 was inauspicious for our
family. There were a number of unexpected deaths within the family during that
period. Aapa’s baby was name Nehal. The elder brother Jamal used to stay with
his father. Amman brought up Nehal as he was physically weak and had to be
given canned milk which was pretty expensive in those days and also a maid had
to be kept to look after the child.
The tragic effects were too much for Amman. She lost her appetite and
there was no one to look after her diet. Every visitor who came would talk
about the same unfortunate event which made the condition of Amman even more
pathetic. Eventually she too fell ill. Bhaiya and Bhabhi used to occasionally
come for a visit but they were still staying at Kadam Kuan. One day the
temperature shot up so high that Amman fainted. Mahboob was rushed to Kadam
Kuan to get Bhaiya. He had gone to the Club. Mahboob only delivered the message
at home that Amman’s condition is not well. When Bhaiya returned home and
suddenly got the news, he had a nervous breakdown and fainted. That taught me
the lesson that if someone enters the house, a shocking news should not be
conveyed all of a sudden.
This led to expeditious repairing of our house. Bhaiya wanted us to get
back to our own house as early as possible and finally that momentous day came
when we all returned home that was still semi repaired. Nehal and his maid came
along with us. The household goods and the maids came separately on a bullock
cart. A lot of repairs were yet to be done in the house. The roof of one of the
rooms was yet to come up and the floor was also not finished. Still it was the
home where my heart was. Bhaiya and Bhabhi also came back there and all of us
started living together and the happiest per was that I and Bhabhi started
going to the school together, once again.
There used to be was a financial crunch off and on. The Manager who was the
caretaker of our agricultural land, frequently came to demand for more money to
pay Hudda. I didn’t know what Hudda was but the word always sounded very
annoying. The house was left half done. Bhaiyya did not contribute to the
household expenditure. Zamindari was in bad shape. The agriculture produce,
after distribution amongst various sections, didn’t leave enough for us to be
brought home. Bhaiya never bothered to even supervise the food
produce related matters. Amman looked like a worried soul as only she knew how
she was managing the entire show which included milk powder for the infant
Nehal, and extravaganza of Bhaiya. Still I never saw her sulking.
I had grown mature enough by now to understand these intricacies of life.
I developed intense antipathy for the Zamindari system and the Hudda attached
to it. In the meantime, Dada expressed his desire to Amman to shift
in our house as after we left Patna City and came back home, he used to miss
us. Five rooms on the ground floor were vacant along with a courtyard. So Amman
agreed for it. I was aware that Amman used to help them with food grains and by
other means. Only later on did I realise that Amman’s help was done in the
manner in which Islam religion recommends. The charity should be done without the
desire for publicity. If you give with one hand, the other hand should not come
to know of it. She practiced it in real sense.
A year passed by. The month of Shabaan brought a sense of uneasiness for
us apprehending another unexpected tragedy. Nehal was slightly underweight but
still healthy. His maid was standing by the road with Nehal on her shoulder. A
female who used to sell curd came and took the boy in her lap for a while. The
moment she left, high fever gripped the boy. Next day the temperature went even
higher with Asthmatic symptoms. When the doctor was consulted it was diagnosed
to be Pneumonia. Perhaps at time this ailment was not curable. The fourth day
of fever, 20th day of Shaabaan month, poor Nehal passed away.
As soon as the coffin was taken out of the house, the same curd selling
female appeared again. All the servants were bent upon thrashing that female
believing that she had cast evil spell on the boy which was the cause of his
death. Amman’s Faith, despite the tragedy, was however firm and she believed
that everything happens only at the will of the God who alone has full control
over the life and death. Moreover, she tried to explain that merely beating
that female will that bring back the child alive? Somehow that female was
saved. May be it was just a coincidence that three consecutive years in the
month of Shaabaan, one member of three generations had died. The mystery
remains unresolved. Amman was shattered but stayed calm. Husband, daughter and
then the grand child for whom Amman had taken the responsibility of bringing
up. Bearing so much within a short span was not easy.
By 1938, I gained a good height to appear like 20 year old though I was
still younger. The maids and visitors all started asking Amman when I am likely
to get married.
This type of conversation was very annoying to me. Just to evade the
subject, Amman would reply that it will be done the next year so that they
could leave with blessings and good wishes.
The manager, who was looking after the Zamindari, was there with us since
Abba’s time. His name was Munshi Deoki Nandan Prasad. He took a few days leave
to visit home and passed away there. Bhaiya was least bothered about such
affairs. Whatever cash used to come, he kept spending them in addition to his
personal income from the job.
Those days, there was one Nazir Ahsan called Najju who was the son of
Abba’s sister. He was an MBBS Doctor. He was transferred to Patna. Government
quarter meant for him was not yet vacant. He was also related to Bhabhi and was
the son of her own Phuphi. His wife’s name was Zaibunnissa. She was real pretty
and the husband seemed to be very fond of her. The couple often used to meet
Amman and the wife used to talk freely with me. Seeing them from close circles
had a lasting impression on my mind regarding the stature and financial
condition of a Doctor.
After some time, there was a flood in Patna. Our lane also got flooded
like I had never seen before. It became a source of entertainment for me to sit
by the window and watch the passersby gliding in thigh deep water. Taking
refuge from the flood, two students had shifted to the ground floor veranda of
our house. Both of them were constantly measuring the level of the water
expecting it to recede fast. One of them was frail and good looking and had
specs. His name was Idris. The younger one was Mahmood who was wheatish in
complexion with full lips. They knew our names. Both of them were of decent
manners and sincere, and never indulged in cheap tricks. When the water
receded, it became slippery on the road and that was even bigger fun for us. We
used to sit by the window with lots of small sized onions and potatoes which
were thrown down the lane to gauge the depth of remaining water. Sometimes some
baldy became our victim. I heard Mahmood got into Medical College. I found
Mahmood to be more attractive but the fling never went beyond one sided
throwing of onions and potatoes. The floods got over and he left for his
studies. Later when I got married to doctor Saheb, Mahmood told every damn
thing to Saheb with particular reference to the raining vegetables from the
heavens. Later it was revealed that Mahmood himself was madly in love with his
own cousin.
Our neighbor next door was a Bengali family. The lady as we called her
Mother of Monty, used to knit sweaters in her courtyard during the winters. I
also got fascinated. She agreed to teach me and asked me to come over to her
house. I had involve Bhabhi to join me, to be on the safer side. The formal
request was then placed before Amman to allow us to go to the adjacent house to
learn knitting from that Bengali lady. Amman got worried. She agreed that
learning how to knit was welcome but how would we go to the other house? She
asked Bhaiya to get a window opened in the wall which opened towards their courtyard.
The window got opened just for this purpose.
I used to get a pocket money of Rs.2/- in those days. There wasn’t much to
spend on so I gave that money to Monty’s mom to get the knitting wool and the
needles. The training sessions were going on. Soon a blouse for me was ready.
Then I was taught sweater and muffler – of dolls. I gave her some more money to
get me lots of knitting wool for me to make a large shawl. By her own choice,
she got the wool of loud red color. I have always been impatient by nature.
Good or bad I want everything to be done in a jiffy. The shawl also got ready.
Bhabhi had also learnt to knit very well. As the mission was accomplished, the
window was again closed and sealed.
An invitation came from Kaashana for the wedding of Baby who was the grand
daughter of one of the friends of Abba. Amman used to exchange visits with
them. Only Amman and Bhabhi, with a couple of maids, went for the ceremony.
Unmarried girls were not attending the weddings unless held within their own
family. The spinsters were also not encouraged to go before other
ladies. As I was left behind, Dadi was asked to take care of me. Dadi didn’t
take any time to fall asleep with a loud snore, which kept me awake till
everyone came back past midnight. The bride and the wedding were discussed in
detail. Even during the next day, the same subject was the centre of
discussion. The groom was a doctor and was good looking. This was a fascinating
combination for me. Ladies around us started talking more about my marriage as
if there was no other subject left on earth. I felt like scratching their faces
with my nails in anger. As consequence of this subject gathering momentum and
becoming too widespread, Amman one day called Bhaiya and passed the order to
get my name struck from the rolls of the school. I wept inconsolably. I pleaded
for continuation for two more years so that after passing out “middle” (7th class)
I could even get a teaching job in the school. The idea of my doing
a job was even more alarming for them. Nothing could convince them now. Bhabhi
was sent to get my name struck off alone while she was allowed to continue with
her studies as she was married. When my friends heard of my withdrawal from the
school, they all gathered around to find out where I was getting married and
when. All this was very depressing tragic. Tearful farewell was given to me.
Closer friends like Aaram Bano and Hamda promised to visit me sometimes.
Inspired by a couplet of the famous Urdu poet Allama Iqbal, which related to
the imprisonment of a bird “Aata hai yaad mujhko guzra hua zamana”
Taking a clue from there I also wrote a poem which begins
something like this
Aata
hai yaad mujhko school ka zamana
Larkiyon ka gudgudana aur khikhilana
A lose translation can be something like this
The
memories of the school are so vivid in my mind.
The girls with their tickles and
giggles, and grind.
I sat idle and dejected the next day. Voice came from the kitchen inviting
me to see how matar (peas) Pulao is made. Jamila Bua was preparing for the
famous dish of mutton Qorma.
“What will you cook when you go to your in-laws”. Was the typical sadistic
remark of the Buas in those days.
The maids kept calling me to the kitchen. Out of sheer annoyance I didn’t
go there. In fact, I have never been too fond of cooking. Sitting idle, I would
at times read the books of Abba which included the Hadith (incidents related to
Prophet Mohammad SAW). From the works of Munshi Prem Chand to
Shaukat Thanwi, I read them all. A couple of periodicals namely Asmat and
Johar-e-Niswan used to come for Bhabhi which I used to read with keen interest.
When there was nothing left to be read, I pleaded with Noor Chacha to get me
reading material from the library.
Occasionally, we used to go to Mussallehpur where Phuphi Amman lived. Next
to her house, lived Naumaan Bhai who had a younger brother with him. To the
right was the residence of Ahmad Bhai who was married to Asma Bajee, who was
the sister of my Bhabhi. She was extremely beautiful. She also did not have any
child like my Bhabhi. Naumaan Bhai used to call my Phuphi Amman as Daadi Amman.
I used to go before him. Whenever he came, for fun, he used to bow
in front of me to offer salaam calling me Phua (Aunt) even as I was much
younger to him. He had a jovial nature and had impressive personality. He used
to wear tie and bow collar. He was the one who supervised the Zamindari of
Phuphi Amman.
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Chapter
INDEX.