The Day I Returned Home

"So, what is your name, lala?”, the old woman asked. “Mushtaq Dhar” , I replied, replacing Dar in my  name with Dhar, a surname used by Kashmiri Hindus. I used Dhar to mollify my Muslim identity.

“Musta Dhar” what kind of name is it?, which caste?” The woman enquired, bewildered.

I said, “no caste, Ama. My father is a Hindu and mother, a muslim. We don’t mind caste and religion in our family”.

The other woman, who was silent till now, jumped in,”Whatever may be your name, we will call you as Raju. Is that ok?”

“Yes, very ok, I don’t mind”, I replied.

“Ok, you are Raju to us, henceforth. Go now, Raju”, the woman seemed to be interested in my going away.

As I came downstairs, and sat in the newly rented room,  worried  that my muslim lineage had been disclosed. Though I had not revealed myself as an exclusive muslim, but then I could be considered a muslim because of my muslim mother! It was already evening and I sat thinking for a long time whether I had committed a mistake by telling them that my mother was a muslim. Should I have told them I was a pure Kashmiri Hindu? After all, who would have checked my papers of identity! I kept thinking, cursing the moment I had gone to the terrace. I was now thinking how to leave this place in case  any ominous incident. This was a complete Hindu area and the owner of the house Bhim Singh, was from a low caste and such people can do anything! The only solace: I had told them my father was a Hindu.

For some more time, I kept sitting in my room till there was complete dark outside. The other woman, who had given me my new name, meanwhile came down. She came near the small window of my room that opened into the corridor and asked in a low voice, “ what did you say your name was?” “Mushtaq Dar” I replied in a higher voice, by now I had resigned to my fate, thinking come what may, let them do whatever they want with me,  let them kill me if they want, many people had suffered in this country for being muslim.

“It sounds like a Muslim name!” she whispered again.

“Yes, I am a muslim” I replied as I had already decided to face whatever was in store for me.

The night came but I could not sleep. This was my first night in this house.

I had come to Agra two years ago, to study engineering. After having lived at hostel for six months, I decided to move out of the hostel as I thought (as many other students did) that the authorities charged us more than we would incur if we lived outside. Monthly expenditures of the hostel were Rs 650 (Rs 250 for rent and 400 for mess; Rent had to deposited for six months in advance). I was looking for a room mate and was thrilled when Parvez Alam, a colleague who hailed from Kanpur told me he was ready to live with me. We moved out together but he proved to be a crook very soon and  I started disliking him so much  that I hired another room three kilometres away, in Kakretha area, near Amar Ujala press. This house belonged to one Mr Mittal. The rent was Rs 300. I had decided to cook for myself but  Bina Aunty,  the landlady, offered to treat me as a paying guest. I gladly accepted, on payment of Rs 400 per month for two meals and unlimited tea.

During my living with Mittals, I got completely absorbed into the family and they would seldom ask me for the money, which I nonetheless paid albeit late every month. As I narrated my wonderful experience of this living with my colleagues, they informed me that I was treated well because the Baniyas (the caste to which my landlord belonged) were more interested in money rather than any religion or caste. . I was also informed by my friends that it usually were the people from the lower castes that indulged in voilence for other communities, particularly muslims and that upper caste people were always comfortable with muslims.

Oh, the reason for my good treatment by Mittals was because of the money they were earning from me! The great secret of my life. Having come from a conservative Muslim family of Kashmir, I had been educated enough about the hatred that hindus had for muslims. Now this Baniya had been befooling me! Hindus could not be so sympathetic to a muslim, unless they had some ulterior motives and it was the money in this case that was the driving force for the purported love. Otherwise, Hindus had all along been an anti-muslim mass and they left no chance to hurt a them. I could not forget that it was the Hindu India that had been suppressing the Kashmiri muslims. Hindus could not be trusted in any way.

I continued living pretending to be a faithful tenant but believing in the heart of my hearts that Mittals treated me only as an earning tool.

Shruti, the niece of Bina Aunty, came several times to stay at the Mittal’s home. She was called for a full week when Bina Aunty was operated in Asopa hospital. She was the only adult person in the home during all those days, besides me. I started falling in unilateral love with the girl. Before she left for her home, I had gone mad after her. I waited for next visit and it came; I wrote a love-letter on full 32 A4 pages and secretly handed it over to her. She left very soon and very soon after that Bina Aunty told me that my letter to her niece had been seized by her brother and that the man and his entire family was very furious about it. Aunty advised me not to write such letters to the girl thenceforth. The same day, the brother  also came to Mittal’s home on a motorcycle. I was on the terrace. He had a young and stout pillion rider behind. The two looked at me from below simultaneously. My conclusion was simple: they were planning to kill me, or at least thrash me. Why otherwise should two have come and looked at me as they did?

The frustration occupied me so much that I thought it necessary to do something about it. I went out and started looking for a new room. Luckily for me, I got one in Nagla Padi near Bhagwan Talkies. I usually ran short of money, but this time I was  lucky enough to have it in my pocket. I paid the advance rent and came back to tell Bina Aunty that I was leaving Agra for good and that I was leaving that day itself. She was surprised but I was to go. I loaded all my belongings onto a rikhshaw and landed straight at Bhim Singh’s house. Afetr setting the things in order in the room, I went to terrace to have a look of the area. The two women were sitting there chatting. One, the eldest was the landlady and the other, a tenant living in a room adjacent to that of mine downstairs.

 And now I was here.

This first night was a torture. I could not sleep for a minute. I got up very early in the morning, went to Bhagwan Talkies footpath and met my newspaper hawker to inform him about the new location for delivery of the paper; this place was the hub of all the newspaper distribution activities and all the hawkers took their loads from here. I collected  the days copy of the paper and went to a tea-shop to read it there, returning home after almost two hours.

The woman came to my door after some time. All the inmates of the house, including an old man who lived with this woman in her room, had left for their daily courses. This man spotted grey but very thick and pulsating moustaches, similar to those of some Indian militarymen.

“So you are a Muslim?” she asked again.

“Yes, I am one” I replied, the pressure seemed to have ebbed since yesterday.

“You are telling the truth?” she annoyed me.

“yes, yes, yes, she this is our holiest book, the Quran” I pulled out the Holy Book it to show to her.

“Can you read it?” she asked.

“Yes, very much”. I opened the Book and read some passage from it.

The woman had by now, come into the room.

“But you don’t keep roza?” she proceeded with another question.

The month of Ramzan had been going on for some days now, though I didn’t know how many.

“Don’t tell anyone you are a muslim. Its not safe. See, I too am  a muslim and have been living in this locality for fifteen years now. But no one knows about my religion. Todays is thirteenth roza and I have not missed even a single. I hastened yesterday to call you Raju lest these people might come to know about your being a muslim. I had understood from your name what you were” she told me everything……………………………….shocked I was, but happy also.

“But what about the old Hindu man whom I saw coming out of your room?” the thick mustached man could be a Hindu only, so I thought.

“Oh no no, he is not a Hindu. He too is a muslim, a father figure to me. He saved me when I went to commit suicide. I am from Gorakhpur basically. I fell away with my in-laws and went to commit suicide and this man saw me, took me off the railway track and brought me here. I have been living with him ever since serving him as my daughter. His real name is Babu Khan but is known as Babu Ram here.” She whispered.

More and more surprises had surprised me like never before!

The next morning, I was introduced to Babu (Khan or Ram?). He asked me to come with him to the Mandir. I replied that I could not because of my faith. But he insisted that it was not a Mandir in its true sense and that I would enjoy. I did go.

We reached the mandir, almost one and a half kilometers away from our home in fifteen minutes. I followed Babu in touching the feet of the Swami. Swami, after I had touched his feet, said, “ come son. Kashmiri? Muslim?” he asked the two questions in a single breath. “Yes, Swamiji” I replied. “name?” he asked further. “Mushtaq, Swamiji” I replied. “Very nice” he said and asked his men to get breakfast for me and Babu. We went to the side of the temple and sat on a wicker table to have our breakfast of samosas and tea. It was an Ashram, I learnt, not  a mandir.

Bina Aunty had somehow come to know about my presence in Agra. She sent Anil, a class-mate,for me. I was asked to at least meet her as she had something important to tell. Go I did. The fisrt line that greeted me “why have you started living in a Chamar’s house? Are you not ashamed of having lied to me. I want you back today into my house. You will not pay anything to me henceforth.”

“But Aunty, I have no money to transport my goods back and to pay the off the debt”

Together Aunty and me went, liquidated all the debt and together we returned to our home that day.