Basharat often says, ‘Master Fakhir Hussain couldn’t hide his ignorance from even no-good students like me. I’ve met important intellectuals, but if you give me the choice, I’d prefer to learn from Master Fakhir Hussain. Sir, he was a real man. He wasn’t a book. He taught you about life.’
6.
People Say You’re a Sayyid, but I’ve Never Met a Sayyid like You
I will leave it to you to imagine all the disgraces that Basharat underwent. In these circumstances, Basharat got through things as best he could. Soon enough it was nearing time for the school’s annual December function, and the preparations were so time-consuming and rigorous that not only could Moli Mujjan not find the time to present the teachers with their back pay but he also didn’t bother lying about it. December was the season for yearly community functions; duck hunting; sending Christmas fruit-baskets to important officials; kite-flying; eating heat-giving, aphrodisiac foods; and becoming disappointed in their results. On the thirtieth of November, when Moli Mujjan sent for him, Basharat thought that perhaps the meeting was contrived to give him his back pay in private so that the other teachers wouldn’t find out. But as soon as he got there, Moli Mujjan said, ‘In your poetry, why don’t you write on the behalf of your community instead of declaring what you want to do with others’ wives and daughters? What did our Maulana Hali of Panipat4 say about poetry like that?’ (He snapped his fingers trying to remember.) ‘What was that couplet? The one about toilets?’
Basharat recited reluctantly, ‘Those filthy, sullied couplets and qasidahs / Even a stinking toilet smells better.’
His Wife and Maulana Hali’s Shared Faults
When Basharat recited the couplet, Moli Mujjan shouted, ‘God bless you! God gave you the ability to write poetry. Please use it. For the annual function, can’t you write a good poem for the orphans? You should mention the insensitivity of the Muslim community, the contributions of Muslims to science, Sir-e-Syed’s legacy, the peace and tranquility brought about by British rule, the importance of charity, the conquest of Spain, and the County Treasurer’s good work. Let me hear you recite it beforehand. There’s not much time.’
Basharat answered, ‘I’m sorry. I only write ghazals. You can’t write about all that in a ghazal.’
Moli Mujjan got irritated, ‘I’m sorry — are ghazals good only for declaring what you want to do with others’ wives and daughters? Listen here. Last year, the Urdu teacher was fired just because of this. Like you, he too wrote poetry. I told him that important folks were coming for the awards ceremony. Upon the arrival of each donor or VIP, the orphanage band was going to play for five minutes. I wanted him to come up with something stirring to illuminate the orphans’ dire straits, as well as the orphanage’s social benefits and its good work. I said, “You have a good voice. Sing the poem.” The very day of the awards ceremony, he came to me whining and full of excuses. He said, “I tried and tried, but I couldn’t think of anything. These days I’m not feeling it.” I asked, “What the hell do you mean?” He said, “I’m not feeling inspired.” I said, “What? This is too much. Are you telling me that I’m going to have to start keeping tabs on each and every good-for-nothing employee?” He said, “I’m very embarrassed. I’ll find something appropriate to read from another poet’s work.” I said, “OK, no problem. That will work.” But, my God! He really went too far. In front of the entire audience, he read almost every single godforsaken line of our Maulana Hali of Panipat’s “The Supplication of the Widow.” He was standing next to me on the dais. I tried everything to get him to stop — I winked at him, I nudged him with my elbow, I cleared my throat loudly, I tried everything. In the end, I pinched his right hip, but he turned his left hip toward me and went on. It was very embarrassing for the school. Everyone was laughing behind their hankies. But he was turned toward the heavens and crying on the behalf of the souls of widows! One itinerate singer, through whom I had delivered the invitations, said that the asshole had actually added two or three modulations in raag malkauns. People must have thought that I was about to open up a home for widows and so was using Maulana Hali as an excuse. Afterwards, I scolded him, and he said, “I looked through every single poetry book I had, but there was nothing on orphans. The odd thing was that even Mir Taqi Mir, who was orphaned as a boy, had written masnavis in praise of a dog’s mother, and even for a cat named Mohini, but nothing, not a single line, for poor orphans! So too Mirza Ghalib has written qasidahs, sehras, and couplets in praise of bread made from chickpea flour, as well as a domni dancer, and betel nuts (he went so far as to compare worthless betel nuts to the “tits of a fairy”), but he didn’t write even one couplet on orphans, or at least in Nuskha-e-Hamidia. When I had read through all my books, I realized suddenly that orphans and widows are exactly the same. Their problem is the same, their suffering is the same. With these things in mind, I humbly chose to read ‘The Supplication of the Widow.’ It’s a masterpiece. For three years running, there were questions on it on the entrance exam.” And so, with these things in mind, I fired this masterpiece. But then the bastard filed a report against me with the inspector of schools, saying that I thought that Hali was obscene, and, moreover, that on five occasions I had made him bring me bathwater in a bucket. It was a total falsehood! I must have done that fifteen or twenty times! And it was also a lie that I always asked for it in a bucket. He brought the water sloshing over the sides of a terracotta water pot. And about my bathing, he jealously cast aspersions upon its innocence. Anyway, such feeble blows amounted to nothing. But now the Department of Education has written to me, asking for a reply maiclass="underline" “What objection could you have to Maulana Hali’s Musaddas and his ‘The Supplication of the Widow’ when the government has made them a part of the curriculum? Please highlight the sections you find objectionable.” But now that you’ve come, you can write back to them for me. But the objections should be written in such a way that it will be impossible for them to respond. And please find a couple errors in his language. After all, he was from Panipat. You can’t cure him of that. My wife is also from there. If you talk to her, you’ll see through all his linguistic pretensions.’
By Hook or by Crook
Maulvi Muzaffar’s weaknesses were as clear as day, and his strengths were hidden from view. He was much smarter, and much craftier, than Basharat could have guessed and, in the end, could stomach. He wasn’t a total idiot. He was an experienced man, he could read people’s faces, he was connected with the rich and powerful, and he was strict. His daily life was simple, and in this simplicity there was a sort of craftiness. Except for a second marriage, he indulged in nothing. He was gullible; he didn’t keep his promises. But he never gave up. For ten years or more, he had found a way to keep the school running. His code of conduct allowed every sort of cheating. To see the problems in his way of running things, you didn’t have to be an oracle or a savant. They were obvious. But most people wouldn’t have been able to get done what he got done. He often said, ‘Son, sometimes you have to bend the rules.’ But the problem with people like this is that once you bend the rules, you never stop. And, if you ask me, I would say that these people like bending the rules more than anything else. Even when these men point to heaven, there’s something crooked about it.
7.
Widow’s Curry