Mirage (standard:romance, 3827 words)
Author: Shamoil Ahmad	Added: Feb 06 2012	Views/Reads: 3130/1943	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is story of cultural gap...gap between Lungi [ a strip of cloth tucked round the waist ] and Cheroot .

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Husnabano. It seemed to Jilani that flower decked fingers were softly 
coming in contact with his lips. Meetings began, and both of them got 
exposed to fire crackling within. With the passage of time crackles 
acquired the shape of regular fire, growing in intensity. Life without 
Husnabano, Jilani felt, was impossible now and her proximity provided 
the warmth of a fireplace in an otherwise cold and frozen world 
outside. Hayat was the lone witness to this love in the making. Jilani 
became IAS officer, but could not open his mouth. But every secret is 
destined to get exposed. Aunt Rahiman saw them once in someone's house, 
both eating from the same plate. There was much furore....Master's son 
entangled with the Ustani girl. One was already trapped; there was no 
scope for the other. He was made of clay, got immersed into clay. This 
was pure gold...shine like gold...how could that insignificant Ustani 
girl snare this shining sun...? The villain lost his cool. In a 
hysterical manner, he shouted at the top of his voice— “Bloody 
bitch...! Trapping my son, come...trap me...make love with me.” The 
cane swung into action... “Beware....if ever you moved in that 
direction...beware...?” 

Jilani became sick. Husnabano was defamed. Every marriage proposal that
came her way failed. Finally, she joined a school. The obedient moves 
on the beaten track; it does not make its own track. Jilani was IAS and 
he dropped into an IAS cauldron. Commissioner Rahim Samdani sent the 
marriage proposal of his daughter to Amdari House. Amdari House...? 
Master Khalil had named his tiled shed as Amdari House. This was his 
ancestral house. Somehow the verandah was given a facelift and on its 
wall ‘Amdari House' was got engraved. The poverty within did not get 
exposure nor did the real status of the house become public. But it 
certainly demonstrated an overbearing influence. It seemed as if it was 
a deserted house of the English who returned to England. In fact, he 
was an English teacher. If he were Urdu teacher, he would have named it 
‘Amir Nisha' or ‘Baiyatul-Firdaus' or expressions to that effect. But 
English teacher had a different psyche. He likes to identify himself 
with the bourgeoisie, the middle class. When Rahim Samdani sent him the 
proposal Master Khalil was sitting in the verandah of Amdari House and 
smoking cheroot. IAS father-in-law of my son...? The chest was swollen 
like balloon. The room Jilani occupied had earthen roofing and rats 
used it as their playground. At the time of marriage when the 
whitewashing was being done, Master Khalil got a linen ceiling done up. 
The bride was ceremoniously received into that room with her conical 
face and egg-like lips...she had her hair bobbed like those of boys. 
Attired in red, she was laden with ornaments. Jilani sat quietly by her 
side. He felt he was sitting in a room the walls of which had 
innumerable holes...it was snowing outside and the fireplace was cold. 
Suddenly the bride raised her eyebrows and her lips became circular. 
“It smells...” Jilani looked around....what kind of a smell....? “It 
smells like rat.” And then sound of rats racing down and up....oh these 
rats had to do all this here and now. “My goodness!” The bride gave a 
start as she looked up at the ceiling infested with rats. “Is it a room 
or a tent?” Jilani became district magistrate. The bride departed from 
the tent and became Madam Jilani. But the smell did not desert her. If 
ever Jilani wanted to go there, Madam Jilani would frown at the 
prospect. “Horrible....there is smell in every corner of the house.” In 
fact, in tiled sheds goats lived too. There were goats and chicken in 
the Amdari House. They would defaecate here.....urinate there...deposit 
their other body releases wherever they could. One of the goats once 
even defaecated between Madam's legs and urinated right there some of 
which sprinkled on her dress. Stamping her feet on the ground in 
disgust she scampered within only to emerge out of it the following 
day. Every member of the household was embarrassed. In particular, 
Master Khalil. The goat was immediately seized and tied to the tether 
post, but chicken could not have been tied down thus. They continued to 
play truant, spreading their body refuse everywhere and anywhere. Madam 
marvelled at the huge cultural gap that separated them. Here they did 
not clean-mop the floor and then Jilani would fondly think if only 
Husnabano were here...? Husnabano would not have turned her lips 
circular. She would have taken it as her own home. She would have 
covered the bodily refuse of chicken and goats, or would have collected 
and disposed them off.  The realization of cultural gap would have 
evaporated when the atmosphere would have had the fragrance of 
gunpowder. It was only the tiled sheds that provided shelter. Madam too 
had to shift to Alamganj for safety. Those days Jilani was at Baroda 
attending a training programme. Madam was at her parents'. Advani was 
in the town on his chariot and snakes were flying high in the 
atmosphere.  Muslim families were scouting for safe places. Rahim 
Samdani had retired by then. He shifted to Alamganj bag and baggage. 
“Rent—rupees five thousand.” “Five thousand...? Rupees five thousand 
for this tiled shed...?” “Lordship...this is the only occasion when you 
come to us.” Landlords would smile. What to do...have to save 
life...For full fifteen days foul smell had to be inhaled and endured. 
When atmosphere changed, they shifted back to the colony. Jilani was 
officer, but it was Madam who functioned as officer. Madam had opened 
her eyes in the IAS family. In her eyes, Jilani was always the son of a 
school teacher. She would raise her finger on the slightest pretext and 
say,” no...this is not the way. On occasions she would put her finger 
right across his face ....'This is not fair, Mr. Jilani...don't do like 
this...' To Jilani it would appear that it was the flailing cane of 
Master Khalil and it would occur to him that he was making mistakes in 
pronunciation. She would often say,' how would you know the 
manners...these are ingrained through cultural training.' Madam would 
particularly be peeved if ever someone from home town would come 
visiting them. Once she found Jilani taking Hayat to the bedroom. She 
did not say anything then. But after Hayat was gone, she lengthened her 
finger. “In future don't take anyone to the bedroom. Learn the manners. 
There is no O.L.Q. in you.” O.L.Q...? Jilani would recall Master 
Khalil. He would say,” son, develop 
O.L.Q....O.L.Q....Officer-Like-Qualities.” Hayat did not come again to 
the bungalow. He would meet him in his office and return. Jilani once 
put him up in the circuit house. Madam got the wind of it. She had her 
informer in the driver. When he returned from office, Madam shoved the 
knife. “You have become IAS...but it has turned the fortune of every 
Tom Dick and Harry.” Jilani remained silent whereupon Madam shrugged 
her shoulder—”Rubbish.” He quietly entered the room and lied down on 
the bed and closed his eyes....what if Husnabano were here...? On all 
such occasions he would remember Husnabano and his heart would sink low 
in melancholy. Every detail will be reminisced...how she blushed...how 
she smiled...how she burst into laughter...if ever Jilani tried to kiss 
her, she would cover her face with both her hands. On his trying to 
remove her hands from her face, she would entreat him. 
“No...please...for God's sake...don't...” “What...?” “It's sin.” 
“Nothing is sin...” “What are you saying?” “This is love.” “After 
marriage.” “No...now...” “Please, Jilani...please....” And Jilani would 
melt down. The sound of the word ‘please' would fall pleasantly on his 
ear like honey manna dew.  And words on melting, at times, also turned 
into lead. “Bloody bitch......trying to trap my son......” Jilani 
cursed himself. Why did I become IAS? Could have opened a grocery 
shop....friends had gradually begun to drop out. He had a strong desire 
to visiting his home town during vacations and meet people. How could 
he have forgotten the streets, lanes and by-lanes where he had spent 
his boyhood, the most formative years of his life...the scenes kept 
revolving before his eyes.... Seated in the open and playing 
chess....the delicacies of Ulfat Miyan...the Muharram fair....Kawwali 
of Mukim....the stories of love...Vakeel Saheb's secret affairs with 
his maidservant and the tea stall at the corner of the street from 
where the house of Husnabano was clearly visible. If Jilani could not 
be found anywhere else, he could certainly be sighted at the tea stall. 
He was everybody's favourite. His friends had named him ‘genius'. 
Shakir once came to the stall scouting for him. “Buddy Genius, it's a 
question of the prestige of our locality.” “What happened...?” “What's 
Sicilian Defence...?” “This is a kind of fortification in the game of 
chess.” “The fella is giving airs.” “Who...?” “He is playing chess in 
the open arena. He has beaten Hayat.” “Who is he...?” “He is an 
outsider, buddy....from the side of the In-Laws of Abbas Bhai.” “Let's 
go and take a look.” “Look, buddy, mustn't lose...” “What difference 
will it make...winning and losing is the part of the game.” 
“No...never...it's an absolute must that he is beaten.” Jilani smiled. 
“He is showing off. He has been reeling off in English. I told him to 
play against Jilani if he had the ability.” He really looked smart, 
clad in white safari...shining shoes, dark glasses and golden chain 
dangling across the neck. He was speaking fluently in English. Jilani 
felt it was his English that was making everybody angry. When the game 
started the fellow lit himself a cigarette. He would take a puff on 
every move he made. If the move was good, he would laugh loudly and 
would croon a song ‘this is the way catastrophe came...this is the way 
catastrophe came.' Jilani's palpitation increased...a defeat meant 
embarrassment for all. He made his moves very carefully, proved he was 
equal to the task and defeated him. His friends greeted him with loud 
cheers: ‘Genius zindabad...zindabad.' When the guy began to go, Shakir 
shouted,” there is a hole at the back of the trouser...get it repaired 
on reaching home.” Hayat completed the song the guy had crooned and 
left incomplete,” catastrophe came thus, the trouser went muss.” And 
they all burst into a peal of laughter. Jilani too could not check his 
smile. Jilani had become IAS, but it had made no difference to his 
life. He mixed freely, moved about the same way in the locality, played 
chess in the open and sipped tea at the street corner tea stall. Ulfat 
would not charge him any money for tea. If he tried to pay, he would 
proudly declare,” tea is free for you. You are our pride...darling of 
this locality...” Darling of the locality was a lifeless entity in the 
colony. Initially, Master Khalil visited his son off and on, but 
gradually this became less frequent. In fact, he used to sit in the 
drawing room wearing lungi (a strip of cloth tucked round the waist, 
also called sarong worn by men and women in the South Pacific) and 
smoking cheroot. There was a gap between lungi and cheroot which Master 
Khalil could not have bridged. Lungi was his status and cheroot his 
identity which he was not. Madam tried to convey this in a hushed 
manner initially, but had to summon courage to openly state her 
objection. “Why do you sit in the drawing room with lungi on? What our 
visitors will think? I have a status.” Jilani was present there. For a 
while he looked into the eyes of his father. Jilani's eyes clearly 
stated: ‘reap what you sowed.' Master Khalil rose. Jilani too rose, 
went to his room, sat down and shut his eyes. He had become lonely 
after retirement. There was not much of a movement in the colony. There 
was only one son who had settled in the United States. Madam was a 
member of Women's Commission. It kept her busy. Jilani's father had 
expired. Amdari House was under the occupancy of Iftikhar. Madam had 
built a palatial building in the colony. The palatial building had no 
importance for Jilani. His son did want to return from America. After 
him who was there to stay in that building? Religion becomes veneer of 
the old age. Most of his Jilani's time was spent in going through holy 
books and scriptures. He read that Imam Ghazali had got the inkling of 
the impending death. Imam washed his hands and feet, read out from the 
scripture, covered himself with a sheet of cloth and lied down. Jilani 
was greatly impressed. There was a spontaneous cry from his heart,' Oh 
God, give me too this kind of death... Take me to my home.' The thought 
of death occurring in the colony gave him a shiver. He had seen the 
fate of those who died there. People had to be brought in payment for 
carrying out the last rites. There was no one to give a bath to Lady 
Atfa Hussain. Somehow women had to be brought from Alamganj on payment. 
The son of Justice Imam had got embroiled in an issue with the grave 
diggers. Thousand rupees was demanded for digging grave. The dead body 
was lying while the lad was haggling with them. Finally it was settled 
at rupees seven hundred and fifty. It gave a jolt to Jilani's 
sensibility that one could not be buried peacefully in this colony. 
This did not happen at home. If ever some mishap occurred anywhere, 
there was no need to get people on payment. People thronged on their 
own. Someone would stitch coffin, someone else apply bathing ablution. 
Rupees two hundred was paid to the grave diggers. Burial place too was 
close by. Corpse was shouldered away. Here the corpse had to be 
transported in a truck. Burial place was near airport. Who would lend 
his shoulder for that distant place? 

Each moved in to the place in his own car and discuss politics. It
peeved Jilani. What if death happened when it rained....Jilani 
shuddered at the very thought of it. There were innumerable ditches on 
the roads of the capital. The whole town turned into a lake during the 
rainy season. In the torrential rain, it would be difficult to reach 
the burial place. Vehicles would get stuck in those ditches and who 
would lend his truck, and hands to give bathing ablution to the dead 
body....? This was the matter of greater anxiety. If no one was 
available who will give ceremonial wash? Whoever can tell if Madam not 
might begin bargaining while the dead body kept lying? One day while 
offering prayers, he remained in the state of veneration long enough, 
made an entreaty: ‘Oh God...devise some ways...take me to my birth 
place...oh my Lord....Oh Almighty...' And then the opportunity to visit 
Amdari House came. The occasion was—the marriage of Iftikhar's 
daughter. He had come in person to invite him. Madam excused herself on 
the ground of arthritis pain in her knees, but Jilani chose to take 
part in the marriage ceremony. There was a great deal of change in the 
locality. In the open field where they played chess, a pump house had 
come up. Tiled sheds had been eased out by palatial buildings. Ulfat's 
son had inherited the shop from his father. It now sold biryani too. 
Iftikhar's shop too had got a facelift. His son ran a cyber café at the 
Amdari House. Hayat complained that life was not the same in this 
locality anymore. Outsiders had settled here, but there was one tailor 
of yore who still stitched coffins without charging any remuneration 
and kept complaining that he alone was left alive to stitch coffins for 
the dead. Husnabano's house was as it was. She was still teaching at 
that school. Hayat informed him that due to paucity of fund, she has 
not received her salary for a year now. She was managing to survive by 
teaching Quran to the children of the area. Jilani enquired of him as 
to who else was with her in the house. “Her widowed niece with two kids 
stays with her there.” Hayat had informed him. And Jilani saw 
Husnabano. He had emerged from Ulfat's shop with Hayat after taking a 
cup of tea. Husnabano stood on the threshold leaning on the walking 
stick. Their eyes met for a while. Jilani stood stultified. Husnabano 
too looked startled. There was a sudden spark in her eyes and her face 
lit up briefly. Jilani's heart sank as he felt a pang there. He held 
the hand of Hayat. Husnabano rushed back in. “Please Jilani...please.” 
“I am her culprit...” Jilani uttered feebly. Hayat remained silent. 
“And I have received my retribution. I have become an alien to my own 
place and people.” “Do you know what your fault is?” Hayat said. 
“What?” “Obedience.” Thus burdened with a load on his heart, Jilani 
returned that very moment. The following day he received a phone call 
from Hayat. “Husnabano passed away.” “Passed away...?” Jilani almost 
shrieked. “How did it happen?” “That day when she saw you...she took to 
bed...and never rose again.” A pall of gloom descended on Jilani. “She 
seemed to have been waiting for you.” Jilani hung the receiver. “Whose 
phone was it?” Madam enquired. Jilani remained silent and tried to 
control tears falling from his eyes. “My foot!” Madam with a grimace of 
disapproval dashed out of the room. Jilani pressed a pillow against his 
chest and closed his eyes.... *** 


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