“War has broken out.”
“Who says so?”
“There was an announcement on the radio.” And the group, blowing their whistles, swiftly turned off into another lane.
They both stood for a little while in silence. Then, sitting down in his own doorway, he said, “Yar, war has really broken out.”
“Yes,” Irfan said, thinking about something else, and sat down beside him.
They both sat there in the dusty doorway for a long time. In the dark lane, two silent shadows.
Suddenly a siren began to wail, and with it the sharp sounds of whistles from near and far. The sounds of whistles, and the thup-thup of running footsteps.
“Shouldn’t we go inside?” he said slowly.
“Is it any safer inside?” Irfan asked in a disagreeable voice.
“No.”
“Then?”
The sound of the siren gradually died out. The thup-thup of running footsteps, the sounds of whistles, people’s cries and calls, the angry instruction “Turn off the light!”—gradually all these sounds ceased, and silence spread through the night. In that silence ears waited to hear some huge noise. They waited for a long time, no huge noise, no explosion could be heard.
“Yar!”
“Yes.”
“Yar, I’m thinking that Sabirah—”
“So you’re thinking about Sabirah?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
From the distance a low droning noise silenced them. They again strained their ears.
“Are they Indian planes?”
“Yes, from India, like the love letter you received today.”
“But yar, I was thinking something else.”
“What?”
“That now Sabirah will forget about Dhaka and seek out news from here.”
“Listen,” Irfan whispered ominously, and they both strained their ears again. The distant sound of an explosion, as though a bomb had fallen in some far-off unknown town. And then unfathomable silence, a fearful quiet. The whole city seemed to be motionless, holding its breath.
SEVEN
Cars, taxis, scooter-cabs, horse-carts, all the vehicles were in a hurry and were trying to crawl over each other. It looked as though he’d have trouble crossing the street. He watched the vehicles. It happened that one car, with “Crush India” written on its bumper, full of passengers, loaded with luggage, rushed rapidly past him. The slogan written on the car’s bumper was before his eyes for a little while, then was obscured in a cloud of dust. The car was in such a great hurry that it left the paved road for the dusty shoulder and kept moving, kicking up clouds of dust.
Now he examined the passing traffic with care. The cars and taxis had lost their shine. Their bodies were smeared with dirt. Every car, every taxi was full of passengers, loaded with luggage. In the horse-carts the luggage and the passengers were all jumbled in together. Oh God! Where were these people going? When he reached the Shiraz, he told Irfan of his astonishment. “Yar, today there was heavy traffic on our street — it was hard even to get across. After all, where are people going?”
“You’ve only seen the traffic on the road. I’ve just come from the scene at the train station.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Don’t ask! There are so many passengers on the platform that it’s hard to breathe, and not a single train coming. It’s like Doomsday.”
“And here’s the Shiraz empty,” he said, casting a glance around. Today the Shiraz was absolutely empty. He and Irfan, two souls, sat at one table. “Yar, today not even our friend the white-haired man has come.”
Suddenly the door opened, and Afzal entered. He cast a glance around: “Empty?”
“Empty,” Zakir answered bleakly.
“Where have the mice gone off to?”
“They got tired of waiting for your flute. They were so frustrated that they set off all by themselves and headed for the ocean,” Irfan answered sarcastically.
Afzal looked steadily at Irfan. As he slid out a chair and sat down, he said, “Disgusting man! Order tea.”
“Abdul!” Irfan called out.
Abdul came instantly, as though he had only been waiting for an order. “Yes sir!”
“Tea.”
Afzal said thoughtfully, “Yar, the birds are very worried. I’ve just come from the Ravi. When the planes come, the birds from all the neighboring gardens fly up in a state of utter confusion, circle around wildly in the air, and then the poor things hide in the trees again.” He paused, and muttered, “The birds in this town are worried.”
“And you?” Irfan looked steadily at him.
“I’m worried too.”
“Don’t you know that those who are worried are leaving the city?”
Afzal fell into thought. Then he said, “A traveler, passing through a forest, saw that a sandalwood tree was on fire. The birds who had been sitting on its branches had already flown away, but one wild goose still clung to a branch. The traveler asked, ‘Oh wild goose! Don’t you see that the sandalwood tree is on fire? Why don’t you fly away? Don’t you value your life?’ The wild goose replied, ‘Oh traveler! I’ve been very happy in the shade of this sandalwood tree. Is it right for me to run off and leave it in its time of trouble?’” Afzal fell silent, then said, “Do you know who it was? — The Buddha told this story, then looked around at the monks, and said, ‘Oh monks! Do you know who that wild goose was? I myself was that wild goose.’”
“Good!” said Irfan sarcastically. “I was hoping to hear you make that very announcement!”
Afzal stared at Irfan’s face, then said, “You’re right. Absolutely right. I myself was that wild goose.” He stood up and went to the door, but then something occurred to him and he turned back again. He approached Irfan, and said, “The Buddha was truthful, I too am truthful. In fact, in an earlier birth we two were one.”
Afzal had turned and begun to leave, when Abdul brought the tea. Irfan said, “The tea has come.”
Afzal looked benevolently at Irfan. “Irfan, you’re a good man.”
Afzal sat down. Irfan poured out the tea. Afzal, drinking tea, said, “Yar, whatever has happened has been for the best.”
“What has been for the best?”
“That the disgusting people are leaving the city. How pure the Shiraz looks today!” He paused, then said, “Yar, I’ve thought about it a lot. Finally I’ve reached the conclusion that virtuous people can save this country.”
“And where are they?” Irfan asked in his special sarcastic tone.
“Where are they? Fellow, don’t you see them? You and I are two. Yar, three are a great many.” Then he pulled out a notebook from his pocket, unscrewed the cap of his pen, opened the notebook, and said while writing something, “Irfan, I’ve forgiven you. I’ve entered your name on the list of virtuous people.” Then he murmured, “In my notebook the list of virtuous people keeps getting shorter and shorter from day to day.”
Suddenly a siren began to wail. Along with it, shrill piercing whistles were being blown. Afzal stood up: “I ought to go.”
“It’s the air-raid siren. Don’t go out, stay right here.”
“Zakir, you’re very fearful.” He paused, and said, “Fellow, don’t be afraid. Today I’ve arranged things with Data Ganj Bakhsh. I said, ‘Data, shall I take your city under my protection?’ He said, ‘Take it.’ So this city is now under my protection. Nothing will happen to it.” With these words, he rose and went out.
And so, night and day alike, at frequent intervals the siren wailed, and with the siren, the whistles blew. Traffic police and civil defense volunteers appeared in the streets, blowing their whistles, gesturing, and issuing instructions. Traffic on the streets suddenly speeded up, then slowed down, as vehicles left the road and found shelter under trees. Gradually the streets emptied, leaving only the traffic police, and volunteers with whistles clenched in their teeth. The street was empty from one end to the other. On both sides of it long lines of cars, scooter-cabs, taxis, and motorbikes were standing. All the traffic noise, all the sounds of the city were suspended. Everywhere all was motionless and silent. Sometimes a swiftly passing jeep tried to break the silence and immobility, but then it vanished in the space of a breath. In its wake the silence welled up again, the immobility became even more profound. And he sometimes sat with his back against a tree beside the road, sometimes lay in a trench behind the trees among unknown travelers, sometimes crouched in a corner of the Shiraz with his ears pricked up. At every moment he expected some extraordinary noise to disrupt the peace of the atmosphere. But no noise came. No big explosion, no loud voices. Only a low drone in the distance. After it, perfect silence. And then the siren wailed, and this time its sound brought the hidden people out of their holes and corners, and scooter-cabs, motorbikes, cars, taxis instantly set off again with all their noise. Now the air was full of noise, and the traffic was moving at full speed, and again the siren began to wail. Again the whistles blew, again the people hid and the traffic stopped and silence spread all around. How many times this pattern was repeated each day! But when evening fell, the siren wailed in a different tone, so that the movement of traffic and the gait of pedestrians were suddenly disrupted. Instead of stopping, every vehicle dashed madly ahead, and every pedestrian hurried off at top speed. But gradually the noise faded into the distance. Silence spread with the evening haze, and joined with the lengthening shadow of night to fill the whole city. Taking advantage of this silence, the dogs began to bark at nightfall. Then it seemed that much of the night had already passed. So much of the night had passed, and so quickly! But after that the night did fall, and wouldn’t even dream of passing. Then suddenly the siren wailed. Again the whistles. At the same time the dogs began to bark with a new enthusiasm. It seemed that all the dogs in the city had suddenly jumped up with a start. The sound of whistles and the dogs’ barking saturated his senses. As he lay in bed, it seemed to him that the whole atmosphere was full of that disgusting noise. Lying on a cot nearby, Abba Jan slowly sat up, and began to recite something under his breath. Then Ammi turned over, and sat up.