“Why? Did you fall for someone?”
“No, yar! The truth is that just then ‘Pakizah’ was showing there. I said to myself, My dear fellow, now that you’ve come to Delhi, you ought to see Meena Kumari before you go! So I stopped over for one day to see ‘Pakizah.’”
“Is it a good film?”
“Absolutely first-class.”
“Did you see only the one film?”
“As many days as I stayed in Delhi, I did nothing else but see films. Finally the old gentleman said, ‘Young sir! If the police get wind of this, they’ll be here on the run. You’ll be arrested, and we’ll be dragged into it as well. It’s time for you to make yourself scarce.’ So the very next day I boarded the Frontier Mail and came straight to Amritsar. By hook or by crook I managed to cross the border, and here I am in Pakistan.”
Thus the occasional person, after making his way in secrecy through town after town, arrived by way of India. Others who emerged from the land of disaster set out for Nepal, and contrived to come from there to here. Others left through Burma, and endured hardship and pain on their way back. Many returned after suffering imprisonment in India. So they straggled back, one by one. The prisoners and the missing kept returning. It seemed that every single one had come back, or perhaps as though no one had gone, or was lost, or was lacking. How quickly wounds heal, and empty places are filled! Moving around in the city, who could imagine that some people had gone away and not come back, and some households were still waiting for them to return? Khvajah Sahib was still wandering in the mists of hope and despair. Even now he still came every day to see Abba Jan. They still asked each other the same question, “Is there any news?” As though this question had been asked for an eternity, and would be asked for an eternity to come.
“Maulana Sahib! Is there any news of your relatives?”
“No, my friend.”
“None of the new arrivals has brought any word?”
“No.”
“No letter from anywhere?”
“No.”
“It’s astonishing! So many people have come, none of them has brought any word!”
“Is there any news of your son?”
“Yes, Maulana Sahib. Thanks to your good wishes, there’s some news.”
“What news?”
“Maulana Sahib, I had Maulana Sana’ullah read the omens.* He reads omens extremely well. The omens were that Karamat is well and will return. And sir, the astrologers say the same thing. That astrologer Nur Din, you know? I went to him. He drew a full-scale horoscope and showed it to me: ‘Khvajah, sir, look with your own eyes. At this moment your son’s star is in the house of Saturn. It’s about to emerge. Just wait and see. Suddenly one day he’ll arrive.’”
“God is the Causer of Causes. It could happen that way.”
“I’m confident that it’ll be just that way. And furthermore, today I’m going to Lyallpur.”
“Why?”
“Well, one of my brother-in-law’s brothers lives there. His son-in-law has arrived from over there. My brother-in-law told me that the boy has seen Karamat. In fact he even says that Karamat has given him some letter. So today I’m going to Lyallpur. Let’s see what’s written in the letter.” He rose to leave.
Khvajah Sahib went out, and Ammi entered: “Why, these omens which Khvajah Sahib is having read — it occurs to me, why don’t we too have the omens read?”
“Zakir’s mother! God the Most High commands, and then things happen. Place your trust in Him.”
“There’s no telling when He’ll give the command!” Ammi said angrily.
“He keeps His own counsel. We sit waiting for His command. When the command comes, we set out.” He paused, sighed, “Now it’s time for me to die.”
“Ai hai, do you always have to keep talking about death? Is this some new madness that’s come over you?”
“Zakir’s mother! Remember Hazrat Ali’s saying, that you and your desires are guests in this world. Zakir’s mother, you ought to keep this saying in mind. Guests don’t stay forever.”
Ammi listened indifferently to Abba Jan’s words, and turned her attention toward Zakir. “Zakir! No answer to your letter has come from Delhi?”
“Ammi, it’ll come. The mail reaches there very slowly, and comes from there even more slowly.”
“Ai son! After all, how many days does a letter take to go and come? It’s been quite a while since you wrote.”
“Ammi, between India and Pakistan the mails are very much disrupted. Some letters arrive, some don’t arrive.”
“Why son, then write another letter to your friend.”
“I’ve written, Ammi. I expect the answer to my letter will be coming soon.”
•
“Yar, I’ve already written two letters. Surendar hasn’t answered. I don’t know what’s the matter.”
“Then write to her directly.”
“To her?” He fell into thought.
The door of the Shiraz opened and Afzal entered. “Yar! I’ve heard that that mouse has come back.”
“Who?”
“Zavvar.”
“You’ve just heard? He’s been here for ages. He’s been posted here, and promoted.” There was a little sarcasm in Irfan’s tone.
“Yar, forgive him. Among us all, he’s the man most to be pitied.”
“Most to be pitied?” Irfan eyed Afzal with exasperation.
“Yes, yar! I feel very sorry for him. He deserves pity.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s joined the Civil Service, and is rising through the ranks.”
“In truth, he’s very much to be pitied,” Irfan said bitterly.
“Yar, can’t you give me some liquor? I’m very thirsty.”
“We can only give you tea.”
“Tea? Tea is useless. Only liquor washes out the filth inside.” With these words, he pulled some notes from his pocket and counted them. “Yar, I’m only short ten rupees. Irfan! Get out a five.” Looking toward Zakir, he said, “My fellow here will give five.”
He and Irfan took five-rupee notes from their pockets and handed them over to Afzal. Afzal at once stood up. But then he remembered something. Sitting down again, he said, “Yar! Those two mice who always stood up on their tails — I want to say a prayer for them.”
“That they’ll stay in America and not come back!”
“No, yar. Don’t ask me to call down curses. Salamat and Ajmal weren’t that bad. After they’d been drinking, they said good things. Yar, why did they go off to America? I was making arrangements for them here. I’m about to have some acres allotted to me. One acre will be given over to beds of roses. One acre will be only for rain-bugs.”
“Rain-bugs?” Irfan looked at him sarcastically.
“Fellow! Be quiet! You won’t be able to understand this. In the rainy season I roam around very anxiously. There don’t seem to be any rain-bugs here. There ought to be rain-bugs. We have to make Pakistan beautiful.” Then, changing his tone, he addressed them both: “Listen! You two will stay with me. This is my command. I, and you two.”
“And the rain-bugs,” Irfan interrupted.
“Yes, and the rain-bugs. In beautiful Pakistan there will be only beautiful people.”
TEN
