Zakir was in a sort of trance; he stood watching, frozen in place like a statue. Abba Jan opened his eyes once more, looked toward him, and said as softly as a whisper, “Son, dawn is coming, recite the prayer for the Prophet.” Just then he moved convulsively, and his head fell back onto the pillow. Ammi, who had been so distraught, suddenly stood motionless. Then she very slowly drew a sheet over the lifeless body. Then she collapsed on the floor, rested her head against the bed-frame, and began to sob.
•
“Fellow! Your father was a virtuous man,” Afzal said emotionally, embracing him. “When I looked at him I always thought he was a babe in arms who had grown a beard. He was really a child, absolutely innocent.”
“He truly was a good and noble man.” Irfan, who had been sitting silently for a long time, spoke soberly.
Afzal looked hard at Irfan. “Thank God you agree with me. There’s at least one man in the world of whom you have a good opinion!”
Then the silence spread. Then Afzal, thinking about something, said, “Zakir, you remember my grandmother, don’t you? The one who’s kept on saying, ever since she came here, ‘My child, the flood must have gone down, let’s go home.’”
“Yes, yes, what’s become of her?”
“She died.”
“Really? I’m very sorry — but how?”
“Just the way your father did. There’s no ‘how’ or ‘why’ about it. A person just dies, that’s all.”
“You’re right.”
“One day she said to me so pleadingly, ‘My child, so much time has passed. By now the flood must have gone down. Take me home.’ I said, ‘My dear granny, the flood has gone down over there, but it’s risen on this side.’ She looked at me with her wide-open eyes and said ‘All right,’ and died.”
•
“Son, last night I saw the Maulana Sahib in a dream. He was somewhat disturbed. I was concerned about the reason. Early in the morning I went to the cemetery. I read the Fatihah over his grave. The earth around his grave has subsided, you must arrange to have it filled up.”
“Yes sir, of course.”
“I told the watchman that for forty days there should be a candle lit every night by the grave. I left a packet of candles with him. Please check on it yourself too.”
“Yes sir, of course.”
“The Maulana Sahib was a man fit for Paradise, he never caused pain to anyone. He gave me so much strength. When my heart was restless at the separation from Karamat, I always came to him. He told me such stories, and such sayings of the Prophet, that my heart found peace.”
“Khvajah Sahib, Salamat has come back.”
“Who asked that ill-bred wretch to come back? The one I wait for doesn’t come. The one who caused me to thank God when he left, is back again, grinding my heart into powder. Son, he’s still just the way he was!”
“But I’ve heard that now he’s started offering his prayers.”
“Yes, son,” Khvajah Sahib sighed. “Formerly he used to teach us socialism, now he’s preaching Islam. Today he was giving his mother a lecture on Islam. She began to say something. I stopped her: ‘Count your blessings — you have sons. Right now your son is drunk. When he comes to his senses, then you can talk to him.’ She said, ‘When does he ever come to his senses?’ I said, ‘My good woman, are people ever in their senses nowadays? They’ve lost half the country, and haven’t come to their senses. He’s lost only a brother.’ Son, wasn’t I right?”
“Sir, what you said was true.”
“Son! What’s happened to people?” Khvajah Sahib’s tone abruptly changed.
“What do you mean?”
“You see what’s happening. There’s no telling what will come in the future! People’s blood is up, there’s no knowing what they’ll do. I’ve heard that marks have begun to appear on people’s houses.”
“Marks? What kind of marks?”
“Son, what world are you living in? Preparations are being made for war. Both sides have gathered so much ammunition that it only needs a fuse attached to it. This city will blaze up like dry fuel when a match is lit. May God have mercy.” Then he slid over toward me and said in a whisper, “Son, there’s one thing.”
“Sir?”
“I know that Pakistan is under the protection of the holy ones, but sometimes I feel afraid. There won’t be any damage to Pakistan?”
He was taken aback by this question. Khvajah Sahib saw his confusion. He said, “Son, I asked this very question of the Maulana Sahib. He answered every question from the Quran and the sayings of the Prophet. At this question, he fell silent. Silent in such a way that afterwards he fell silent forever.”
•
Among the letters of condolence, a letter from India. Are, it’s a letter from Surendar. He hurriedly slit the envelope open.
New Delhi
Dear Zakir,
If I haven’t answered your letters, the reason is that I wasn’t in the country. I was traveling in Europe for a long time. When I came back, I found your letters.
Your mother must be eager to have news of Sabirah’s family. But Sabirah hasn’t been able to get any word of them either. I mentioned your letters to her. She said nothing, she burst into tears. I was astonished. During those days when the worst news kept coming from Dhaka, I always found her calm. But today she burst into tears. I didn’t understand. But it made me sad to see her. My friend! May I say one thing? Don’t take it amiss. You’re a cruel person, or perhaps now that you’re in Pakistan you’ve become so.
Your,
Surendar
She burst into tears? He thought about it. It’s not strange she should weep, when she thinks about her mother and sister; and especially in such a situation of total ignorance about them. Whether they’re alive or dead. This explanation seemed very plausible to him, but immediately he felt a kind of restlessness, as though the explanation was not enough. When she heard about my letters she burst into tears! Why? Am I cruel? On what grounds?
Outside there was a knock on the door. He went to see. Afzal was standing there. “Friend, pardon me for coming at such an inconvenient time.”
“It’s amazing — you’ve begun to believe in proper and improper times!”
“I’m not like that — for me all times are one time; but you have your regular hours.”
“I have no choice; since I’m a slave to my job, I have to pay at least some attention to the time. Anyway, let’s drop the subject.”
“You want to ask why I’ve come at such an hour. Yar, I was alone and I began to feel uneasy, so I went out. Today I feel very fearful.”
“Fearful? Why?”
“Yar! I hear voices.”
“Voices? What kind of voices?”
“That’s what I don’t understand. Suddenly I was afraid there might be a hurricane, and a loud cry might come and carry me away.”*
“What? What are you saying? Are you crazy?” He looked closely at Afzal, who seemed very much terrified.
Afzal paid no attention to his words. He said, “In the morning when I got up, I was frightened and went to the mirror and looked at my face, for fear I—”