One day a pahalwan named Sher Ali from upcountry accompanied Gulab Deen to Ustad Ramzi’s enclosure. Gulab Deen had been promoting him in exhibition bouts. Although young and not representative of any clan, Sher Ali was more experienced than many trainees from the two wrestling clans. After Tamami had sparred with the trainees Sher Ali entered the akhara.
Ustad Ramzi saw Tamami grapple with him for a few minutes. The thought occurred to him that Tamami had missed a few opportunities for takedown, before he realized that Tamami was deliberately prolonging their engagement. The trainees who had not understood it became restless wondering why Tamami was unable to bring down Sher Ali. Another few minutes passed before Tamami finally took down Sher Ali.
“What were you trying to show others? That Sher Ali is your match?” Ustad Ramzi said to Tamami after Gulab Deen had left.
“No Ustad… I was just trying to see what he knew.” Tamami smiled sheepishly.
“Don’t waste time playing with your opponents,” Ustad Ramzi said.
❖
When Gulab Deen called on Ustad Ramzi with a gift of fermented tobacco, he said, “Ustad Ramzi, I would like to do something for Tamami. He has not fought an exhibition bout since he started his training. You know it helps in promoting a pahalwan’s name.”
Ustad Ramzi stared ahead at the trainees cleaning up the akhara.
“If you will give me permission I will organize an exhibition bout for Tamami.”
“With whom?” Ustad Ramzi turned to him. “With Sher Ali.”
“Sher Ali? The one who sparred with Tamami the other day?”
“Yes, Ustad,” Gulab Deen answered. “He is young and strong. You have seen him fight.”
Ustad Ramzi remained silent for a moment, then said, “Tamami is under preparation for something more important. Why don’t you organize a bout for one of the trainees? It would give them something to look forward to.”
“It will be a good opportunity for publicity, Ustad. If Tamami fights with Sher Ali, and it’s a tie, more people will come to watch him when…”
“A tie!” Ustad Ramzi rose angrily before Gulab Deen could finish. “You know well our clan never participated in fixed fights. Not even for exhibition bouts. Nor did we fight those who did. That was the only way to make sure nobody could ever claim a pahalwan from our clan won by prearrangement.”
“The money will pay for the trainees’ training…” Gulab Deen said.
“We don’t need the money! If one has the determination to be a pahalwan, he can build his constitution on a diet of just one almond a day.”
“Why don’t you discuss this with Tamami?”
“I know his answer. He will refuse,” Ustad Ramzi said.
Suddenly a suspicion entered his mind.
“Did you speak to Tamami about it?” he asked.
“He asked me to talk to you first,” Gulab Deen replied.
What the promoter said made it clear that Tamami had an understanding with Gulab Deen.
That Tamami should fall so low as to agree to a fixed fight enraged Ustad Ramzi. He felt vexed at him also because it was his prerogative alone to discuss all issues related to Tamami’s bouts with others. He was furious at Gulab Deen’s temerity in approaching him with an offer for a fixed fight for Tamami.
Ustad Ramzi told the promoter that he would give him an answer in a few days.
❖
The next morning Tamami was turning the akhara clay when Ustad Ramzi came out of his room. Most of the spectators had left, but the trainees were present. Tamami noticed the frown on Ustad Ramzi’s face and felt a vague unease. He had been wondering what Ustad Ramzi would decide about the exhibition bout. Gulab Deen had not disclosed his plans, but he had advised him on several occasions not to overwhelm his opponents too quickly. He explained that people felt encouraged to come to bouts when they expected to witness a drawn-out fight; that he always made this a condition for the exhibition bouts organized by him upcountry. He knew it went against the spirit and tradition of the art, which aimed at defeating the opponent in the shortest possible time, but in the absence of any patrons and benefactors it was the only way to keep people’s interest alive in wrestling bouts and provide a livelihood for the pahalwans.
Ustad Ramzi avoided mentioning the fixed fight, but he reproved Tamami before everyone for discussing the organization of a challenge bout with Gulab Deen without first consulting him. Tamami felt anger at being censured before everyone.
“So what if I fight Sher Ali, Ustad?” he said heatedly. It was the first time he had argued with Ustad Ramzi. He had not learned of the arrangement the promoter had proposed to Ustad Ramzi.
“No.” Ustad Ramzi replied in a firm voice. “He is not your match.”
“If he challenges me, I want to fight him!” Tamami said raising his voice. The feeling that he was being treated unfairly annoyed him. His grip tightened over the handle of the mattock with which he had been turning the akhara clay.
“It is decided!” Ustad Ramzi shouted. “If you wish otherwise, you can have Gulab Deen arrange your affairs. I will withdraw!” His tone became more grating with each syllable.
Tamami was afraid that Ustad Ramzi might recall his nomination for the challenge bout with Imama. He did not wish to lose the trust that Ustad Ramzi had recently placed in him. His anxiety eroded his confidence, and his deep-rooted sense of inadequacy made him apprehensive.
“No, Ustad, I won’t fight Sher Ali,” Tamami’s voice shook and the smooth handle of the mattock felt slippery in his hands. “I won’t give you cause for complaint again.”
The expression on Ustad Ramzi’s face hardened.
Two days later, when the promoter returned, Ustad Ramzi sent for Tamami.
Ustad Ramzi looked at Tamami as he entered his quarters and sat down. He turned to Gulab Deen and said, “Tamami wants to tell you something.”
Tamami had guessed what Ustad Ramzi wanted.
“I have decided not to fight Sher Ali,” Tamami said to Gulab Deen slowly with lowered eyes.
The promoter seemed to happily accept his decision. He took his leave shortly afterwards and the two brothers sat silently for a few minutes without exchanging a word. Tamami stood staring fixedly at the ground.
“Do you have anything to say?” Ustad Ramzi finally asked.
“No,” Tamami said, and left the room.
Loss
Gohar Jan had not seen Maulvi Hidayatullah, the imam of the local mosque, in many weeks. When she learned from the trinket-seller, Shukran, that he had passed away, she felt deeply grieved. In the thirty odd years that Maulvi Hidayatullah had been the imam, she never found his manner towards her at all condescending, or in any way disparaging. He could not have approved of her life; yet whenever he had started a collection, whether it was to put a new roof on the main assembly hall, to extend the left wing, or do other renovations, he never refused her assistance. He had never hidden it from his congregation when she had donated money for the whitewash and repairs of the mosque.
The trinket-seller also told Gohar Jan that after Hidayatullah, his protégé, Yameen, had been appointed as the new imam.
“Yameen?” Gohar Jan said. She remembered him as a boy who often visited the tawaifs’ enclave when food offerings for the saints were distributed to commemorate them.
“He had been growing his beard in anticipation of this day…” Shukran said. “The old maulvi was a good soul, God knows. But Yameen! The other day it was very hot and I went in to wash my face at the ablution post when he came out and started shouting at me, ‘The water’s only for making ablutions. You should not come here again…’” The old maulvi’s winding sheets are not soiled yet, and Yameen has already become the Almighty. Now that the month of Ramzaan is here, he is going around the kothas collecting penance money from those who do not fast.” As Banday Ali entered the living room Gohar Jan asked him to bring the bundle of old clothes she had set aside for Shukran.