Three days before receiving this notice, Basharat got an oral message from him that went like this, ‘Son, you’re still a child. Why are you messing with a badass like me? May God preserve you from all harm. You’re still playing with marbles and pick-up-sticks. You’re still sitting on my lap to ask for Eid money. If you mess with me, I’ll tear you to pieces.’
The Man-Afflicted Dog
To destroy the last defenses of Basharat’s crumbling fort, Moli Mujjan had put a time bomb in the notice’s last paragraph. It said that when Basharat had sent a copy of his letter to the Department of Education, he should also have brought to their attention that Basharat had named his dog Lord Wellesley in order to mock and humiliate the British Governor General. It said that Moli Mujjan had warned him plenty of times, but that he had stubbornly fanned the flames of hatred and rebellion through the vessel of one measly dog, and that every child in the area was ready to bear witness to this fact. Moreover, it said that he was so lost in the madness of revolution and opposition to the British that Basharat himself liked to be openly called Tipu!
Basharat was shocked. He thought, ‘Oh God, what’s going to happen to me now?’
He remained sad and worried for quite a while. Wellesley rested his head on Basharat’s feet and lay there with half-closed eyes. From time to time, he opened his eyes and looked at Basharat. When he felt a little calmer, Basharat stroked his head over and over. It was more out of gratefulness than love. There wasn’t a single area on his body where he didn’t have bruises incurred by stones.
Behold — She Also Says I’m a Worthless Character!
As a courtesy, Moli Mujjan sent copies of this notice to all the poets who participated in that memorable poetry festival. Except for a couple, all the poets took to pestering Basharat about their money. One mean-spirited poet even put a hex on him. He said, ‘Let the one who has put the knife to the throats of all my brother poets and embezzled their money find that God has filled his grave with insects and his poetry with awkward halts.’ Now who was willing to listen to Basharat say that he had been given only ten rupees for the entire festival? One black-hearted poet went too far. He sent a satire written in the metre of the misra-e-tarah to Basharat’s former cook Saghar Jalaunvi and asked him to correct it. But that faithful soul returned the poem, saying that for several generations his family had boasted of being the master chef of the Beloved, the Emperor Wajid Ali Shah, King of Awadh, and the Darling of the World; and that it was their principle that once in a person’s employ, they won’t speak a single word against them, even if they have embezzled more than anyone could imagine.
Tapish Dabaivi spread the rumour that Basharat’s father had used the money to buy a new harmonium, which he played so loudly that people in the next neighbourhood could hear him; and that the instrument’s very keys sang the song of embezzlement! His teacher, Hazrat Jauhar Illahabadi, didn’t openly accuse him of a criminal breach of trust, but he did give him an hour-long lecture on the virtues of honesty.
The Ignominy of Advice
If you ask me the truth, I think it was none other than Jauhar Illahabadi who taught him his first lesson on the literal and metaphorical meanings of honesty. I’m pointing toward Maulvi Mohammad Ismail Meruthi’s poem ‘The Honest Boy.’ This poem is a paean to an honest boy; I was taught it in my childhood. Its story goes like this. One day a boy saw a basket of ber fruit at his neighbour’s when they were away. He really wanted to eat them, but then he remembered the advice of his elders about honesty, and he no longer wanted to steal the fruit. The brave child didn’t even touch them. The poem ends with this couplet:
Wow, wow! Way to go, my boy!
You’ve trumped the heroes of old!
Indeed, how good were those days when, to tell stories about stealing and dishonesty, people couldn’t imagine anything more valuable or enticing than some ber fruit! And there wasn’t any temptation bigger and worse in our day than that sweet and sour fruit. One day when I was sitting around I thought about what example I’d give to the younger generation to teach them about stealing and dishonesty, an example that would go straight to their hearts. Just now, I’ve thought of a modern example, with which I’ll end this story.
Example: An honest boy finds a cabinet full of porn flicks and pot. He knows very well what they are. That’s because he’s seen both many times in the schoolbags of his classmates. He knows very well about his friends’ tastes. But then he’s overcome by his father’s advice, so he takes only a whiff, and then leaves.
Clarification: There were actually three reasons for this. First, his daddy had told him never to steal. Second, his daddy had told him, ‘Son, never go near sex and drugs. Always keep your eyes on the ground. The most intoxicating drug is that of the eyes. And the dirtiest sin is that of the eyes. Because this is the only sin in which both cowardice and unmanliness are present. If ever a bad thought creeps into your mind, then think of your spiritual guru, and if you don’t have one of those, then think about one of the old men in your family.’ And so, the honest boy thought of his father.
Third, the honest boy found these two forbidden fruit in his father’s cabinet!
Wow, wow! Way to go, my boy!
You’ve trumped the old heroes!
1 When they heard this, the selection committee members who were seated on the cot smiled knowingly, the County Treasurer winked at Basharat, and Moli Mujjan’s face turned white. The reasons? Just recently he had married the math teacher’s sister, so the math teacher got four extra rupees a month — something no other senior teacher could do because they didn’t have any widows to marry off. Everyone in town was talking about Moli Mujjan’s quick wedding, lengthy reception, and the promotion of his brother-in-law. But his brother-in-law wasn’t satisfied with the four extra rupees and ended up bitching and taunting all the time, “You don’t really love me, you love my sister!”
2 This man was a courier whose wages, as well as travel, food, and lodging expenses, were borne by the subordinate to whom he delivered the government order. This was a kind of punishment. In some areas, notices were sent only by these couriers, so that it served as a lesson to the one receiving it.
3 Ustu khuddus: While the literal definition of this phrase is quite different, Mirza, because of this style’s ugliness and disgusting pronunciation, uses this word often — and this word is used here only because no other word would work. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and try another word. But, in the dictionary, you’ll find this meaning: a cure for headcolds and craziness that doctors call the ‘broom of the mind’!
4 Our Maulana Hali: He called Hali and Sir Syed Ahmed Khan ‘our Maulana Hali’ and ‘our Sir Syed.’ There was a reason. He pronounced Sir Syed’s name with an izafat, so, ‘Sir-e-Syed.’ He considered Hali to be one of his own, and Sir Syed to be his peer and equal. When the teachers, or someone with ulterior motives, called him Dhiraj Ganj’s Sir Syed, Moli Mujjan felt that Sir Syed would have been honoured by this comparison. He also had the following edge over Sir Syed: whereas in the case of Sir Syed’s college fund, his treasurer embezzled money because of Sir Syed’s negligence, in the case of Moli Mujjan, his control was so strict that he wouldn’t allow anyone but himself to embezzle. And in the case of Maulana Hali, he saw three connections. One, Hali, like him, wore a scarf. Two, Hali, like him, felt his people’s suffering. Three, Hali, like his first wife, was from Panipat. And it seemed true as well because after his second marriage, a civil war had broken out inside his family and his life itself became the Battle of Panipat (one long battle) in which the female elephants (the women) always won!