The Devotee

My grandfather was sitting among those devotees. He had had his beard trimmed after many months and was wearing the sherwani which had been consigned to a box for these many years. In his younger days the sherwani had formed the main item of his dress and he wore it every day. Later on, he used it on special occasions such as a festival or a feast. And now he wore it very sparingly, only when he went to make his obeisance to Pir Saheb. The sherwani had three conspicuous patches and its collar had frayed and looked like a tattered frill. He had its pockets altered and kept money in them. But that day his pocket contained only a soiled and dog-eared two-rupee note. His hand frequently felt the note as he sat there reciting the holy words.

I was sitting by his side, raptly watching him. In fact, I was feeling utterly bored, my luck not having provided me with any device to dispel the boredom I often fell a victim to. After Abba's death I had started living with Grandfather and he took me along wherever he went. Whatever the occasion, he always got embroiled in some controversy--about the country, about religion or about our community. Most of what he said went over my head. I had no interest in these discussions. It was boring! But even so, I resolutely stuck it out with him.

Nowadays our house was steeped in gloom; everything looked so bleak. After Abba's death it had become a hotbed of squabbles. My Abba had been the sole breadwinner of the family and with his passing away our income had shrunk seriously. Grandfather was not up to much and my uncle had separated from the family. We were eking out an existence by selling our property bit by bit. Because of these financial difficulties my mother often tried, through my grandmother, to prevail upon Grandfather to let her go and live with her parents. But he would have none of it.

'If my son is gone, has that made my daughter-in-law redundant?' Grandfather would argue. 'She's as much a part of our family now as she was then.'

This would always end in a quarrel with my grandmother. As a result, Mother could neither leave the house nor have any peace of mind. Unfortunately, I could not remain aloof from these bickering. Sometimes, being too young to understand the gravity of the situation, if I happened to make some extravagant demand, I would come in for a thrashing. After beating me, Mother would keep crying for a long time. but that only added to the tension.

As compared to us, Uncle was not badly off. But he never bothered to give my grandfather any monetary help. If he came to invite Grandfather on Bakri-Eid it would lead to a serious row.

'I denied myself every comfort to have you educated and to teach you some craft,' Grandfather would say. 'Was it to face these wretched times? As soon as your wife came home you washed your hands of the family. You never care to find out whether this old man or the old woman is hungry or going about naked for want of clothes. And today you have come to show your affection for us? I piss on your food.'

Uncle was not in the habit of taking things lying down. In reply, he would say something nasty, with my aunt doing her best to fan the flames. Angered, Grandmother would beat her breasts and cry. The festive mood would change into a feuding tit-for-tat. Amma would also start crying while I could do nothing but look on helplessly.

Then I saw a great change coming over Grandfather. He read the namaz five times a day and never quarreled with anyone. By the time I had left my childhood behind he had retired from his schoolteacher's job. Till then he had never said the namaz except on Eid or some such festival. I was surprised at this sudden change.

Then he started making occasional trips to the city. Later on I learnt that he had become a devotee of a Pir Saheb.

Apart from the portion of the house that had gone to Uncle, three rooms fell to our lot. Of these we had rented out one room to a man of our village. We ourselves lived in the second room. The third was filled with junkiron rods, discarded chairs and charpoys, tattered clothes and heaps of such other rubbish. Grandfather had made a place for himself in that room by spreading out a tattered floor-mat in one corner. He kept an aluminum pot by the side of the mat. An old apron cloth spread on the floor served to hold the Holy Quran. His meals were sent to him in the room and he ate them without demur and then returned to his prayers and meditation. He rarely left the room--not even in summer.

Some signs of liveliness appeared on his face only when there was news that Pir Saheb had come to the city. Grandfather would immediately start making preparations to go to the city. He washed his clothes in the river and got his beard trimmed by the barber. Then taking me along he would set out for the city.

Generally, he didn't have any money on him. He had to ask for it from grandmother who never parted with it without a squabble.

That day too, asking me to wait, he went to grandmother to ask her for some money.

'What's it that you want?' she asked in a mocking tone.

'I want some money,' Grandfather tossed off the request with a casual air.

'You think I've trees that grow money?' grandmother said in a sharp voice.

'Don't be angry. Pir Saheb has come.'

'So what? How am I concerned, tell me.'

'I must have something to offer Pir Saheb.'

'Where's the need?' Grandmother cried. 'What good does it serve your becoming a devotee? Has it lessened your worries?'

Grandfather flared up. This question was a direct attack on his convictions and faith.

'Get out of here!' he shouted. 'Be gone, all of you. This is my house. As long as I earned, all of you cheerily chewed the meat from the bone. Not a word you uttered--as if you were tongue-tied. Now that only the bone is left you want to throw it away. Have I no say in this house? Your stomach churns food because of me. It's the rent of the room that keeps you going. What do you do with all that money? I want a clear account.'

The last statement, in fact, had taken the force out of Grandfather's argument. It was no grandmother's turn to go full tilt at him.

'What rent are you speaking of?' she cried. 'Here, I'm ready to give the account of those measly twenty rupees. If I stop taking in tailoring jobs your neck will lose its stiffness in no time.'

'Yes, I must have the account,' Grandfather insisted. 'What have you done with those twenty rupees, tell me?'

Grandmother started reeling out the details of those expenses. It transpired that all that was left to her now was a two-rupee note which she had tied to the end of her orhni.

She undid the knot and threw it in front of Grandfather. Then she started crying. Grandfather picked up the note without uttering a word and put it in the pocket of his sherwani. Gesturing to me to follow him, he started for the city.

The skirmish between my grandparents made me sad. Grandmother's weeping face haunted me and I felt like crying. It set me thinking. Why did it happen like this, I asked myself. In the end I felt that religion was at the bottom of it. If religion is for the good of the people why do these pirs accept money from the poor? But I could not gather the courage to put this question to Grandfather.

The city was about eight kilometers from our village. Walking the entire distance we arrived in the city in the evening and went to the place where the Pir Saheb was staying.

He had arrived ahead of us and the ceremonial welcome in his honour was already under way. Platters of food covered with handkerchiefs and wafting tempting smells were being brought in. Some people were being initiated into the pir's fold with great fanfare and a qawwali had been arranged in his honour in the evening.

I was feeling ill at ease with the pomp and show of the place. It was something entirely new to me. At night when I joined the congregation I was feeling very hungry. I told Grandfather about it several times but he just ignored it. I wanted to cry to express the state of my stomach, but could not.

I saw that people from among the audience were throwing currency notes at the singers to express their appreciation for the couplets they sang. Grandfather's hand went into his sherwani pocket again and again but then he would take it out empty from his pocket and curl up his nose to denote that he did not think much of the couplet. I feared that if Grandfather gave away the note to a singer I would burst out crying and tell him I was famished. Why should he give it away instead of feeding me? But things had not yet come to such a pass.

At last I fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and when I woke up I saw Grandfather saying his prayers with other devotees. He had laid me to sleep in a corner. I woke up with a pang of hunger but I told Grandfather nothing about it.

Suddenly all the devotees stood and lined up in the passage. Pir Saheb was ready to depart and had stepped out into the verandah. His two associates were standing a little apart from him and the devotees were going to Pir Saheb, one by one, to receive his benediction. I saw that while shaking hands with him they slipped a five-rupee or ten-rupee note into his hand. Then they kissed his hand and stepped back, making room for the next devotee.

I looked at Grandfather's face. I feared he would start crying, so overwhelmed he looked. And so humble, so helpless.

I was taking stock of the situation when I saw Grandfather drawing near Pir Saheb. He quickly stepped forward and while shaking hands with him slipped the two-rupee note into his palm.

He had bent low to kiss Pir Saheb's hand when the venerable man quickly withdrew it from Grandfather's clasp and stretched it out towards another devotee. For a second Grandfather stood stupefied. Then he caught hold of my arm and pulled me away.

Abdul Bismillah has written widely in Hindi. He teaches at Jamia Milia Islamia in Delhi. Jai Ratan is a founder member of Writers' Workshop, Kolkata.