The life and death of Mohammad Nanhe. And the brief flicker afterwards

🗞️Subscribe Now: Get Express Premium to access the best Election reporting and analysis 🗞️ 

The old Imam had heard the ruckus (‘curse be on Nanhe and the men’). Every morning, the Imam and his wife were woken up by their shouts and laughter. And while his wife groaned, and went back to sleep, Imam saheb spent the entire time until fajr wondering how anybody could be so happy that they would just sing their nights away.

He had his suspicion. He was quite certain that they drank.

The next day was Friday. After prayers, Nanhe respectfully went up to Imam saheb and offered his salaam.

It is difficult to say if it was meant that way, but to the old Imam it seemed an affront. He could hold back no longer. Chastisement was due. “Arre, Nanhe, have you no shame? Are you going to raise your children to become boors? That boy of yours, he never attends madarsa. He spends his entire time stealing mangoes in the bagh. Yesterday, I asked him to help lay out mats before congregational prayers, but he never turned up. I wonder where he is learning to be so disrespectful.”

“This will not happen again, Imam saheb,” Nanhe replied, gravely. Then he walked home with quick, determined steps and smacked his son: “Even I take care to not offend Imam saheb, you rascal. How dare you? If I hear one more complaint, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

And lest his daughter feels left out: “As for you, you will not go to that English medium school anymore. All they teach you is to disrespect your elders.”

That night, Nanhe returned home with a small packet of chicken qorma. That’s how Nanhe lived: a man trying to balance his many loves and loyalties.

nnn

Nanhe’s daughter hadn’t been to school since that Friday afternoon. First, in deference to her father’s command, but later because his illness came back, and she had to spend her time nursing him, while her mother rolled beedis to earn an income.

Her best friend, Zainab, was also finding it difficult to continue school. Her school fees had accumulated and her teachers were reminding her every day that if she did not clear her dues, her name would be struck off.

Zainab enjoyed going to school. She would have liked to continue. Every day at lunch, she would creep up the stairs and go to the terrace that overlooked the cemetery, in order to avoid the headmaster.

One day, it was her lunch hour and she was on the school terrace, as usual. As she nibbled at her roti, she noticed a fresh pit that had been dug. She saw a janaaza winding its way into the cemetery, Imam saheb at its head. The janaaza came to a stop directly below her. She spotted her best friend’s brother in the group, and realised it was Nanhe chacha’s janaaza. Slowly, through renderings of many du’as they returned Nanhe chacha to the earth.

Just then, the bell rang shrilly. It signalled the end of the lunch hour.

In the hours after lunch, Zainab had started to look pale and sick. She was fidgeting with the end of her dupatta. Suddenly, she stood up in class and said, “Nanhe chacha is saying that you should teach children some manners. He is very cross with me. I dirtied his grave with crumbs from my roti, even before his janaaza arrived. And I didn’t even cover my head with my dupatta. He says it is the school’s fault that the children are so disrespectful.”

The class teacher gaped at her and said, “What is she blabbering?”

“Sir, she watched Nanhe chacha’s janaaza from the terrace. She was telling us that he saw her and he came with her to class,” explained a chorus.

The teacher frowned. “You go home and rest, ok?”

And that was how Nanhe chacha came into Zainab’s life. The next few days were rather eventful.

The headmaster took serious note of the matter. He felt that viewing a funeral at close quarters and that too from the school terrace was violative of school discipline. “You are spoiling the school atmosphere,” he said, sternly. Then he read out a final notice, which said that if her dues were not cleared within two days, she would not be allowed into school. Zainab turned red with embarrassment, and started to sob.

“There is no need to create a drama.”

She raised her head, looked the headmaster in the eye, and said, “Wah-wah, principal saheb! Here is a child who wants to study and you are looking for every excuse in the book to bar her entry. Don’t I know you! Is it her fault if her scoundrel father chooses to sit at home and not provide for the family?”

Principal saheb looked a little uncertain. He sighed. “Look Zainab, you won’t get any sympathy from me if you behave like this.”

The parents were then called. The mother cursed and pleaded in turns; the father tried to hit her.

“Take her to Imam saheb. Nanhe was scared of Imam saheb; only he can set him straight.” This suggestion was met with all-round approval. As an ever-increasing crowd marched to Imam saheb’s house, her best friend sidled up to Zainab and held her hand.

“Are you scared?”

“Yes,” she said.

“It can’t be my father helping you. He wouldn’t let me go to school when he was alive,” her friend said thoughtfully.

“I have heard that everyone improves when they go to jannat.”

Imam saheb did not believe it at first. But then Nanhe called out in his hoarse voice, “Imam saheb, go and tell that principal to waive her fees. She really wants to study.”

“Nanhe, you have still not changed. No improvement in character. Why are you bent on making my life miserable?”

“Why do you always blame me? Have you no sense of justice? Let them not trouble this sweet girl, and I promise I will go away.” Imam saheb thought for only a moment. “I have to now run at his command…” he mumbled, as he left in the direction of the school.

When Zainab next went to school, she seemed to be by herself. However, principal saheb chose to keep a safe distance for some months.

(With thanks to Khalid Anis Ansari for his stories)

Shahrukh Alam practices law at the Supreme Court