BRIEF SYNOPSIS: Set against the backdrop of the destruction of Babri Mosque and its aftermaths, it is the story of Arif, a lower middle class Muslim boy from a small town India.
Arif aspires to join the coveted Indian Administrative service. He has been pursuing his dream with missionary zeal until a middle-aged married Hindu woman, Sumitra, crosses his way and the course of his life is changed forever.
Culturally insightful with political undertones, it is actually three stories in one. One is simply the story of a boy, a boy from middle class Indian society, who deals with love and lust as he goes through the process of growing up. The second is the story of a Muslim boy in particular, and this flows into a larger narrative of being Muslim in Post-Babri India, with its own challenges and anxieties. The third angle is the story of Bihar itself, a story of limited opportunities, close-knit communities, conservative mores and of youth trapped in the course that this once-glorious state has taken. Bihar here is not just a province of India but it also symbolises the darkest underbelly of India. Despite all the progress India has made during last two decades, this part of the country remains resolutely shrouded in darkness where the only flourishing industry is kidnapping, where corruption has become a way of life and where violence is a tool of survival.
THE RIVER GHOST
When Arif came to know of the rumours about the
Pandooa, the river ghost, he laughed. ‘‘How superstitious are people in this village!’’
Sharief insisted, ‘Arif, this is not superstition. It has happened. At least two people have seen the
Pandooa.’’
A few months back, Hasrat Khan, the man with a colourful lifestyle and a weakness for women had seen it first. On an evening, he had gone to the river bank for his evening walk. He saw a woman, dressed beautifully in a bridal sari and blouse, laden with gold and silver jewellery, standing near a banana tree. He wondered what a beautiful woman was doing at the bank of the river late in the evening. Dusk was nearing and he was hoping that she be an indecent woman . If she agreed to his overture, he would give her his gold chain, he thought. The bank of the river was a long stretch of sand. Nobody was in sight. He stopped near her and asked, “Who are you? Why are you standing here?” She didn’t reply and looked straight into his eyes. A cold look, her face devoid of any expression. He felt a sudden shiver. He started to walk briskly towards the village. He had walked a hundred steps before he found his towel missing from his shoulder. He turned back and found his towel lying a few yards back.
“It must have slipped away from my shoulder’, he thought and went to pick it up. But once again, the towel disappeared from his shoulder. He turned back but couldn’t see his towel as far as his eyes could see. He sped up. As he was about to reach the outskirts of the village, he saw his towel hanging from a small fig tree by the road. He reached out his hand to grab it, but stopped himself. How could his towel reach here? He was undecided whether to touch the towel or not when he felt that somebody else was there besides him. He turned and saw the same woman standing a few yards away. Her face was still devoid of any expression.
Horrified, he started running with all his might. He reached Shohaib Khan’s bungalow and then collapsed.
The second person to see the river ghost was Maulvi Murtuza. On a Tuesday, he had been returning from the neighbouring village. The sun had set. It was the time of the evening prayer. He decided to offer namaz at the bank of the river. He performed
wuzu, the ablution ritual, in the river. He sprawled his
gamcha, the soft towel, on the sand and stood to pray. As he finished his namaz and bent to collect his
gamcha, he saw her smiling. He had heard from the village that a newly married Rajput girl from the neighbouring village had jumped into the river and become river ghost. And here she was, fully dressed in bridal wear. He started reciting ‘
’Ayatul Kursi’ from the Holy Quran and then started running at once. He stopped only after reaching the village.
Arif remembered his grand ma’s words about
Pandooas. “See, they are departed souls who have committed suicides by jumping into the river. They try to kill whomever they find near the river at an odd time like noon or after dusk. They do that so that they can get some company.”
When Arif asked Sharief to come with him for swimming in the river, he first hesitated. Arif challenged him saying that he was a coward despite being a Pathan, he agreed and promised to go with him in the morning around 10’o’clock, but not after dusk or at noon.
At the outskirts of the village, a poster was pasted on the defunct electric pole. It warned the wayfarers about the threat of the river ghost. It advised them not to go near the river alone after the dusk. Such electric poles were everywhere in the village. But there were no electricity. The Member of Parliament who won from Inayat Nagar constituency could do only that much for the development of the village.
Arif and Sharief climbed the embankment, which surrounded Alipura and other nearby villages. It had been built in the 1970s to protect the villages from floods. Arif looked for a suitable place and sat down to pee. The water hit the field and he search for a dry piece of earth or grit for
Kuluf. When Arif got up, Sharief remarked, ‘Arif, always look before you pee. See, you have pissed on ashes. Never do that again. Bones and ashes are the food of
Jinnats. This can anger them’’
Arif laughed, slightly shaking his head but said nothing.
At the river, they bathed and swam till noon. In the evening Arif fell sick. A fever with a chill came visiting him. He was trembling and shivering continously. Hanif the compounder, a retired army man, was called. He had experience of working in Military hospitals and was the best-qualified doctor in the village. Qurban Ali who had some experience in Homeopathy was also called. But, both of them could bring only Arif some temporary reprieve. The shivering kept returning. Arif’s uncle, Abdul Waheed Khan, when he came to know about his visit to the river, was very angry with Sharief. ‘’Must have been possessed by the river ghost,’’ his aunt, Saleha Begum, remarked. On her advice, Abdul Waheed Khan called the Imam of the Jama Masjid. He recited from the holy book and blew on Arif.
During the night, Arif remained calm and slept well. But in the morning the trembling returned. This time it was more violent. Two blankets and a quilt were needed to cover Arif. A woodfire was kept burning. Hanif was once again called.
Many people came to see him. Among the visitors were Nagma, once a moon faced beauty, now a bony-faced woman, married to a middle aged widower with five children;Saheb Khan, once a child molester, now a bearded man with prayer beads in his hand; Musa Raza, once a poor urchin, now a successful industrialist in Delhi, and Asma Begum, an old lady in the neighbourhood, whom Arif called Asma Dadi. Asma Begum told Saleha Begum that it was nothing but
Jarwa-Jaraiya. ‘
Dulhan! You must call Baso Nani immediately. She knows the
totka to get rid of Jarwa-Jaraiyya.
Inshallah! He will be okay by tomorrow,’ she advised. Saleha immediately sent Sharief to fetch her. Abdul Waheed Khan was not at home. Other wise, he would not have allowed this. According to him, this was a Hindu ritual, one a Muslim must not associate with.
Baso Nani was grandmother to everybody in the village. From a six year old to a seventy year old, everyone called her Nani. She had been living in this village for the last 50 or 60 years. She had come here to live with her daughter and son-in–law who were long dead. There were no grandchildren. She lived alone in a thatched house, surviving on the charity of the village people. Many of the villagers believed that Baso Nani knew magical things. A few of the village women even blamed her for indulging in witchcraft.
Baso Nani arrived. She asked Saleha Begum to bring Arif out in the open air since
Jarwa- Jaraiya needed an open space to fly away. She got ready for to start the ritual to get rid of
Jarwa- Jaraiya. Baso Nani would now tell the story of
Jarwa – Jaraiya.
Once upon a time, a widow lived in a village with her only son. Her son was very naughty and mischievous. One day, out of anger, the window hit her son on the head with a stick. It started bleeding. The boy, angered by his mother’s behaviour, left the house and ran away from the village. He went to a city and was adopted by a rich, childless couple.
After their death, he inherited all their property and business. He became very rich. Since then, 20 years had passed. One day he was passing through that village alone. He felt that the place was familiar to him, and decided to stay in the village for some days. One evening, he saw the widow and fell in love with her. The widow also fell in love with him. The villagers came to know about their love affair and decided to organise a marriage ceremony. The widow became pregnant. One morning, she was massaging her husband’s head when she saw the mark of a gash. When she asked him, he told her that as a child, his mother had hit him with a stick and he had run away from his village at the age of 6 or 7. He could not recall the name of his village or his mother’s face. But, the woman looked at his face and realized why this man’s face resembled that of her first husband so much.
When they came to know that they were mother and son, they were so ashamed and sad that they decided to commit suicide. They prepared a pyre and jumped into it. Even after death, their souls got no rest. The man became
Jarwa and the woman became
Jaraiya. Now they trouble people by possessing them, making them shiver. Whenever the story of their shameful liaison is repeated before the person they possess, they run away.
‘’O!
Jarwa Jaraiya, if you have shame, go away from here. If you don’t go away, I will repeat the story of your sinful liaison,’ Baso Nani spoke in a very loud voice. As she finished her rituals to get rid of the illness, Saleha Begum took out a 2-rupee note and pressed it into her hand. A few moments later, Abdul Waheed Khan entered. He was furious with Saleha Begum for allowing Arif to sit in the open air.
Arif who had listened to the story with great attention and in fact enjoyed this unusual treatment for his illness, tried to calm down his uncle saying ‘’I am feeling quiet good.’’
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