Syed Mujtaba Ali
HOME AND ABROAD, DESHEY BIDHESHEY
Translated and Edited by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
Chapter – Nine
If the Officer of Afghanistan is a poet, it is not unlikely that he foresaw our fate like a spiritualist.
Tire busted three times and engine stopped working twice getting angry upon the Sardarjee. The tire was mended by the assistant- supervised by the Sardarjee. With applying ample mehendi-paste of solution the honourable feet of the ‘lady'[1] were mended. But to make her speak, Sardarjee has to open her veil, the bonnet, and request her a lot. At one time he threatened to use handle. I didn’t know in what condition the ‘lady’ resumed her journey. But hearing multifesious sounds I presumed that the ‘lady’ is going to her father-in-law’s house with great reluctance.
A few miles away from Jalalabad ‘her’ waist-band or belt tore off. Then I heard that Sardarjee was night-blind. The office of the radio assuming my ear a microphone whispered, ‘Our programme ends here today. We will resume our journey tomorrow at seven in the morning.’
There is a Afghan serai[2] about half a mile far. The officer of the radio and I started to walk towards that destination. Others started to push the bus with great commotion. I understood, people riding buses here too have to take unspoken oath that is the bus breaks down they would volunteer pushing it.
Sardarjee warned, ‘Move quickly. The gate of the serai will be closed at sunset.’
Oh, what a serai! It is but a rectangle fort, standing like a giant enemy. The concept of tranquil serene resting place does not fit here. The place is surrounded four thirty feet horrible yellow walls made of mud- the front one have a giant gate- camels, buses, even double-decker bus can be accommodated here easily. But when you enter you will think it is a one way journey, never to go out, from the belly of this giant.
I stopped abruptly as soon as I entered. Concentrated odor of a few hundred years tried to push me out. I backed up at least three steps. I took a few moments to understand the matter. The area is outside the monsoon atmosphere, so no rain falls here- it does now snow as it is not high enough for snowing. There’s no river or water body either, so scope of washing out the debris by wasting of enough water does not arise. Therefore, from time immemorial to yesterday the gross part of the excretion the herds of sheep and camels made were removed alright from time to time, but it’s infinitesimal smell that remained in layers, were so thick that it appeared to me that it have to be pushed away to move further I, even, if I wish, I could scrape out some of it with a spoon. There are high wall on all sides and only one giant gate on one side. Outside wind just stands still and can not enter into this Jalianwalabagh[3], as it has no other way out. I have seen pin-pricking darkness, but now I felt the pin-pricking smell for the first time.
Making the fortifications of the serai as one-side wall, there are four series of rooms, or rather pigeon-holes, only there are the open space instead of doors. These rooms have walls on three sides- and the front side in open towards the courtyard. The radio-man bargained with the serai-keeper and hired one enclave for two of us. He also hired a rope-woven cot for me. There is a narrow space in front of that enclave, where the cot was set. I just entered the enclave for a moment – people have odd curiosity, you know. By God, those, who do not come to senses after applying smelling salt, shall come over as soon as he is taken into this enclave!
Under pale light of oil-lamp the travelers are tending their animals. If the camel moves back, the herd of mules bleats and backs off to the bakers’ porch. When the headlights of the bus are on to make room for it, the rest of the animals runs astray. The owners jump up crying out in search of their animals. Scuffling with hay, bargaining at the bakers, banging of hammers for mending the bus, gurgling sound of slaughtered fowls, the snoring sound of Khan Shahib from the yonder cot, all are in unison. Distance between his nose and mine is only six inches. You can not change your side- you will have your feet aimed towards West[4] and camel’s tails will brush your face. And if the camel backs off, then what will have God knows. You can not have cow’s urine[5] here to become pure again.
But it is sure, that if you can tolerate all these obnoxious smell and distasteful atmosphere and search for knowledge in these serais or want to mix with the people as experience then surely you will not be disappointed. As described by Ahmad Ali of Peshawar, you will find all the languages of all the tribes, besides you are to get a few pious persons, pilgrims, who have left their cosy home and are moving on their foot, to reach Mecca from India. They do not have any signs of weariness on them, because they are moving very slowly and have learnt from the Frontier, how to avoid the filthiness. They do not have much wealth with them- they have surrendered on the will of Allah on the top and clemency and compassion of the people at the bottom.
There are some signs of earthly sin too, but let that be the department of Herr Herzfeld.
I have only eaten only a paltry breakfast from Peshawar, since then I didn’t anything. The serbet of Dakka didn’t reach up to my stomach, my burnt up mouth and throat have absorbed the liquid. But my body and mind were so distracted with the filthiness of the environment that I could not dare to eat anything. I was very displeased with my own behavior and said to myself, ‘Hey, everybody around are eating, drinking and moving at ease, why then you are so overbearing, that you need to clean yourself, why do you get so annoyed with the smell of thousand years. Whereas the animals are staying at the courtyard and you are resting at the porch. Mother Mary couldn’t find a space at the serai, so she had to give birth to Jesus lying beside the sheep and mules. Though the European artists drew a clean picture of the scene, but one can not hide the fact.’
There’s no difference between the serais of Bethlehem and Afghanistan. Bethlehem has only three inches of rain and Afghanistan have a half ounce of snow. Who said, the Jews are cleaner than the Afghans? You are feeling uneasy with the smell of Afghanistan, even the animals run berserk smelling the body odor of the Jews.’
All these are fundamental knowledge. But deep inside the heart there are always recitation of Holy Scripture and also unholy and unruly part of it. It also goes on saying, ‘Janami dharmang na cha mey probritti[6]’. Beside that my rowdy mind has another sharp argument with him. ‘If there was no conflict between the inhabitants under the bonnet and Sardarjee, we should have reached Jalalabad for more earlier and we could be taking rest at the Dak Bungalow[7] after taking sumptuous dinner and should have feel into deep slumber in the soft breeze under the Chinar trees on the bed of Nargis[8] My rowdy mind too have some fundamental knowledge in this stock, if not how could it have lived with my conscious for so many uears. Now it has started to altercate, ‘The story of the birth of Jesus Christ that has been told now is the story of Bible. In Islamic version, Lady Mariam gave birth to Isa Masih under a date palm tree.’
My conscious retorted, ‘Hey, how can it be. In the cold night of December, Mother Mary went outside under the tree?’
My rowdy mind replied, ‘Why? It is told in the Bible, after the birth of Lord Jesus Christ, the angels told the news to the cowboys staying in the field. If the cowboys could tolerate the cold of December at that time, why couldn’t the wife of carpenter endure it? Besides she should have been sweating with the throes of child birth.’
I personally do not like dialogues on religion, so I closed my eyes, stopping both the parties with a mild rebuke.
There was a high-rise sentry post of about forty feet high in the middle of the courtyard. Suddenly a growl broke my drowsiness. From the top of the post, the voice of the serai-keeper howled out, ‘If the serai is attacked by the plunderers, then O travelers, it will be your responsibility to protect your luggage and your life.’
That was what was only left behind. I have accepted all the ordeals of the serai happily to get the protection of life! The serai-keeper returned back this responsibility on my hands again, so I had nothing left behind. Instantaneously I felt a serene happiness and courage in me/ It is said in Urdu- ‘Nangese Khudavi Darte Heyn[9]’. In Bengal the same term is used poetically- ‘Samudre Sayan jar Shishire ki bhoy tar'[10]
I developed another question inside me regarding the linguistic. Radio-man must know Persian very well. So I asked him, ‘The seria-keeper’s term “property and life” was seem new to me, shouldn’t it be “life and Property”?
I couldn’t see the face of the Radio-man, so his words came to me like radio voice. He said, ‘In Iran, they say, “life and Property”, but in Afghanistan, life is cheaper than property. Therefore, to them, it is “property and life”.
I said, ‘May be it is okay. In Bengal, we also say, ‘Dhone-praney[11] mero na.’ I didn’t heard saying praney-dhone (life and property).
We developed ‘brains-trust between the radioman and mtself. He asked, ‘I have heard life east of the Frontier is not so much dangerous like it is here. Then why you are commenting like this?
I said, ‘There are many other ways of death, without bullet. There are common fever, sannipatic[12], besides there are yearlong royal cause of death, like, starvation. If one follows this path, one have no other place of rest, like hotel, hospital or home.’
Radio voice is heard, ‘To die of starvation is the unique institution in entire Asia. The attempts to make it everlasting all through, is the alias of ‘White-men’s Burden’. But as the Afghans are the ‘lowcaste’ in Asia, they try to bear their own burden. First the ‘sanctimonious’ Missionaries ttried to take up this burden onto their shoulder. So they are not allowed to enter Afghanistan. The Missionaries are not allowed to get passpost. Then comes the English. We even do not let them enter our land. A few number of English people that work in the British embassy, we tolerate them with great unwillingness.’
Both these two information enetered into my ear, like two gospels of Mark and Luke. These turned out to be essence of Gulistan and Bustan and eliminated all the loathsome smell and brought pinkish sleep on my weary eyes.
‘Zindabad Afghanistan[13]’. Let millions of bedbugs remained awake with the charpai of that country.
[1] the bus
[2] traditional wayside resting place, rudimentary hotel
[3] Jalianwalabagh- a public garden in Amritsar where the British soldiers mercilessly murdered peaceful congregation on the occasion of the Punjabi New Year on April 13, 1919. Official British Raj sources placed the fatalities at 379, and with 1100 wounded. Civil Surgeon indicated that there were 1,526 casualty.
[4] Aiming one’s leg towards West, the direction towards Qaaba, is a great sin for a devout Muslim.
[5] Among the Hindu community, drinking and bathing with cow’s urine is a must to make one’s body pure.
[6] What’s the new theory you are reciting before me? I don’t have any propensity on those.
[7] ‘Dak’ means ‘Post Office’. The bunglow or the resting places maintained by the Government were for the Government officials.
[8] Narcissus
[9] Even the God fears the naked
[10] Who lives in ocean, shall he fear a drop of dew?
[11] Do not destroy me in property and life
[12] complicated illness, combined with typhoid, enteric fever etc.
[13] Long live Afghanistan