Syed Mujtaba Ali
HOME AND ABROAD, DESHEY BIDHESHEY
Translated and Edited by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
Chapter – Three
When Sardarjee started to brush his beard and knot his hair, make his beard and wear his turban, then I understood it’s only an hour left to reach Peshawar. In heat, dust, coal dust of the engine, kebab-roti and in want of a bath, I was all most too exhausted to fold up my blanket and pack up my hold all. But it is most convenient to travel with Pathans is that, they assist you enthusiastically what is supposed to be a difficult task to you. To him, helping you in packing up your heavy luggage on a fast-moving trembling train, is as easy as he is passing on a match-stick. He handles a heavy trunk and luggage as if he is taking an attache case.
By this time I was informed in the meeting that, it is said that ‘Pathan territory is for the English in the day and for the Pathans at night.’ I felt proud that Pathan with rifle can rival with cannoned English soldiers. The train will reach Peshawar at nine at night. While I became afraid of thinking under whose control then it would be, the train stopped at Peshawar station.
Outside it is bright daylight, then how it is nine o’clock? And then how could I reach Peshawar. During the long and rough journey, I stopped looking at my watch. I looked at it now and found it’s really nine o’clock. I did not bother about such a trifle matter at that time, but later found out that Peshawar follows Allahabad time, so it is very natural and scientific- especially it is now June.
Platform was not very much crowded. While disembarking my luggage I noticed that a man, even taller than most of the tall Pathans, is coming in my direction. As I looked at him pathetically to display my Bangalism, he came near me and said in finest Urdu that he is Sheikh Ahmad Ali. I told my name and stretched my hand, he took it into both of his hands and pressed it. With that squash five fingers of my hand were almost lost into his giant hands. I did not scream, because in my subconscious mind, the story of shedding of two fingers of that Pathan of the train must have encouraged me. So that day I could have retained my prestige I started to contemplate at which auspicious minute I will get back my hand, then suddenly he embraced me with both of his arms in pure Pathan style and started to hug. I did not know what would happen, if I were as taller like him, but my head was rested on his bosom so he can not hug me properly, at the same time he went on speaking something in Urdu and Pustu dialects, which, if translated will become like, ‘Are you healthy, is it everything all right, Have not you become too tired of the journey? I went on pronouncing, ‘Oh, yes, thank you’, ‘Oh, not at all’ and thought I should have learnt the etiquette of first meeting. Later, I came to know, one should nor reply to these questions of the friend at first sight. Both of them should recite the same questions simultaneously for about two minutes while embracing each other. Then, after shaking hands and embracing completes, one should ask, ‘How are you?’ You would say, ‘Thanks to Allah Almighty, how are you?’ He would reply, ‘Thanks to Allah Almighty’. Then and only then you can talk about your distresses, if any. But replying to the question at first sight, is discourteous behavior.
He then almost half-lifted and half-dragged me outside the station and let me board a tanga[1]. I was just contemplating that, I am not known to him, I am a Bangalee and he is a Pathan, still, why he is showing me such courteousness? How much it is sincerity and how much is formality?
Today I can tell that Pathan reception is completely unadulterated sincerity. Pathans are not much happier in anything else, than inviting a guest in his house— moreover, it the guest is a foreigner, then it is out of question. It is even much better, if the guest is a five and half footer and much weaker person. Gentleman Pathans were not allowed to fight. So he doesn’t know what he will do with his enormous strength. He feels exceptionally happy in helping weaker persons— though he know very perfectly, he do not have to apply his strength for the guest.
Tanga is moving in Pathan style. In our country, generally, people move aside and the carriage go straight. In Pathan territory people move at their own will, vehicles move left and right to avoid them and proceed ahead. Its useless to blow horn or shouting at them. True Pathans never leave the road for anybody. He is a free man, if he gives way to nobody then he has no freedom left.? In many occasions, he has to pay for it. If flesh of his calf is severed by the shove of shoe of the horse, then he never shouts, or indulge into fight or go to police. With great disgust and hatred he only asks, ‘Can’t you see?’ The Cart-driver too is a free Pathan- he shows more distaste and says, ‘Don’t you have eyes?’ That’s all. Both of them go to their own destination.
I found out three-fourth people of Peshawar knows Ahmad Ali and Ahmad Ali at least know sixty percent people. From time and again, he stops his Tanga and speaks something in Pushtu; then he turns towards me and says, ‘I have invited him to dine with you. Hope you have no objection.’
Its great luck for Ahmad Ali’s wife- because she cooks herself- that their house is near the station, if it isn’t, that night, the Jirga[2] of Pathan territory would have sat at their house.
Innocent Pathan and shrewd English have one thing common. Most Pathan thinks Bangalee hurls bomb, English too think almost alike. Ahmad Ali is a CID officer. After an hour I reached Ahmad Ali’s house, one policeman delivered a letter to Ahmad Ali. He read the letter and smiled. Then he gave it to me. It had my detail description and it categorically emphasized that the person is a Bangalee- it says Ahmad Ali should inquire into the matter and inform the honourable government. Ahmad Ali scribbled down ‘The person is my guest.’ on that paper.
I said, ‘You should write down my name and my intention- they wanted to know.’
Ahmad Ali said, ‘What do you say- I will probe into the whereabouts of my guest?’
I thought I will show my knowledge in Pathan territory. I said, ‘You will have to work without any influence, there’s no question of profit or loss of the guest, this is the teaching of Gita.’
Ahmad Ali said, ‘I have heard there’s many holy book in Hindu religion. But why did you quoted from Gita only? Forget that. I believe, one shouldn’t work at all, be it with influence or not. My philosophy is to lie on my belly.’
‘I became at a loss to hear the term ‘lie on the belly’. We generally say lying on my back and as the English do not like lying on the back, so they think ‘lying supine’ is a mischief. Pathan and English have many things in common, so to avoid this crime and to keep his comfort, they have invented this method of lying supine.
I didn’t know whether Ahmad Ali understood that I had confusions in my mind. But he went on saying, ‘You cannot get acquitted. Only the other day, I went for a round at night- reputed dancer Janaki Bai was missing for couple of days, if any trace could be found. I am walking unmindful- about fifty yards ahead of me a group of whir soldiers were parading past. Suddenly all at once a number of rifles fired- bang. Instantaneously, I jumped on the ground and lay on my belly and rolled myself to nearby ditch. From there I saw, lying on my belly that the soldiers are lying dead on the road and a group of ten Afridis quickly moved in, took the rifles of the soldiers and vanished. The Afridis aim is the order of the Yamdut[3], never to fail.
‘Therefore, if you don’t lay on your belly, you shouldn’t know when you will be located by the Afridis. This is the first lesson to save your life.’
I said, ‘What’s wrong in lying on the back?’
Ahmad Ali said, ‘No way. If you lie on your back, you will see the sky of the Almighty- that’s really beautiful’ But you could not be able to observe the ill-doings of the human beings. How do will you know, its time to run away, and if you remain there more, you might face more trouble. When military people will come, investigation will be made, they will take you with them- it’s better to have the Afridi’s bullet.’
I said, ‘Well, I might face that incidence. But you should have reported the truth.
Ahmad Ali said, ‘Excuse me. Why should I report? What’s my benefit? The Afridis have fondness on Englishmen’s rifle; it can take life of human beings. For this people can give life and also take life. Why should I get involved into it? Bangalees hurl bombs- God knows why, he throws that, they have no inclination on rifle- English do not like to take bombs, but Bangalees are determined to hurl it at them. For this they are determined to sacrifice their lives and take lives too. Why should I tell your detail information to them? There shouldn’t be third party in taking and giving lives.’
I said, ‘Rightly said. Russell also agrees to it. There shouldn’t be any conflict on values. There are many similarities between the English and Pathans. It’s straightforward question in why Bangalees hurl bombs. For freedom. And to maintain freedom one needs rifle. That’s why Free Afridis love rifles so much.
Ahmad Ali contemplated into the matter for a few minutes, then said, ‘I am not sure. How freedom is retained By rifles or courage. I was contemplating on a clash between two groups day before yesterday. I hope you know, in ever ward of Peshawar there is a leader of the goons. That day a clash stared between the two groups. It’s not related to firearms. Just hand to hand fight, stabbing at the most. One group couldn’t stand attack from the other group and fled after about ten minutes. But its leader remained. The goons of the other group fell on him, crushing and kneading and when they though he is dead, they left him there sand went away. I visited him in the hospital. It will take at least six months to recover- if he really gets out of the danger. It could not be ascertained how many ribs fractured and whether his inner organs are affected fatally or not.
‘But I was amazed to see him , he is a lean and thin person, hardly five and a half feet tall. He doesn’t know how to handle a dagger or carry a rifle. Only one thing he has in him is courage. He have been beaten many a times, organized many brawls, never fled from any fight. He was taken to the court many a times, never was a litigant. He says, ‘I negotiate problems of others, why should I go the court for my crisis?’
‘I was astounded to see his ward of the hospital has turned into a market of fruits. Grapes of Kabul, cherry from Kandahar, walnut and apricots from Mazar-e-Sharif, all are heaped up there. About half-a-dozen musclemen are on guard- if the ‘lord’ needs something! Whereas, the ‘lord’ is ‘scuffling in the crisis-laden Khyber pass’ between life and death.
‘But the most important is he is still the ‘lord’. His image has become sky-high. He has become a honored person among the gangster groups of Peshawar.’
I was contemplating about the matter. Suddenly I was Ahmad Ali is smiling. He said, ‘Beside huge courage, he has another good quality. He can reply quickly and wittily. I have heard having acquired four times without sufficient evidence, when he was brought before the court Magistrate Izaz Hussain Khan, for the fifth time, he irritably asked, ‘This is the fifth time tyou have come before me. Don’t you have shame?’
Sirdar replied with a smile, ‘My lord, What can I do, if I don’t get promotion?’
That night, before going to sleep, I wrote a letter to brother Motru, ‘Whenever you lie, lie on your stomach. This is the law of Pathan territory. Send this news also to the own land of Lord Shiva.’
[1] a cart drawn by a single horse, meant for public transport
[2] a community court, parliament
[3] the messenger of the god of death – Yam.