Syed Mujtaba Ali
HOME AND ABROAD , DESHEY BIDHESHEY
Translated and Edited by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
Chapter – Six
To travel all the countries of the world one has to collect a passport and one can reach any destination. But this is not in the case of Afghanistan. After you reach Peshawar you have to collect a new stamp again. Even that do not remain valid after three days only. This system was introduced because of there’s no surety of developing any conflict around the Khyber Pass. Even you have a three-days stamp with you, if a new conflict grows up, there’s every chance of returning back the bus and bar your entry through the Khyber Pass. After collecting such stamp, we were returning back to our resting place, when I saw some busses were heading west, with bus-full of different foreign nationals.
I asked Ahmed Ali, ‘Where are those buses going?’
He replied with a bark, ‘They do not go to Kabul.’ Then with a view to change the subject, he said, ‘Tell me a story of Bengal’.
I thought in my mind, okay, wait a bit. Then said, ‘I could say stories. But I found one thing very common between the Pathans and the Bangalees, that I want to share with you, listen—
‘Here you see that most of the business are in the hands of Panjabees and the Sikhs, in Calcutta, all the businesses are controlled by the non-Bengalee people. When Bangalees start any business, their ways were weird.
‘I was staying in the Elliott Road, all the stores are controlled by the Anglo-Indians. Some tailoring and laundries are managed by the Muslims. Suddenly, one Bangalee Muslim opened a brand new glittering fancy shop amidst these. It seemed to me that the shop owner is an educated and courteous gentleman. I decided that as he had the courage to open a new shop, I should patronize this gentleman.
‘It was a scorching day, very hot- it was about two o’clock. I have to go round the city for a few hours- have seen many soaps, but never bought one- I have to patronize that son of the gentleman.
‘I got down the tram and went to his shop and found the gentleman was sleeping with snores, the bird in the cage was also dozing, the clock in the wall has also stopped at twelve o’clock, still did not wake up. I called out softly, ‘Hey man, look here.’ Again called, ‘Hey Sir, O Shahib.’
‘There’s no response. It was tedious heat, I was gradually loosing temper. Now I shouted, ‘Hey man, you sir.’
‘The gentleman slowly opened his blood-shot eyes a little, like a boal fish and replied, ‘Yes.’ Then again he closed his eyes.
I asked, ‘Do you have a soap. Palmolive soap?’
Closing his eyes shut, he replied without moving, ‘No.’
I said, ‘What’s up? I can see some, there in the showcase.’
He replied, ‘That’s not for sale.’
Then I turned to Ahmad Ali and asked, ‘Do the Pathans make such type of business?’
He laughed for some times and asked, Why do you say that?’
I replied, ‘You told me a moment ago, that those buses do not go to Kabul.’
Now Ahmad Ali startled a bit. Then he turned towards the wall, placed both of his hands on his waist and started laughing in high pitched voice. It is not just a laughter, its howling! I waited long for the cessation of his howling. He replied intelligently, ‘These will go only up to the Khyber Pass and none further.’
I asked, ‘How could you laugh so much for this little humour?’
‘Why shouldn’t I. Does laughter embeds in the story, laughter remains in the happy heart. Haven’t I told you, where freedom is to me found? Not in the rifle, but in the blood of heart. Do you want to hear an anecdote? Look there, the tea-shop has placed benches under that banyan tree. Lets go.’
Pathans are terrific democratic. It was a road-side teashop for the labourers.
Ahmad Ali lightly lowered his body on that make-shift bench, aware of his giant figure, I sat beside him. He said,
‘One night Omar Khayyam developed a pine for liquor, but he swore he won’t touch it unless he completes five rubayat. You know how compact these poems were. It was almost morning before he could complete these. When he reached the drink shop, it was day break. He howled, ‘hey, bring me some finest sirajee[1].’ The bartender shamefacedly said, ‘You have come very late, sire, with the drawing of dawn our stock have been exhausted’. Omar with soft tone said, ‘If sirajee is not there, why don’t you bring some lesser quality of wine.’ The bartender said, ‘It’s matter of great regret, there’s nothing.’ Omar said, ‘Don’t worry, bring me those leftovers of those goblets lying— it’s the custodian of intoxication that counts’.’
Before discussing about the custodian of courage, custodian of laughter, custodian of intoxication, for whom and or for what objects, I saw the said impure Pathan, Ramzan Khan, who had committed crime of living at Lahore for three months, is going through the road before us. I pointed at that to Ahmad Ali. And instantaneously he cried out, ‘O Ramzan Khan, Jane Mon, Borathare Mon, Come here.’ And at the same time he rebuked me, ‘Are you insane? If I hadn’t invited him, you should have let him go? In this heat? He shpuld have been died of heat-stroke? Didn’t you have fear of Allah and the Prophet?’
Ramzan approached near us and said, ‘Brother-in Law is sick, I was going to send a telegram.’ saying so he plunged down beside us. Ahmad Ali tried to console him, saying, ‘It will be done in no time. Wires of telegraphs are tough materials, it won’t wear out within a few hours. Now hear the good news! Mr. Syed has told us a finest story.’ He described my half-boiled story to Ramzan Khan in his own way adding much more sauces and spices, repeating ‘the soap is not for sale’ and ‘these busses do not go to Kabul’ many a times. It is as if sun rises in Bengal and the western sky of Peshawar turns crimson, the same hue.’
Ramzan Khan said, I understood clearly. But there’s one great difference between the Bangalee and Pathan.’
I asked, ‘What is it?”
Ramzan Khan said, ‘This is the story of that Sind River, crossing of which, in the eyes of Ahmad Ali, I have committed great sin. But it was not near Attock, more south- where Sind is much wider. On its sandy bank eight Pathans were at a loss. They have earned ninety six taka by renting their camel, but they could not share out the money among themselves. Sometimes share is short to one, sometimes there’s surplus. Again they try to make the distribution the more they get confused and irritated. Suddenly they saw a Bangalee trader was walking past on the other side of the river. All the Pathans called the trader to came this side of the river and help them to distribute the money equally. The trader explained, he has not in a mind to do such trouble and asked how much is the money and what are the shareholders. The Pathans said, they have four times twenty and ten and six taka in addition and they are eight co-sharers. The trader cried out, take twenve taka each. The Pathans asked the trader, ‘Wait a bit, until they perform the task of sharing. We want to see whether the distribution is correct or not.’ The distribution found to be perfect- they were all surprised. The leader of the team said in annoying voice, ‘We all tried all these hours, but could not succeed, how could he solved the matter so easily. The rogue must have embezzled some money and solved the problem. If he could solve the crisis from other side of the river. He should have stole the money from there. Catch hold of that rogue!’
Ramzan Khan said, ‘Just imagine, how the trader fell into crisis, by favouring. The trader was fortunate, that the river was wider at that side and the trader can run fast, if not anything else. He was spared.’
I said, ‘The story is a finest one. But where is difference or similarity in it?’
Ramzan Khan said, ‘Didn’t the Bangalee let the English know that the Everest mountain is the highest peat of the world, without struggling up to the mountain, nor even putting measuring tapes on it?’
I said, ‘Yes, but it was named after the British.’
Ahmad Ali asked, ‘Is that why the Bangalees hurl bombs at the British people.’
I scratched my nape for a few minutes and said, ‘Well. that’s might be one minuscule cause. But Sikdar didn’t hurl bomb to Sir Everest.’
Ramzan Khan said with rage, ‘He should have done it.’
I said, ‘Yes, but there too have some technical difficulty. When it was named, then Mr. Sikdar was residing in Calcutta and honourable Sir George Everest was enjoying his retired life at London. The scale was …’
Both the full Pathan and half Pathan were astounded in unison and asked, ‘Then, even the measurement was not under the supervision of that gentleman?’
I said, ‘No. But why are you worried about this? I do not remember how many times, your brethren captured Kabul, but I know positively that all the times credit went to the Britishers. And when you didn’t cooperated with them, then they were mercilessly butchered, or they adorned themselves with bunches of medals saying that they lost the battles due to your treachery. A few days ago, when Amanullah gave the English a sound drubbing with the help of a few old-fashioned cannons and outdated guns, then didn’t the English told the world over that they lost the battle due to the disloyalty of the Pathans?’
Ramzan Khan said, ‘How did the Bangalees know all these things?’
I said, ‘If you don’t mind and excuse my audacity, I want to tell you with all my humbleness that if you could have learnt more about some of these facts, we would have been safer.’
Both of them listened to me silently. Then Ahmad Ali said, ‘Excuse me, Syed Shahib, you Bangalees hurl bombs at the English, carry out political movements, the English are distressed about you. All these started only a few days ago. But, just imagine, when nobody of this world knew, a group of hill-tribes live in a piece of barren, hilly land, called Frontier, the English should have eliminated them, if they at all could? No crops grow, gold, silver or coal, nothing come out of its heart, women had to cross miles to fetch a few drops of water starting their journey three hours before dawn, the foolish Pathans stayed here for so many centuries, even the gods know not, when the atmosphere of east of Sind turn green with the coming of the rainy season, the Pathans stared at that, Easterly damp wind brings very enchanting fragrance, many tribes drifted away at its intoxication, but only the stupid Afridi[2] and Momand[3] didn’t migrate.
‘When the English could not annihilate this region by fighting, didn’t they tempt these idiots? Thousands people entered the army. The Union Jack started to fly on this land, but their kingdom is much less than the area from where the flag is seen. What can they do without joining the army? They did not have to worry during the reigns of the Pathan and the Mughals. The doors of joining the army were open, whereas the rulers didn’t enter the villages and snatched away the food of these poor lots, they didn’t want to force them to wear foreign dresses. Shahanshah Badshah, the owner of this and afterworld, enthroned emperor of Delhi, Sarkar-e-Ala[4], at that time, used to go to the cool and soft Kabul, not tolerating the summer heat of Hindostan, through this land, the pathans used assemble to show respect him. The Shahanshah used to be happy and the Pathans were satisfied. Meer-Bakhshis of the emperor used to throw away handful of ashrafee[5]s in the both sides of the roads towards them. The crowd used to call out ‘Zindabad Shahanshah Jahanpana[6]’ whose resonance of commendations used to rebound many a times in the hills of the Khyber Pass and when it reached throne of Allah high above in millions. Today the ashrafees are absent, the appraisals are not heard, but still, the stone-hearted Pathans have kept these barren hills free with the blood of their heart. And thus the land is now known as ‘No Man’s Land’. Tell me, what else the Pathan could do?’
I became extremely ashamed and said with much dissent, ‘I didn’t meant that. I was aiming at the gentlemen; they also have done a lot. If they hadn’t objected, the Pathan sepoies used to fight against Amanullah.’
Ahmad Ali said, ‘Exclude those gentlemen, The early as they are dead and amass around the angel of death, the better.
Ramzan Khan said, ‘The method of struggle of the gentlemen and the Pathan sepoies can not be the same. When the time comes, you will see which of the team our ‘worthless’ Ali supports.’
I looked at Ahmad Ali quizzically.
Ahmad Ali said, ‘Sometimes I couldn’t hear distinctly, I am a bit deaf, thanks to Allah.’
[1] wine
[2] a tribe of Afghanistan
[3] Momand – Mohammadzai, a tribe of Afghanistan
[4] Chief of Lord
[5] Gold coin- Ashrafee originally meant a thousand.
[6] Long Live, the Emperor, Your Holy Majesty