Eid festivities were not far away and th(rush nt
Bari's tailoring shop was an evidence that all the worker; were knee-deep
in work
During recent years, Shakila Rafique has emerged as an impressive short
story writer bestowed with the talent of weaving tales around events^which
often people consider to be trivial. Her sensitive mind and sharp eyes
rarely miss the day to day events around her. That is how she paints the
realistic pictures on her canvas. Fear of Allah (original title "Khuda Ka
Khauf") is a poignant satire on contemporary society in which sympathetic
feelings for the underdog are steadily becoming rare.
Traditionally kites are supposed to lay eggs at
midday when the sun is right IBliroiilMBBSra over y0""" head. But 1 am
sure they laid eggs even at five o'clock that afternoon for it was
scorchingly hot that day. As if to punish me for venturing outdoors, gusts
of fiery winds hit me, and my throat was dry. To be precise, it was the
peak of a summer afternoon.
Taking long strides, I walked briskly and reached Barkat Churiwalay's
shop. As his name indicated, he sold colorful bangles which Hyderabad is
famous for.
"Be quick. . . a glass of cold soft drink," I ordered wiping perspiration
from my face with my handkerchief which had lost its original color due to
constant rubbing. It looked dirty.
Having walked briskly in the sun, my neck and back were wet with
perspiration. Barkat obeyed quickly and brought a cold glass of my
favorite drink.
If you are a resident of Hyderabad Sindh or have at least seen its Shahi
Bazaar, then I am sure you will also be familiar with Resham Gali which
literarily means silk lane. It is a long narrow lane. You can consider it
a trailer of Shahi Bazaar. There are rows and rows of small shops on both
sides, one of the shops belongs to Barkat Churiwalay's. During summer, in
addition to selling bangles, he also sold mango-flavoured milk shake.
Bari's shop is on the other side of the lane. He is a tailor. From morning
till late evening, people of all ages crowd his shop. His workers are also
of. all ages. With lowered eyes they sew furiously on their machines.
Among them were some teenagers, who looked after work which did not
involve intricate sewing.
Since Rcsham Gali is close to where my office is, in summer I would go
there almost daily. The advantage was that I could sit comfortably in
Barkat's shop while sipping the cool, refreshing milk shake and I could
also feast my eyes on the young and attractive faces who came looking for
bangles. That is how I enjoyed a double programme, a real feast in only
one ticket!
It was a treat for young bachelors like me to spend their evenings in the
market which overflowed with healthy young attractive damsels offerings
pleasure to eyes and a soothing satisfaction to one's feelings.
There was a young boy who worked for Bari. He was the tailor master whom I
observed with interest. His name was Haider but commonly addressed as
Haideray. This lad was about 13 or 14,with small eyes. He was tall, lean
and thin. Inspite of being hollow-cheeked, with his oval face, he looked
cute. Wit! his head bowed and eyes lowered he was always engrossed in his
work. 'Hemming ladies' blouses or stitching buttons or shins. Other young
boys of his age were not that serious in their work.
Usually they were frolicsome anu would rest or sneak away quietly to the
bazaar to while away time But unlike them, Haider worked like a machine
with seriousness and responsibility that he often looked older than he
was.
During the past few months I observed Haider so closely that I felt as if
he was more a part of Barkat's establishment than Bari's.
Sometime back it so happened that as usual 1 was at Barkat's shop where
besides bangles, my favourite milk shake was also available. Eid
festivities were not far away and the rush at Bari's tailoring shop was an
evidence that all the workers were knee deep in work.
After ordering milk-shake I settled down on a chair and casually glanced
towards Bari's shop. When the cold drink arrived, I quickly took a sip.
Just then I heard Haider.
"It's a matter of only two days masterji ! I promise 1 will come back on
the third day," he begged. He sounded so pathetic that his meek and humble
tone somehow stuck in my throat like cold draught. With great difficulty 1
pushed it down my throat, turned; and glanced tovrards Haider.
"Abey / Are you out of your mind?" Can't you sec,how much we have to do
before Eid ? What a time to ask for leave when the festival is just round
the corner. Even a couple of minutes is out of question and you are
talking about two full days ? Don't waste your time and go back to work
..'. immediately," his boss thundered.
"I know masterji", Haider continued to beg meekly. "But it's for my
mother. . . she is seriously ill masterji . . . Piease."
"So it's your mother, is it ?" Bari interrupted. "Abay ! Whom are you
trying to hoodwink ? Damn you . . .
Another word and I will thrash you so much that your mother will
immediately recover.-. . don't stare at me. . . I know all these excuses.
Listening to his selfish employer, Haider's face lost colour and at once
he replied incisively.
"Did I ever try to evade work master ji ?"
He asked after a little while looking hurt. "I am really sorry." His tone
was sharp ... so trenchent that suddenly Bari turned his head and looked
at him closely. Perhaps he did not expect that tone from a young and meek
employee.
From the expression on his face it was obvious that he did not approve of
the boy's attitude. I thought he would rebuke him but then he changed his
mind, suppressed his wrath perhaps reaizing Haider's importance and the
rush of work during this festive season. Slowly he moved closer to the
boy, placed his hand gently on his shoulder and said softly.
"You are right Haideray ! But look at the load of work on me, my boy !
Everything has to be ready before Eid. Who else is here to help me except
you?
No one else Haideray, no one else. If I don't deliver the orders in time,
people would lynch me son. Be reasonable.
Try to understand and don't bother me now. I promise I will give you one
whole week's leave after Eid. But for God's sake son, not now . . . after
Eid." His soft tone and flattery did the trick and Haider went back to
work with his head bowed as if he had decided to reconcile with the
situation. He took a deep sigh, picked up a kameez and began to hem.
After that incident, I watched a similar scenario several times. It was
enacted in Bari's shop at .all hours.
Haider would request for leave and Bari would reject it more or less in
the same clever manner. The same dialogue was repeated and the result was
always From the expression on his face it was obvious that he did
not approve of the boy's attitude. 1 thought he would rebuke him but i
then he changed his mind, suppressed his
wrath, perhaps realizing Haider's importance. the same. Sometimes Bari
would reprimand the lad. On other occasions, he would try to bring him
round lovingly, using lots of tact.
Time continued to move towards the festivities of Eid which weren't more
than five to six days away. By then I had become interested in the lad so
much that I felt I was interested in the festival more than Haider because
after Eid Haider would definitely get leave to stay home and look after
his ailing mother, to nurse her back to recovery.
The situation appeared so pathetic to me that during the past few days, I
had even prayed several times in silence for the moon to appear on the
29th of Ramazan so that Haideray would get an extra day of leave.
My sympathy for him often intrigued me, for he was not my friend, but just
an acquaintance. Could it be that during the past few days I had seen such
pain and helplessness in his grief stricken eyes that I felt as if his
sufferings knew no bounds, as though they were hurting me too.
Let me go back to the beginning of this story. I was narrating how in that
scorching heat I had walked all the way from my office to Barkat
Churiwalay's shop. My dirty handkerchief soaked in my perspiration was now
lying at my feet for I had just then decided to discard it. Did it still
have capacity to absorb dust ? I wondered.
In the mean time, Barkat had already offered me my second glass of
milkshake and he was back on his seat selling bangles to young women.
Leisurely I took a sip, my eyes lingering on a charming young girl whose
soft and fair hand was in the grip of Barkat's dark and rough hands who
was now trying to slide colourful bangles over her wrist,towards her plump
arm. He was pressing her hand so that the bangles could slip into proper
position. The whole sight sent a wave of depression in me evolving a sense
of deprivation. What was depressing was that the girl seemed to be
enjoying the process, while looking at the bangles admiringly.
I sighed and took another sip when all of a sudden I heard a commotion in
Bari's shop, I turned my head ,to find out what was happening. The shop's
shutters were being brought down as if the shop was being closed. I was
surprised to observe that Bari himself was closing the shop and all his
workers were leaving. Intrigued I got up, stopped one of the boys who
worked for Bari.
"What happened. . . Why are you closing the shop ?" 1 asked. With his eyes
glued to the glass of milk shake which was Still in my hand the boy
replied hesitantingly.
"Wohfi. . . Do you remember Haideray, the boy who worked with us ?"
"Yes. . . yes, what happened to him ?" I interrupted immediately.
"Is he alright ?" I asked quickly with concern.
"Yes Babuji he is alright. But it's his mother. She died. The boy replied
sadly. "That's why masterji has closed the shop."
At that point tailor master Bari also appeared on'the scene. Seeing him
the lad withdrew quickly and left us.
I turned to Bari and asked. "When did she die masterji ? I mean Haideray's
mother."
"This morning sahebhi. . . Poor woman . . . She is dead now. That is why I
have closed the shop to express my sorrow." Clicking he replied and shook
his head as if he was really very sorry.
"But masterji ; Eid is round the corner. . . Heaps of clothes to be
stitched. . ' there, must be a great pressure. How can you afford to close
down your business and allow your workers to go home ?"
Disgusted, I asked dryly. Bari listened to me wide-eyed as if there
couldn't be a more inhuman and heartless brute than me, in the entire
universe. Then after a slight pause, he touched his ears in the manner all
God fearing people do. Then turning to Barkat, he said.
"Sahebji may be right. . . But Bhai, one should fear the wrath of Allah .
. .Poor Haideray's mother is lying dead.
How can 1 keep my shop open ? This will be wrong Bhai ! Tyrannical . .
outrageous/;'/"
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