Finger

Egypt Airlines took off from the Cairo airport at 10 in the morning. Majid sighed when he saw that his fellow passenger was a black. He thought: ‘These blacks, rocks, trees, open fields, seas, animals, birds, whites and dark-skinned Indians will be there. And there will be the Kashmiri Pandit brother, Suman Dhar.’

The plane had waited at the Dubai airport for two hours. Majid had liked the landscape, the lights and the skyscrapers. Accession of Kashmir to India had cost Majid much because the Indian passengers had to wait in the lounge for hours whereas the passengers from Jeddah to Karachi were allowed to board another plane and fly.

For Majid the people of Cairo looked like Kashmiris. The Nile reminded him of the meandering Vitasta of olden times. During the night he saw the beautiful Egyptian women swimming in the Nile. He called up beautiful Kashmiri girls bathing in the Vitasta.

Majid did not visit the pyramids. He thought: ‘They are meant for anthropologists. The Indian soldiers and the Afghanis made the Kashmiris dig graves everywhere.’ He loved the old city of Cairo and felt as if he had been walking through Nowhatta or Hawal in Kashmir. He saw the well-clad Egyptian school girls carrying satchels. He saw some boys ogling and whistling at them. He saw signs reminding people of namaaz. He saw air hostesses in skirts. He heard of the cabaret dancers dancing in 5-star hotels and the drinkers revelling there.

The plane landed on the Accra airport in the evening. Majid collected his luggage and saw a black Negro showing a placard with the words written on it: Mr Abdul Majid Wani.

Majid said to him: ‘I am Abdul Majid Wani.’

‘Was the journey comfortable?’

‘With the grace of God it was comfortable. What is your name?’

‘Jacob. Sir, I welcome you on behalf of Sumaan Daar who is waiting for you outside. I will help you here at the counter.’

‘Is he an agent of Robin and Richardson Company?’

‘Sumaan Daar is the deputy project manager of the company.’

Majid understood now that it must be Suman Dhar, the knowledgeable boy in the engineering college at Srinagar in Kashmir. This Suman Dhar had arranged a three-year contract, 3,000 dollars a month as salary, accommodation, medical facility and other things for Majid.

Suman Dhar embraced Majid. Both of them sat in the rear seat of a car. A driver drove it. Majid asked Suman: ‘Where are we to go?’

‘The site is about 300 kilometers from here.’

‘That is the distance from Srinagar to Jammu!’

‘We will dine at an Indian restaurant. Are you from Hawal?’

‘Yes. Hawal.’

‘The restaurant is named Hawali. They serve dal, chapati, kheer, puri, chicken biryani and shahi kebab.’

When they left the restaurant Majid thought: ‘The shahi kebabs were tasteless.’

They sat in the car driven by the driver.

Majid asked Suman: ‘This black driver is…….’

‘His name is Kofi. He belongs to a very old race. They have their own culture and traditions.’

‘What traditions? What culture? Cannibalism! ’

‘They name their children after the day they are born. This driver was born on a Friday. That is why he is called Kofi.’

‘O, I see. Robinson Crusoe’s assistant was called Man Friday.’

Both Majid and Suman laughed.

‘Suman, you called me here. Why did you prefer me to others?’

‘I told my company that I wanted an assistant to my liking for three months. They agreed. I talked to Ashok first but he doesn’t have a passport. He gave me your telephone number.’

‘Passport was an excuse. Ashok would not have come.’

‘Why?’

‘Ashok takes migrant salary in Delhi and works for a big company there. Freedom fighters and their jihad did nothing for Kashmiri Muslims. You Pandits benefitted from all this.’ 

‘I phoned you when Ashok declined the offer.’

‘And I came.’

‘You had to come. What else could you have done? You are living in India. Right from 1988 you people used to cross the border and get training in handling weapons. Your salaries were paid to you regularly.’

Again they laughed.

Majid thought of the days spent in the engineering college in Kashmir when he, Ashok and Suman were nicknamed the ‘three musketeers’ because they were always seen together.

Majid: ‘When will we reach the site? It is night.’

Suman: ‘Soon. You need not worry. I have booked an apartment for you. It has a fridge, an AC, a television and other facilities.’

Majid: ‘Which flat do you live in?’

Suman: ‘I live in a bungalow with my wife. You will have lunch with us tomorrow.’

Majid had seen Suman’s wife when they were married many years back. Suman was far away when Majid got married. 

Majid: ‘It is dark. Where are we going? What desert are we passing through?’ 

‘This car is plying on a road. Here are numberless trees. They are more in number than what one finds in the forests of Kashmir.’

‘What trees are they?’

‘I know only coconut trees. I can’t name the other trees.’

‘The sight of the sea tells me that I haven’t divorced myself from the Wular, the Dal and the Manasbal lakes. The sound of water brings images of the Ahrabal waterfall and other streams. I feel that I am near them.’

‘Don’t be sentimental.’

And Majid rested his arm on the shoulder of Suman.

‘I am not sentimental. I am simply expressing myself.’

Majid and Suman had lunch in a restaurant. Then Suman explained the complexities and subtleties of the project to Majid in his office. Suman said to Majid: ‘Close these files now and come with me.’

‘Dhar Sahab, what do you mean? It is early yet.’

Majid started addressing Suman Dhar as ‘Sahab’.

‘Don’t worry, Majid. I told Eddy that we would leave by 3 pm.’

‘Who is this Eddy?’

‘He is the project manager. Our boss.’

‘Why don’t you address him as ‘Sir’? 

‘Why? We don’t speak even his full name.’

‘What is his full name?’

‘Edward Smith. No ‘Sir’ or ‘Mister.’

‘These are bad manners.’

‘No. It is love and intimacy. And don’t call me ‘Dhar Sahab’. I am Suman.’

Kofi came with the car and took Majid to Suman’s bungalow. 

Suman: ‘Majid, this is my wife, Kiran.’

Kiran smiled and said: ‘Namaskar.’

Majid looked at Kiran’s face for a longer time. He found her more beautiful than she had been in the eighties.

Majid looked at Suman and asked him a strange question: ‘You Pandits match your birth charts and horoscopes before getting married. Who has matched the birth charts of you two?’

‘That is known to Kiran. The parents of the girl get that done.’

‘The match-maker must have been a poet. He has done a commendable job. The words ‘Suman’ and ‘Kiran’ rhyme. For him words and lives must have rhymed well.’

An eight-year-old handsome boy, with a satchel hanging from his shoulder, entered the room, said ‘Hello, uncle’ to Majid and left. Suman said: ‘This is our son Naigrai. Kofi collects him from school at 2 pm. When his lunch is over he studies in his study. Then he goes for swimming. On Sundays he plays golf in the club.’

Majid opened his bag and placed apples, walnuts and almonds on a table. Then he presented an embroidered shawl to Kiran. She ran her hand on the shawl and said ‘Thank you’ to Majid.

Majid said to her, ‘I knew that you would like the shawl.’

She said, ‘I knew that you would come with a gift. But you did not get what I was expecting.’

Majid: ‘What?’

‘Haakh.’

‘I blame Suman for this. Had he given a hint on phone I would have got it for you.’

The black African maid, wearing a blue and grey blouse, entered with the cups, a tea kettle and eats in a tray and placed them on the table. While taking tea Majid thought: ‘Had the maid not been black she would have been the most beautiful woman. Both are wearing lovely blouses. The arms of both are attractive. The arm of Kiran is inviting. Such arms beautified Kashmir.’

Kiran entered the kitchen and started talking to the maid. Majid and Suman left for a pleasure drive. Suman sat on the driver’s seat and Majid sat by him. Driving Suman said to Majid: ‘Observe Africa.’ Nothing seemed interesting and unusual to Majid. He thought: ‘The trees are the same, the grass is the same, the bushes are the same and the roads are the same. Everything is the same.’

Suman said: ‘Majid, in school we thought that cannibals lived in Africa. I have seen some trees here which eat up humans, animals and birds.’

Suman stopped the car, asked Majid to alight from it and walked him across the road. Majid felt fearful and said to Suman: ‘I hope you won’t take me towards that kind of tree and avenge the death of Tika Lal Taploo whom the militants killed.’

Suman Dhar smiled, took Majid near the bushes, rested his left arm on Majid’s shoulder and with the index finger of his right hand touched a leaf. The leaf shrank, folded, bent and then dangled from the branch. The same thing happened to the other leaves also that were near that leaf or away from it. Majid was terror-stricken. He remained silent. Suman read acute tension on Majid’s face. He lifted his finger from the leaf. Slowly it came to its normal life. 

Majid said to Suman: ‘Is it touch-me-not flower?’

They sat in the car. 

Majid: ‘The leaves are cowardly like Pandits.’

Suman: ‘For me they are shy.’

Majid: ‘Both mean the same thing.’

Majid saw a vast open field on the left. On the edge of the field there were three single storeyed houses. Beyond them was the vast ocean. 

Suman Dhar said: ‘Look at the crows in the field. Their wings and heads are black. The chests and the necks are white. Look at this factory. It looks like the factory run by Qadir at Zaal Dagar.’

Majid looked at the face of Suman. 

Suman said: ‘Why are you looking at me? The wealth of these people, like those of the Kashmiris, is the forests. The English looted their gold mines, made them slaves, took them across the Atlantic, sold them to the Americans and then took away the wood of their forests.’

Majid: ‘But we Kashmiris destroyed our forests ourselves.’

Suman stopped the car. Both came out of it and walked up to the bank of a stream. Suman put off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants and walked into water. Majid sat on a stone. 

Suman said: ‘Majid, my mother’s parents lived in Baramulla. I used to visit them four or five times in a year. Recall Narabal and the road to Gulmarg. There is a stream called Ferozepur Nalla or Nalla Sukhnag where women fill their pitchers with water and wash clothes. They bathe and even swim in it. This stream looks like that stream. In migration Pandits demand homeland. It will be better to have that homeland here.’

Majid saw the liquid eyes of Suman. He diverted the topic by saying: ‘We are late. Kiran must be waiting for the dinner.’

Suman drove the car without stopping anywhere.

The dining table presented a very beautiful look. It was aesthetic in taste. Majid could identify four dishes. Three dishes were Kashmiri. One of them was gushtaba. All the dishes were tasty. Majid felt happy over the hospitality of his friend. He said to Suman: ‘All Pandits went beyond the mountains but you crossed the seas along with your wife Kiran and son Nagrai.’ Then he looked at Kiran. He saw that her eyes were wet. He thought: ‘Beauty! She reminds me of tragedy queens like Nargis and Meena Kumari. This family is rich.’

Then he said to Suman: ‘In three months I can earn so much….nine thousand dollars…..it means lakhs of rupees.’

Suman said: ‘You people also earn millions in Kashmir.’

Majid: ‘Yes, we can earn only when there is work. Work is possible if the funds are sent there. Everything is at a standstill there. I thank you for having called me to this place. You deserve praises for this.’

Suman: ‘I have only two friends. If I had a brother or a cousin I would not have asked you to come here.’

Majid: ‘We Kashmiris never discriminate. Isn’t my brother your brother or your brother-in-law my brother-in-law?’

Majid looked at Kiran. She was wiping her tears with a hankie. Majid felt guilty and hung his head in shame. Sorrow was writ on Suman’s face. Kiran stood up and left. Suman picked up a gushtaba and, placing it in the plate of Majid, said: ‘Eat it. Even Pandits can cook gushtabas. Don’t pay attention to anything. Kiran becomes sentimental at times.’ He chewed a piece of gushtaba and did not relish it this time. He thought: ‘Did this Pandit woman consider me wicked? Her beauty has cast a spell on me. But that doesn’t mean that I can misbehave with her.’

Suman offered a Punjabi dish to Majid. He ate it and then looked at his watch. He stood up, washed his hands and mouth and wiped them with a napkin. He shook Suman’s hand and said: ‘Thanks for this excellent dinner.’ He was about to leave when Kiran came smiling and asked him to have ice-cream or coffee. Majid was humble and said to her: ‘No. I had enough.’ Then he thought: ‘I ate humiliation.’

Three months went by. With them Majid’s three-month contract was over. He never went to Suman’s place in these three months. Majid deviated whenever Suman talked about personal and private affairs. A number of times he thought of forgetting the unpleasant situation but the recollection of Kiran’s tears pained him. 

It was 4 in the morning. Majid was waiting for the car that would take him to the airport. The car came. Instead of the driver, Suman was in it. He came out of the car, picked up Majid’s suitcase and bag. Majid snatched the luggage from Suman’s hands and kept it in the boot of the car himself. Majid sat on the seat by the side of Suman.  Suman said to Majid: ‘The road leads to the famous rainforest in Africa. It is a dense forest of the trees which are taller than the pine trees. Ropes have been tied from a tree to another for transporting things. From the rope even a weak hearted person can see the whole forest. It is dawn. When you came here it was night. What happened to you on the first day when Kiran wept and left the dining room? Why did you feel insulted?’

‘I did not feel insulted. I cursed myself. I was to say: ‘Had you given this job to your brother or brother-in-law I would have been happy but due to a slip of the tongue I said, ‘Your brother is my brother and your brother-in-law is my brother-in-law.’ Kiran must have thought: He means to say: ‘Your wife is my wife.’ Am I so wicked to entertain such mean and low thoughts?’

‘My brother-in-law… I mean… Kiran’s brother Sanjay was killed by the militants on the eighth of March in 1990. First his eyes were pulled out. Then bullets were showered on him. When you talked about him twice you actually showered bullets on Kiran. Majid embraced Suman, and both of them wept.’

Majid: ‘Convey my apologies to Kiran. Tell her that my two cousins also were killed in the same way. Mushtaq got killed in a cross-fire in Maisuma. Basharat, who was engaged to my younger sister Jameela, came to Kashmir from Kanpur. When he reached there he disappeared. Nothing is known about him. Either the Indian Army thought that he was a Pakistani agent and killed him or militants considered him an informant of the Indian Army and killed him. Jameela is still waiting for him. Mother has gone mad.’

Suman said, ‘It is morning. These are the bushes that I showed to you on the first day when you came here. They shrink and bend out of fear or shyness like Pandits. Touch a leaf before you leave this place.’

‘It is one thing to touch something with your finger, another thing to show your finger and quite another thing to befool a person. Someone showed you Pandits a finger or a hand and you shrank like a touch-me-not flower. My dear brother, outsiders as well as our own people befooled us…I mean…fingered us. Pakistan and India cheated us. Suman, even away from home you are free like an ocean. I too have a home and have to move a long way to reach there. Ultimately I have to go there. I want to reach the airport in time.’

Suman opened the doors of the car. Both of them sat in it. They did not talk. Suman drove the car. 

Translated from Kashmiri by Arvind Gigoo