TRANSLATED FROM URDU BY SYED KASHIF
Once again, his case was adjourned. The court had fixed another date, to hear his case, in the next month.
Harish Chand Tripathi was upset with the conduct of court. But he was helpless. He could hardly do anything. Be that as it may, he was bound to be respectful to the court. He had been making rounds of the court for the last thirteen years. And, it was not a very long interval. Harish Chand Tripathi had met people in the court who had been visiting the court—in the hope of justice—for over twenty to thirty years. There were many who were even fighting for their ancestral property for two generations. All were upset. All were tired of waiting for decisions to be passed in their cases. But the pace of the court in disposing of cases remained unchanged.
Tripathi Ji was lost in his thoughts. Thirteen years ago when he had filed the case against Baba Palti Das and his devotees, the court building was very small. There were hardly four to five rooms which were pucca, and the remaning structure, including the sitting area designated for advocates were mud houses with terracotta tiles on the roof. Now the court has shifted to a newly built magnificent and pucca building. Officers have computers on their desks. Besides, there are many areas in which the court has progressed enormously. But what has not changed is the practice of adjournment. Despite enormous changes and tremendous development, there is no progress in terms of dealing with case files, behavior of advocates, practice of giving date after date and the working of judges. They are same as they were before. People in the court complex look as puzzled as they used to be in the olden days. Even today, heaps of files—kept on the desks—are as high as they used to be many years ago.
Disgusted after the adjournment of his case, Tripathi Ji, in the very next moment, was standing outside the court complex, on the main road, as if some mysterious force had pushed him out in one blow. Hoards of vehicles were gushing from one side to the other. While navigating the zebra-crossing, he always feared if a speeding car might hit him and take his life. This time too he had to gather lot of courage to cross the road. After he had overcome his fear and crossed the road, he turned into the street which went straight to his mohalla. While walking on the street, he was once again lost in his thoughts in regard to the city and its development. Away from the hustle bustle of the court complex, he was at ease now. Letting himself immersed in memory lane, he kept walking without any hurry.
When he was transferred to this city, he was a young man. He was ambitious—and courageous too. His elder son Parshant was in middle school. The younger one Hari Kant had just begun walking. For his livelihood, and for the sake of imparting better education to his children, he built a permanent settlement in the city. But he never deserted his village. In the beginning he visited his village every week. Gradually, weekly visit turned into monthly trips. As the time passed, the interval grew longer and longer. After his father passed away, his monthly journey to his native land reduced to a bi-annual excursion. His ancestral haveli in Rampur, thus, would glitter twice a year. The lights, sprinkling all around, would dazzle the entire village. Apart from agricultural land, he also had a one-bigha mango orchard on the outskirts of the village, just beside the main road. His father had developed this orchard and nurtured it throughout his life with great enthusiasm. There were plenty of mango trees in rows. It looked no less than a picturesque. He loved to spend time in the orchard. He believed the soul of his father lived somewhere in the orchard and blessed him on his visit to the orchard. Therefore, he never missed visiting the orchard whenever he went to his village—perhaps to attain the blessings from his soul. His father’s cremation was performed right there in one corner of the orchard. Although there is no sign of last rites visible now as the place abounds in greenery, the imagery of ashes spread on that particular spot are still imprinted in the minds of Harish Chand Tripathi, which he had collected and then immersed in the holy Ganges. Although he immersed the ashes in the Ganges, it did not vanish. They were still there in his thoughts, in his dreams. He would often think—if his father attained salvation.
Yes, he must have attained salvation. I had performed all the essential rites. As instructed by the Pundit Ji, I had done gaudan[1] also. I had also offered dakshinaa[2] to him. I am sure my father must have attained salvation. But, a moment later, he would again get lost in his thoughts. Then why does he come in my dreams? Why do I hear the sound of his footsteps in the mango orchard? Why do I feel as if he is watching me? What if his soul is restless on not finding his dear ones here? He would keep thinking if his father became lonely as he and the family had settled in the city. But, then he would move on smiling at his own childish questions.
City-life keeps everyone busy. Harish Chand Tripathi was no exception. He would hardly get time to give a thought to anything other than the studies of both of his sons, his own service and other household responsibilities. However, in one corner of his mind, his village and his father always remained seated.
After Parshant had become a successful engineer, Tripathi Ji was over the moon. On the occasion of Diwali, he had thrown a lavish party to all the villagers. People in the village have still not forgotten the grand feast he had organized in his mango orchard. That night also, Tripathi Ji had seen his father in his dream. The next morning, as he woke up, he was as restless as never before. He still remembers that morning and those moments. He was impatient to share the story of his dream, what his father has told him in his dream—which is yet imprinted in his mind. But there was no one with whom he could share it. Only Parshant was the one who used to show interest to listen in such things. But he had settled in America. Parshant would, often, prove his religious philosophies to be a myth. Tripathi Ji would find himself speechless before his son’s argument; he would then recollect what his father used to say to him. In this age of science, although Parshant would find his father’s arguments jaded, however he would always remain mindful not to hurt the sentiment of his father. He would sit with his father for hours and listen to him with great interest. He would keep inquiring him and listen in stories about grandparents and the golden days of his family. This is why there was a friendly relation between father and son duo. That day, Harish Chand Tripathi, for the first time, had felt that something had broken inside him. He remained upset for several days, even after he came back to the city.
Hari Kant preferred his own country for livelihood, although he too had many offers from abroad. He wanted to be with his father. He had often heard the stories of his grandfather’s loneliness after his father had migrated to the city in pursuance of livelihood and then settled there permanently. He did not want to see the same thing happening to his father. Parshant was also a good human being—a good son and a good brother. Tripathi Ji was a blessed man. Both of his sons had excelled in their careers. Both had secured handsome jobs and leading joyful lives. Content in his life, Tripathi Ji was free from worries—and therefore leading a life full of joy and happiness. And then, one day, a blow came his way. He received a phone call from his village. As soon as he received the message, he had to rush to the village sooner than later.
As he arrived in the village, Tripathi Ji was in utter shock to see people avoiding him. No one greeted him. No one came to meet him. Baba Paalti Das and his pupils had taken over the possession of his mango orchard. Foundation stone laying ceremony had already been held for a grand temple. Bhajan kirtan was going on in full swing. As he saw thousands of devotees engrossed in performing puja, the ground slipped from beneath his feet. It was not easy to deal with the thousands of Baba’s devotees—including a few dozens of bouncers hovering around. On the other hand, it was now a question of religion for villagers. At last, Tripati Joi had to file a suit in the court. And thus began the maze—recording of statements of witnesses, arguments adduced by the advocates, inspection of documents and series of dates, which still goes on.
Immersed in memory lane while walking on the narrow lanes leading to his home, when he finally found himself at the doorstep of his house, he felt as if he was resurrected after he had lost his senses in the court room in the event of his case adjourned for one more date. He felt as if he was in the court complex in one moment and in his home in the very next moment.
As he was upset with the labyrinth of dates after dates given away by the court, his angst was visible on his face. Hari Kant was at home. He could easily read the exasperation splashed on the forehead of his father. He understood that he was again given another date. He preferred not to ask him anything about the case. But, Tripathi Ji wanted to share his anguish. In fact he needed to vent out his frustration.
Tripathi Ji uttered, “New judge needs some time to go through the file. Therefore, one more adjournment. It’s now fixed for the last day of next month………” It was apparent. Tripathi Ji had controlled his anger. He seemed to withhold himself as he leaped forward to take the glass of water, Hari Kant had fetched for him. He swallowed full one glass water in one go.
“Papa, I have always been saying this, sell out the orchard. My friend is a property dealer. He will offer a handsome price. Bhaia is also of the same view.”
“At the stance of both of you, should I make a deal of my father’s memory? Both of you please stay away from giving suggestions to me.”
As he expressed his displeasure, Hari Kant tried to make him understand.
“Papa, why do you not donate the orchard to this very Baba! God has blessed us with lot of wealth. I do not want to see you in pain in this way.” As he said this he felt a sense of pride in himself. He thought it was a noble idea and his father would praise him for this.
But, what he said had provoked Tripathi Ji to next level. He yelled at his son. “Do not say it again, ever. I will fight against this fraud till the last breath of my life. What kind of Baba is he? He was a bus conductor when I was a student in the school. You know nothing, what all sins he commits under the guise of saffron colored costume.”
“Papa, now you are doing his character assassination, needlessly. There are thousands of devotees in his durbar all the time.” Hari Kant did a mischief, as he smiled while saying this.
“I know what kind of devotees they are! I have seen people who keep glued to even a peepal tree. I have even seen crazy men and women who make a stone drink the milk. And, I have even seen the crowd thronging to see a tree giving away milk. People are fool. They are mad. He is a gambler. He is an addict of opium. Anyways, you both do not worry. God willing, I will win the case. It is our ancestral land and I cannot afford to lose it.”
Hari Kant did not want to upset him further. So, he chose to remain silent. He also knew many things about Baba Palti Das, but he too was helpless. No matter what, for his devotees Baba Palti Das was next to God. And, yes, it was difficult—rather impossible—to fight against him, whose hundreds of devotees, carrying trishul in their hands, were ready to sacrifice their lives. Hari Kant wanted to sell out this orchard. But he also knew the idea of selling away the orchard was beyond the imagination of his father. For Tripathi Ji, it was like hurting the soul of his father. The gulf between their thoughts was because of time—which we call generation gap. Hari Kant kept seated beside his father. He kept consoling him until he was calm a bit. And, in the meantime, his cell phone began ringing. It was Parshant’s phone call. He picked up the call.
“Yes, yes, everything is alright here…….case has been adjourned for next date….yes, Papa is here only….he is a bit upset…but no worry, he will be fine in a while. Yes, please, I would love to talk to bhabhi. Hello, hi……,no bhabhi, we are Indians, here judiciary takes its own time. No, it happens in America, but here in India, a grandson has to pursue the case filed by his grandfather…… Alright, goodbye” As Hari Kant disconnected the phone, Tripathi Ji waited not even a moment to inquire him: “How is Mary?”
“Yes, she is alright. She has greeted you and said good wishes for you. She was saying she had prayed to Jesus for your victory.”
“See, my bahu is praying for my victory. And, you both are making me weak.” He told Hari Kant with a smile gleamed on his face.
“No, Papa, it’s not like that. Whatever we, the brothers, are saying we are saying out of concern. Papa, these days, religion is being misused hysterically. Do you not see the innocents being sacrificed in the name of religion in order to please the god and goddesses! Meaning of faith and belief has changed. In the court, justice has muddled with many other things, it is now subject to many other things. And, our case…………..” He fell silent all of a sudden as if he wanted to say something but then withheld himself. Then, after a while, he uttered.
“Okay, Papa, from today onwards, I will not say a word about this case. You are an experienced man. You do what you deem fit.”
In the last thirteen years, Harish Chand Tripathi had seen various colors of the court. But his belief was firm. It was his ancestral land. And, as he believed, soul of his father also rested there. He never gave up. It was a routine for him to make rounds of the court, on regular intervals, with the case in his hands.
Today, Hari Kant had taken leave from his office. He was at home. As the sun shone, Tripathi Ji went to meet his old colleague Ahmad Khan. Khan Sahab’s son was also at home; he too was on leave. Today, judgment of Babri Masjid was to be passed. It was the most important and historical judgment Indian Judiciary. It was a decision everyone was waiting for. People who cared neither for mosque nor for temple were also eager to know about the judgment. Both the colleagues sat for a while and chit-chat while going down in memory lane of the past. While leaving, he told Khan Sahab:
“The court will certainly give a wise decision, Khan! We all should have faith in the court.”
Ahmad Khan had nodded in affirmation. While passing through the market, Tripathi Ji saw most of the shops were shut. Roads were deserted. There was no hustle bustle. There was a profound silence in the air. Apprehensions and fears started engulfing him. He started taking longer steps to reach his home early.
At home, Hari Kant was sitting on the couch busy watching TV. Impatient, he was switching from one channel to another incessantly. Every news channel was busy competing with each other to break the news. News of every bit. Story of all sides. Tripathi Ji too settled down on the couch. As Hari Kant saw his father, he announced: “Decision would be pronounced in two hours.” Hearing this declaration, Tripathi Ji, after a few moments, stood up and began walking from hall to the balcony and from balcony to the hall. It was becoming difficult to overcome his anxiety. After two hours, eventually, judgment in title suit of Babri Masjit–Ram Janam Bhumi was pronounced. Breaking news was now splashing on the TV screen. Anchors and reporters were screaming relentlessly. By now Tripathi Ji’s patience had run. He hurriedly inquired his son Hari Kant. He was now impatient to know explicitly—who won the case, and who lost it.
“Papa, although I know less about the law, but whatever I have grasped as of now is that law has been replaced with the faith.” Although Hari Kant completed his sentence with his eyes glued to the TV, he also wanted to hear the reaction of his father, now sitting beside him on the couch. So, he turned towards him to hear his opinion. But, as he turned, he caught his father’s head laid on the arm of sofa. His eyes were shut. Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead. Hari Kant rushed in the kitchen to fetch water. As he sprinkled water on his face, Tripathi Ji gained his consciousness. Panting in short of breath, he murmured to his son:
“Hari Kant, do one thing. Seal a deal and sell out the mango orchard and….” Before he could complete his sentence, he again fell unconscious.
[1] Offering of cow given to the Priest/Brahmin.
[2] Money given to Brahmins after a feast or ceremony for spiritual services.
Also read, Poems by Anamika, translated from Hindi by Tarika, and published in The Antonym.
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