R Kumari: A slice of Josh Malihabadi's life

I was once traveling to Calcutta for sightseeing and to meet Mukhtar Ahmed Khan Malihabadi. Traveling with me were my great-uncle, Jugnu and Ali Hussain the servant.

In the compartment of the train I was assigned to, I saw an old Brit laying in his seat, and in the other a tall, flowery-faced slender girl reading a book half-laying. I sat in the middle seat. The rainbow colors off her face were hitting and grabbing my eyes taking them to her cheeks. This went on for a while. But she was so engrossed in her book that she didn’t even notice when I got into the compartment or that I had been ogling her.

I glanced at the book she was reading. It was Romeo and Juliet. “The setting is good and the result should be fine, Inshallah,” I said to myself.

She tried to close her window for the wind had picked up by the fast-moving train. I thanked God for the opportunity seeing that her fair and delicate wrists were not strong enough for that stubborn window. I immediately got up, went close to her and shut the window.

She looked at me and it seemed as if she swallowed something. She smiled at me and said, “Thank you.” She put her book down and started twirling her hair. “Congratulation, Josh mian!” I said to myself.

The train pulled to a station in the evening. The old Brit got off and I prayed no one else comes in our compartment. I was delighted when the train started to move again and no one else got in. I was happier to notice the girl seemed as pleased.

Sitting across, our eyes would often meet but we did not find courage to talk to each other. “Childhood guidance makes one so timid,” I thought to myself.

The sun began to set and I began my ascent. I took the bottle out and pop went the cork. I struck the match and lit the incense, poured the whiskey in a glass, mixed soda in it, said Bismillah and took a large sip. Within three minutes I was buzzed. I felt good and my passion awoke.

I poured myself a second glass.

“Ram Ram,” she said quietly.

“What’s the matter?” I asked

“The incense flicker is getting into the gas-lantern.”

“Should I put it out?”

“No, but please light another lantern”

“Where are you heading?” I asked lighting another lantern.

“Benaras. And you?”

“Calcutta.”

She seemed very disappointed.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Josh. And yours?”

“R Kumari.” She said that as if she were letting a beggar know of a hidden treasure.

“What do you do?”

“I’m in my first year of college.”

Taking a sip from my third glass of whiskey, I thought of an excuse and got up to make my bed. Walking wobbly as a drunk, I bent down to fix my pillow and, pretending as if I’d lost my balance, leaned towards her in such a way that both my hands landed on her chest. She let out a little scream. Apologizing to her I tried to stand straight. She held my wrists with her very soft hands.

“Please sit down or you’ll fall.” She moved her feet away and I sat next to her in her bed.

“Liquor is bad and makes people fall,” she commented.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I just saw you fall! My father also drinks and can’t walk straight when he’s drunk.” Saying that, she took her vest off, let her hair loose, took her watch off and placed it by her pillow, rubbed her thigh against mine, and looked at me with such sweetness that I drowned in those beautiful deep eyes.

In the morning we greeted each other with sweetest of smiles. We felt as if we knew each other for thousands of years. We were now addressing each other with tum rather than Aap. It’s true that love covers years of distance in one leap.

She got up like a fairy off a magical island, brushed her hair, sat next to me and said like a princess: “You are not going to Calcutta but will get off with me at Benaras.”

“Your wish is my command, devijee,” I said joining my palms.

“Your name is now Joshi, not Josh. Forget about your old name.”

“Whatever you say your honor.”

The train pulled at a station and her servant showed up with her bath accessories, which he placed in the bathroom. When she got out of the bathroom, she seemed like a beautiful Benaras morning.

She gave me her college name and the street where it was located, and said, “There is a very nice hotel right across my college. You check-in there. I’ll drop-in at my break. And remember, play a complete stranger to me at Benaras.”

At the next stop, I went to my uncle’s compartment. “I’m getting off at Benaras and will catch you all at Calcutta later.”

Making a face as usual, Uncle said, “I knew it. Why Benaras? It must be that girl in your compartment. Listen Shabbir Hasan Khan, you better be careful. Hindu-Muslim hatred has begun.”

“Not to worry, Uncle. How to play with hearts who know / All the tricks they know.”

Uncle told my plan to Jugnu and Ali Hussain. When we arrived at Benaras, I played total stranger to that girl, went straight to the hotel she recommended and checked-in as Joshi.

My uncle and the servants tagged along. Uncle was ticked off. “I don’t like any of this, Shabbir Hasan Khan. It’s too dangerous to stay in Benaras. That’s why I had our lotas sealed in a leather bag back at the Benaras station, so no one suspects we are Muslims. You say she will be here in the afternoon. If anyone finds out, and it doesn’t take that long, we all be butchered here. I’m telling you.”

“Why are you so scared? You are a Pathan.”

“So what if we’re Pathans. Four of us can’t fight a mob.”

The door opened and she walked in with a laborer carrying boxes. She asked him to drop them there, gave him a tip and he left. Uncle went out with the servants and all three sat outside aghast.

She opened the boxes, put sweets on the table and made a small mountain of fruits. She took out a very nice watch and put it around my wrist. She then opened a bundle, took out a couple of dhotis and two bright-colored shirts and said, “Wear a dhoti and one of these shirts, and at the crack of dawn tomorrow show up at the Gunga wharf. Stand at an elevated place so I can see you. I’ll take you to mandir.”

She took out the sacred Hindu thread and said, “Put this around your neck before you get there, and don’t forget to put this sparkle-powder on your forehead.” She handed me a small box of sparkle-powder.

“You want tea or would like some ice cream, Kumari,” I said that putting my arms around her neck.

“Your looks is my tea and your talk my ice cream,” she said very sweetly. I hugged her hard.

After she left, Uncle came in worried sick. I told him everything. He was horrified. “For God’s sake. You are going to a mandir in Benaras pretending you are a Hindu? What would you do if someone recognizes you? Oh, man, this Calcutta trip turned out to be so dangerous. I told you so.”

“Oh, please, give it a rest. Here, have some fruits.”

Seeing food, Uncle forgot all about the hazardous conditions and attacked the food like a starved man.

Next morning when I headed towards Gunga looking like a complete Hindu, Uncle was trembling with fear. He begged me but there was no way I was going to listen to him.

“Bhaiyya, take me and Ali Hussain with you. We have sticks in our hands and knives in our pockets,” Jugnu appealed to me.

“Don’t worry about it, Jugnu, there is no danger and it’s not appropriate that you guys come with me.” Saying that, I started to walk towards Gunga. I turned and saw that Uncle, Jugnu and Ali Hussain were following me. I gesticulated asking them to slow down to keep their distance from me. They understood and moved away from me.

Dawn was breaking out when I arrived at the wharf. The wharf looked magical. That gentle early morning breeze, that flowing, singing water of Gunga, those wild young girls, those strolling legs, those beautiful faces, those gorgeous eyes, those chirping lips, those clean cheeks, those slender waists, those sensuous bodies in gentle waves, those dips in water, those bathing beauties, those exposed bodies in wet cotton sarees, those playful girls as if a carnival of fairies, those un-dancing dances, those glittering marbles, those sumptuous silhouettes, those walking colors, those oranges in dopattas. Rising is sun / Story has begun.

From that beautiful magical world, emerged Devi of my heart’s temple: Water out of her wet hair she shook / Down came the pouring rain.

“Joshi, follow me,” she called out and, riding on the seventh heaven, Joshi followed her.

After a little walk I saw an intimidating mandir in front of me. She pointed her finger towards it. Uttering Allah’s name, I entered in that house of idols. In there, I was listening to bells and sacred Hindu songs, but saying La Ilaha Illallah in my heart.

In this commotion, I saw a gentleman staring at me with very confusing looks on his face. I turned cold. I thought if this guy announces there is a Musalmanta in their midst, I will be sacrificed at the altar of Devi. Uncle was right. I was playing with fire.

My heart said, “You want romance and are now afraid of death. You are going to die one day, anyway. So much better to die at the feet of your lover than to die in bed kicking your heals.”

I looked again at the gentleman who was staring at me. He nodded his head as if he were saying salam to me. I nodded back in return. I was convinced I had been recognized. I got ready to die.

The singing of sacred songs ended and the crowd began to disburse. She waved asking me to follow her. Following her, I got out of the mandir.

We had hardly walked a few steps when I heard, “Josh sahib, Adaab.”

I turned around and saw the same man who was staring at me in the mandir.

“My name is Badri Prashad Badar,” he said that coming close to me. “I saw you at a poetry recital in Allahabad.”

“I am very pleased to meet with you. I appreciate that you saw me in the mandir but kept quiet.”

“Sir, I am a Kasth. We have been very close friends with Muslims. As a poet you have a right to go wherever you wish, be it a church, a mosque or a temple. Where are you staying? I would like to spend some time with you.”

The man was very polite and gentle and seemed harmless. But I didn’t want to give him any information lest he runs into me again. “I’m leaving for Calcutta this afternoon,” I said.

He shook my hand, recited Difference between Ka’ba o’ Idols is none / Thousand are similarities between Sheikh o’ Brahmin, and left.

When I was talking to Badar sahib, she was standing there listening and had turned white with fear.

On the way back to the hotel, she did not say a word. The moment we got in the room she crashed in bed, “Water, water, I want some water.” I got her a glass of water.

She got up, finished the water, and said, “When that man was talking to you, my heart was beating so hard thinking hai Ram what’s going to happen now.”

“Sweetie, to die for your love is better than to live one hundred lives.”

Tears flooded her eyes. Wiping them off, she left for college.

Uncle came in my room and making a face said, “Brother Shabbir Hasan Khan how long you plan to stay in this danger?”

“About four more days.”

But R Kumari chained me in, and I wound up staying there for one whole month. Don’t ask, folks! Everyday was Eid, and every night shub-barat!

One day she came to see me at her break looking very apprehensive. Catching her breath, she said, “My father has found out about our love. Someone from this hotel has informed him about you. My father is hopping mad. Let me bear his wrath, but you should leave right away. I’ll be in Luckhnow during Christmas holidays to meet my aunt. Let me have your address.”

I gave her my address. “Okay, Ram Ram,” she said.

She shrieked and, throwing her arms around my neck, started to cry uncontrollably. I started to cry with her. Holding each other in a tight embrace, we stood there for some time sobbing. She left but kept turning and looking at me. I felt as if lightening had struck my heart. I caught the next train and left Benaras. Clouds are carrying my lover away / Tears fill my eyes when I think of her.