When Maulvi Karamat entered the mosque, the sun was facing the mountains directly from its rising place in Deccan, meaning that it was only noon, and there was still a lot of time before the azaan. Maulvi pulled out a palm leaf mat from inside and spread it in the sunny part of the courtyard. Every night, these mats were placed inside to prevent them from getting wet from the dew that fell through the night. The mosque’s courtyard was not laid with bricks, but it was clean, because Maulvi Karamat swept it every morning with a broom, so the rugs wouldn’t get dirty with dust from the courtyard. In the winter sun, spreading the rugs in the courtyard and praying on them brought its own kind of joy. For old men and people who worked, praying like this in the sun was also a recreation in addition to being an act of worship.
This mosque was no different from the others in the small villages of Punjab. Located in the exact centre of the village, it was like an onion that dries out lying forgotten in the centre of a roti and shrinks. This small mosque was garrisoned by walls on three sides. On the fourth side, that is on the west, it was the covered building of the mosque itself. It was basically a 20 by 30-foot room, with many small minarets built on the balustrade in front. Their colour had faded many years ago. In front of this room was a square mud courtyard of around 35 square feet. In front of the courtyard, towards the east, was a corridor that was almost eight by 30 feet, with a 12-foot high ceiling. The mosque’s ceiling was five feet higher than this. The beams and rafters of both ceilings were identical.
The only difference was that the ceiling of the corridors had turned an ashen brown from the mud and the dust flying about, while that of the mosque had turned black from the smoke rising from the oil and ghee in the lamps. To enter the mosque’s courtyard, a door made with wooden planks had been built in the centre, on which a metal chain was suspended. The only purpose of this door was to prevent animals from entering the mosque. To the right side of the door was a well. The place for ablutions was a long tunnel that ran beneath the corridor. To one side of this tunnel was a water tank made of bricks, so that water could be pulled from the well easily and poured into the tank. The bricks of the corridor had not been plastered over, and clay was dripping from the mortar joints in the form of efflorescence. The northern wall of the mosque’s courtyard had tilted slightly to the right since it was made of mud, but it was only five feet high, so there was no danger of it collapsing. In case it did fall, the mosque was right in the centre of the village and the houses didn’t start until 30 feet outwards of it, so there was no threat to children, who often played close by. But the mosque was growing more decrepit by the day.
Maulvi Karamat had repeatedly tried to draw everyone’s attention to the matter, but no one listened to him. To tell the truth, both Maulvi Karamat and the mosque were needed only when someone died in the village. Their work began right after someone died, and ended the minute they were buried. However, around a dozen old men were regulars and came five times a day, and this number had been constant for many decades now. It neither increased nor decreased. When one old man died, he was replaced by another. This way, around ten to twelve old men would always grace the mosque regularly with their presence and make Maulvi Karamat feel needed.
Fazal Din’s first chore of the day was to fill the water tank. Every morning, he had to fill out 20 mashks of water from the well and pour them into the tank. This amount would last till Asar. At Asar, Fazal Din would add another seven or eight mashks of water to it. One day would go by like this. Sometimes, he would cheat a little. He would pour ten or twelve mashks in the morning, quickly say his prayers, and run off on his daily errand of collecting rotis, but this amount of water was not sufficient and would run out quickly. Then, Maulvi Karamat would have to fill the mashks with water himself and pour them into the tank. Whenever the Maulvi had to do this, his temperature would shoot up to a hundred and twenty degrees. Most of all, he was angry with the old men who would fill lotas upon lotas with water from the tank, rinse their mouths, and gargle and spit right there, wasting water. But his wrath was always unleashed on poor Fazal Din himself, who, by performing his task half-heartedly, had ended up burdening Maulvi Karamat with the toil. Today, yet again, after sweeping the courtyard lightly, when he sat to perform his ablutions, there was no water in the tank.
Maulvi Karamat stood on his toes to peek inside the tank. There wasn’t a drop inside. The Maulvi’s spirit deserted him at this sight, and his countenance took on the air of a dead man. He was so angry with Fazal Din that he was grinding his teeth. Had the poor boy been physically present, Maulvi Karamat might just have eaten him alive. But what could he do, the tank had to be filled with water, after all. Fazal Din had still not returned from his rounds of collecting rotis from houses. Maulvi Karamat lifted the mashkeeza and dropped it into the well, which was 40 feet deep. The rope tied to the mashkeeza was of an equal length. Pulling on it would peel one’s palms. Maulvi Karamat had only filled one mashk when he heard screams. When he put it down to listen closely to the sounds, he realised they were coming from the back of the mosque.
God have mercy, what calamity has befallen us? Maulvi was rattled. God forbid, had something happened to Fazal Din? But it was not yet time for him to return. It had only been a few moments since he had left the house, and everything had been calm then. He ran towards the house with laden feet and trembling legs, but his legs were weak and giving way. He felt so weak he was afraid he might fall. Instead of running, he slowed to a walk. When he reached the door of his house, a strange scene was in progress. Shareefan had let her hair loose and was beating her chest with her arms spread out, wailing loudly. A few women were gathered around her. When she saw the Maulvi coming, she started wailing louder.
Excerpted with permission from Naulakhi Kothi, Ali Akbar Natiq, translated from the Urdu by Naima Rashid, Penguin India.
