The English translation of a novel ‘Maharaja Dahir’ authored by Kolkata-based renowned novelist Debasree Chakraborti in Bengali language. The novel has been translated by Rajesh Giri
Tharparkar, Pakistan-India border
Year 2021
Under the bright presence of the sun in the sky, one side of the rugged desert there is the barbed wire edge, the border—India is on that side. A hot dust storm is rushing from the left side of this desert.
Such hot dusty storms on summer noon time are a daily occurrence here. Accompanying the social, economic and natural disadvantages the life of the people of this region is passing by.
A black Scorpio stopped in the middle of this desert on one side of the broken asphalt road. Then three men got out of the car and gradually walked across the desert, walking quickly towards the green gate of the white-walled house across the broken road. After entering, the green door of the house was closed.
There is a huge banyan tree in the courtyard of this house. The tree has been giving shade to the courtyard of this house with its huge spreading branches. Small huts are there around the huge courtyard. The sound of recitation is coming out from that room. Seeing that dust storm was coming, without any wait, the doors of those rooms were closed from inside. The three of them entered into a room.
An old man was sitting there wearing white Pathani kurta, pajama, and white cap. He stood up as the visitors entered, his white beard coiled around his neck.
The old man saw the visitors and said, ‘Assalamu Alaikum janab’. The three replied, ‘Walaikum Assalam.’
It is dark inside the room; an oil lamp is burning in one corner of the table. During this time of day there is no electricity in this area.
A boy, who brought them inside, hurried out and closed the door. In a while, dust storm hit the premises of this house. In a few moments it started a terrible rampage. People here spend their days with these things, so no difficulty has arisen. It’s hot outside, but there’s a strange coolness inside this room. Here, the roof of every house is made of different types of vines, leaves, straws; the roof of this house, on the trunks of huge trees leaves and vines are thatched in such a way that the air temperature inside the house is controlled throughout the year. The old man said, “I heard everything from Ahmed. My Madrasa has a reputation in this regard. Here the best noble servants of our religion are brought out. These fidayins are always ready to sacrifice their lives for Allah. You can ask the Sarfarosh, he knows everything.>
One of the visitors looked at the other visitor and said, “Yes, Abu Talib, he is absolutely right. Inside this madrasa there is a huge room, on the walls of which the pictures of all the Ghazis are hung. This person is one of the pillars of our jihad.”
The rumbling of the storm outside drifts through the room. Abu Talib said, “This time we want a jihadi who will go to India to carry out a suicide attack.”
For a while, everyone tried to reconcile Abu Talib’s proposal with the rumbling of the storm. Then the old man started, “A few years back we rescued Abdul in the middle of the desert. He was unconscious then. A day before he was rescued, his father, mother and sister were killed by Indian soldiers on the border while escaping from India to Pakistan. He somehow managed to save his life and enter Pakistan. My men rescued him and brought him to this madrasa. I have seen very few India haters like Abdul. His family was killed by the Indian army, and he is haunted by the desire for revenge every moment. I think no one can do a better suicide attack than Abdul.”
Abu Talib said, “Abdul came to this country from India by crossing the barbed wire! What is the evidence that what he is saying is true?”
The old man sighed and said, “I knew you wouldn’t believe him. That’s why I collected all the proofs. Now in the age of internet it is very easy to get Indian newspaper at home. The day before he reached me, almost all Indian newspapers carried the news that three Pakistanis had been shot dead by the Indian Army at the moment of infiltration. Look at that news—”
The old man handed over Xerox copies of several newspapers to Abu Talib and said, “Just think about how big liars Indians are! Killing their own countrymen, they stamp them as Pakistani infiltrators.”
Abu Talib is silently reading the news; Sarfarosh and Ahmed are looking at him. Abu Talib after going through all the news carefully said, “It seems that the storm has gone away. You please bring Abdul.”
Hearing Abu Talib he breathe a sigh of relief, then took out an iPhone from his pocket and called someone and said, “Send Abdullah here.”
A dark gloomy atmosphere is created as the doors and windows are closed inside the room, the light of the table lamp and the darkness create a mystery in unison.
After a while, there was a knock on the door, the iron shackle hit the door to produce a clanging sound. A young man enter through that door bringing the bright exposure of nature along with him, dressed in black Kurta and short pajama.
White skull cap on the head. He came and greeted, “Assalam Alaikum.” Others replied, “Walaikum Assalam.”
The young man stands leaning against the wall behind the old man. His long shadow is falling on the wall. He stood keeping his eyes onto the eyes of the guests. One cannot stare at this gaze for long. Abu Talib could feel the significance of this staring very well and asked, “Do you know why we have come here?”
The young man nodded, “Yes, you’ve come looking for a jihadi to carry out a suicide attack.”
Abu Talib shook his head and said, “Are you ready for such a suicide attack.”
The young man said, “I hate India. That country has taken away my identity, my family everything. By any means I want to see the destruction of India. As long as there is countries like India, Muslims can never progress.”
—So are you mentally prepared?
—Yes, I am ready.
—OK, you can go now.
When Abdul left, the old man said to Abu Talib, “Tell me what do you observe?”
Abu Talib said, “I have seen many jihadis, but there is something different about Abdul. He has to be admitted in hospital once. My man will come and take him in time.”
When the discussion was over, the old man took them into another room in the madrasah premises, where there was a blue carpet on the floor, and in the middle of the carpet, plates of biryani, meat, various cut fruits, sharbat drinks were arranged. The old man said, “Please come! I have tried to make a little arrangement for you.”
As the guests sat down on the carpet, a lad brought water and asked everyone to wash their hands, holding a big bowl down. They washed their hands and just started eating, when the old man rubbing his both palm against one over another repeatedly and gulping empty for few times, said, “Feeling embarrassed to say something, if you permit to say…”
Sarfarosh smiled and said, “Every time you repeat the same, have I ever cheated you.” This time also advance payment will be made. You may go now, we’ll talk to you before we leave.” When the old man left, Sarfarosh looked at Abu Talib and said, “Country’s economy is falling apart day by day. I still haven’t raised enough money to pay you. And if we don’t give this old man full payment, we won’t get Abdul either. I am very worried.”
Abu Talib said eating, “Don’t worry, I have a millionaire businessman friend, whose family died in the war in Syria. He wants to spend all his wealth on this crusade of Islam. I will talk to him on the phone today. This special friend is the one who arranged jobs and accommodation for Syrian fighters here.”
Ahmed said, “Hey, one of the Syrian fighters is admitted to the hospital, he undergoes an ulcer operation.”
Sarfarosh said, “Since coming here, they have been having food from a shop in the market. Ulcers are caused by the type of adulterated poisonous oil used in these shops.”
Abu Talib said, “Well, then the training of that warrior has not started yet. Ahmed, are the rest of the fighters having their training?
Ahmed nodded and continued to eat. (Continues)
Click here for Part-I , Part-II, Part-III , Part-IV , Part-V , Part-VI , Part-VII, Part-VIII , Part-IX , Part-X, Part-XI, Part-XII, Part-XIII , Part-XIV , Part-XV , Part-XVI, Part-XVII, Part-XVIII , Part-XIX, Part-XX, Part-XXI , Part-XXII, Part-XXIII , Part-XXIV , Part-XXV , Part-XXVI, Part-XXVII, Part-XXVIII, Part-XXIX
__________________
Debasree Chakraborti is a renowned novel writer of Bengali language. Based in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, she has done Master’s in Modern History from the Kolkata University, and authored some thirty books, mostly the novels, with historical perspective and themes. Her most recent novel is ‘Maharaja Dahir’ that covers the history of Sindh from 662, the year of first attack on Sindh by the Arab armies till date.
Rajesh Giri, born in Kolkata, had his early schooling from Kolkata and then from Medinipur—a village in Bengal. He graduated from Calcutta University with Physics and Maths and Master’s from Burdwan University in 2016. Now he is associated with Adhdhyaan educational institution teaching Physics. History enthusiastic Rajesh Giri is particularly interested in the ancient civilization of India and other regions like Egypt, Mesopotamia, and North America. He loves traveling.
