But which mortal has ventured this way and not craved sustenance within days? In the marketplace of this world, money is a commodity. What does a pleasure garden have if not lust and meaningless fun? The moths scatter as soon as the lamp goes out. Why would a canary sing on a fruitless tree? Once again, what has been happening since the days of Adam happened again. Husna found new lovers, and a helpless, loveless and dejected Mian Ulfat Hussain found refuge in an old mosque. He had exchanged all his wealth for worthless goods such as infamy, guilt, scandal and poverty. Disease came complimentary.2
Now Premnath saw sense. For three weeks, he had been moaning in a corner of the mosque. But there was nobody to ask after his welfare. Old friends had turned dispirited and given up on him as insane. Among his new friends, there were more who mocked him than those who showed concern. In this laughable situation, Premnath remembered his loving mother and doting wife. Ah! What a pleasant life it had been! What carefree days! How much that Goddess of good fortune had reasoned with me, but full of lust, I had lost my bearing! If only I could see her again, I would spend my whole life at her feet. Where is my good fortune now? Who will ask after me? Now Gomati despises even the sight of my face.
A maulvi sahib lived in the mosque. His name was Tahir Ali. He was a selfless man. Taking pity on Premnath’s condition, he would invite him for meals. One day he said, ‘Why don’t you go home? How long will you stay here? After all, your house hasn’t collapsed! I can see that your condition is worsening day by day.’
Premnath sighed. ‘Why do you rub salt into my wounds, Maulvi Sahib? Where is my home and hearth now? It’s been long since the house was sold. Now only the grave can provide me with rest.’
Maulvi Sahib said, ‘Even so, do call your family once. At least see how they respond. I don’t ask you to call your wife, but the child’s condition will certainly make a mother embrace him and forgive all his sins.’
Premnath responded dejectedly, ‘I know this, Maulvi Sahib. If my mother hears of it, she’ll come here running wherever she might be. I believe my wife will do the same as well. She is the Goddess of loyalty, Maulvi Sahib! I’ve never seen such grace and bashfulness anywhere. I’m sure she’ll certainly come. But how can I face her? How do I go to her? I can’t show them my tainted soul. I would much rather die, alone and suffering. I can’t reawaken their pain. Ah! I’m one who ruins the family, Maulvi Sahib! I sullied the name of my forefathers. I had so much wealth that we could have lived comfortably for several generations, but now I’m a pauper. So poor that I am even bereft of courage to lean on. Now my only prayer to God is to end my suffering as soon as possible.’
Maulvi Sahib retorted harshly, ‘Why do you say Eishwar, the Hindu God? You must say Allah!’
Premnath answered reproachfully, ‘Eishwar and Allah may be different entities for you, sir. They are one for me. The world is not a farm planted separately by Eishwar, Allah, Brahma, Lord or Jehovah.’
Shamefaced, Maulvi Sahib said, ‘That’s true, brother. When we hear a name different from that of the one God that we have always heard, the ears find them strange. Anyhow, if you agree, I can write a letter to your in-laws.’
Premnath gestured in the negative. ‘Not at all! Let me die here. This is the punishment for my sins. Somebody or the other will arrange for the grave and the shroud. At that time, you may send them a letter saying that the unfortunate Premnath has passed away in great suffering, and is now enduring the torments of hell. There isn’t much time left for me to die, Tahir Ali! Two days at the most. My in-laws are in Lucknow, in the Naubasta mohalla. My father-in-law’s name is Babu Nihalchand. But, brother, for God’s sake, do not write a letter before I die. I bind you to this in God’s name. Now only a funeral shroud can clothe this tainted soul!’3
On the third day, sometime in the second quarter of the night, two women came and stood in front of the mosque. One was a labourer and the other, Gomati. Both stared at the mosque but dared not ask anything. Gomati said softly, ‘Is anyone there or not? Just ask! Is this Rahim Khan’s mosque?’
The labourer said, ‘Whom do I ask? If only I could spot anyone!’ Upon sighting the maulvi she said, ‘Arré, Mian Sahib, isn’t this Rahim Khan’s mosque?’
As soon as Tahir Ali saw the two women, he rushed inside and told Premnath, ‘Ulfat Hussain, Ulfat Hussain! Are you asleep? Your family members have arrived!’
Premnath sprang up and rushed forward but, being bewildered, stopped after a few steps. He exclaimed with anxiety, ‘My family members? Are you dreaming?’
Tahir replied, ‘It’s not a dream. It’s real, sir. They’re most definitely your family. Should I call them in? An old woman asked me if this was Rahim Khan’s mosque. I didn’t answer as I thought I should first inform you.’
With a tender look, Premnath inquired, ‘Did you write them a letter?’
Tahir Ali confessed, ‘Yes, brother, I did write the letter. Seeing your condition, I couldn’t stop myself.’
Premnath reproached him, saying, ‘You didn’t desist even though I made you swear. I didn’t expect this villainy from you. I believe it is open villainy and betrayal.’
‘You
