‘You eat whatever is thrown at you. Only a mad person does that,’ the boy persisted.
‘What is so mad about it? If one feels hungry, one has to fill one’s belly.’
‘You’ve no sense of discrimination. Don’t you feel repelled by these things?’
‘I don’t know what repulsion is. Nothing repels me now.’
‘Everyone is repelled by something or the other. Shall I explain to you what repulsion is?’
Another boy piped in, ‘Why do you throw away the money people give you? If someone offers you clothes, you don’t take them. Why shouldn’t we call you mad?’
‘What should I do with money or clothes?’
‘You need them. Everyone lusts for money.’
‘What is lust, son? I’ve forgotten it.’
‘That is why we call you mad granny. You’ve no lust, no repulsion, no shame, no sense of discrimination. That’s why you’re called mad.’
‘Then so be it. Let me be a mad woman.’
‘Why don’t you feel anger?’
‘I don’t know, son. I just don’t feel angry at anything. Do people really feel angry? I’ve forgotten how to.’
At this, several boys broke out into a clamour—‘Mad woman, mad woman’—but the old woman quietly proceeded on her way. When she came close, Mannu recognized her. It was Budhiya. He threw himself at her feet. A startled Budhiya looked down at him, and then clutched him to her chest.4
As soon as she took Mannu in her lap, Budhiya realized that she was naked. Overcome by shame, she sat down and called out to a boy. ‘Son, could you give me something to wear?’
‘Didn’t you say that you’d lost your sense of shame?’
‘No, son. Now I’ve got it back. I don’t know what had happened to me.’
When the boys again shouted ‘Mad woman, mad woman,’ she started hitting them with stones. She even ran after them.
One of the boys asked, ‘A moment ago, you knew nothing about anger. So why on earth are you getting furious now?’
‘I don’t know why I am getting angry now. If anyone calls me mad again, I’ll have him bitten by the monkey.’
One of the boys came running with a tattered rag. The old woman wore it. She also arranged her hair. The insanity that glowed on her face earlier was replaced by the sombre glow of reflection. Crying, she said to Mannu, ‘Oh, son, where had you gone? It has been such a long time . . . didn’t you care about us? Your master passed away longing for you. I begged in order to fill my belly. The house was reduced to shambles. When you were here, I cared about food, clothes, jewellery and the house. But all my desires vanished as soon as you went away. I was troubled by hunger, but nothing else mattered for me in this world. My eyes didn’t even shed any tears when your master died. He was groaning with pain while lying on the cot, but my heart had turned into stone. Forget getting medicines for him, I didn’t even care to stand beside his bed. I would think “Who is he?” Now when I remember all those things and the state which I was in, I have to admit that I had indeed become insane and it was only right that the boys should call me “Mad Naani”.’
Budhiya went with Mannu to a garden outside the town. She lived in that garden under a tree. There was only some straw there for her to lie on. There was no other object necessary for survival.
From that day onwards, Mannu began to live with Budhiya. He’d leave the shelter in the morning and return home with some vegetables and bread that he’d earned showing off his acrobatics or simply begging. Even if Budhiya had a son, he wouldn’t have showed his mother the kind of love that Mannu showed. People were delighted by his acts and gave him money in return for the entertainment. Budhiya bought food from the market with this money.
People were amazed by Mannu’s deep love for Budhiya. They declared that Mannu was not a monkey but a deity.
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
The Prophet’s Justice1
Not much time had passed since Prophet Muhammad had received the divine revelations. Apart from a score of neighbours and close relatives, not many had accepted his faith. Even his daughter Zainab and her husband, Abul Aas, who were married before Muhammad had attained prophethood, had not accepted the faith. Zainab had visited her parents a couple of times and had heard her father preaching. She respected Islam from her heart, but couldn’t muster enough courage to embrace it because of Abul Aas. Abul Aas was a successful businessman and believed in the freedom of thought. He exported dates and other products to many ports. He was hard-working and upright and honest in his transactions, and could spare little time from his worldly routine to think about the hereafter. Zainab was in a dilemma: If her soul was with the new faith, her heart was with her husband. She couldn’t give up either the faith or her husband. The other members of the family were all idol worshippers and enemies of this new community. Zainab hid her devotion to the new-found faith, even from her husband. It was not the age of religious tolerance. Rivers of blood would flow even in trivial matters. Entire families would be wiped out. Tales of valour would be sung in every street. There was nothing in the name of political structure. Blood for blood. Death for loss of wealth. Death for insult. It was as though blood-letting was the only solution to any quarrel. In such a situation, expressing her loyalty to the new faith would have brought Muhammad and his small band of followers in conflict with Abul Aas’s powerful family. Her love for her husband also stood in the way. To enter into the new faith meant that she would be separated for all times from her husband, whom she loved more than her life. The
