For many days he was in a fix—should he approach Daudayal or not? What if he was unable to return the money? Daudayal wouldn’t relent without dragging him to court. His house, cattle, everything would get auctioned. But having reached his wits’ end, he finally went to Daudayal and asked for the loan.
‘Weren’t you the one who sold the cow to me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I will lend you the money but you must return it as per your promise. If you fail to keep the deadline then the onus falls on you. I won’t give you any concession then. Tell me, when will you return the money?’
Rehman did some calculations in his head and answered, ‘Sir, give me two years.’
‘If you don’t return the money in two years the rate of interest will become thirty-two per cent. I will be generous enough not to file a case against you.’
‘Do as you please. I won’t run away.’
Rehman got one hundred and eighty rupees instead of two hundred. Some money was deducted for the paperwork, some was kept as token money, and some for brokerage. He returned home and sold some jaggery that was kept in the house. He advised his wife on how to manage the family affairs and left for Mecca with his mother.3
When the deadline for returning the money passed, Daudayal summoned Rehman to him and said harshly, ‘Haven’t your two years elapsed? Come on, where is the money?’
Rehman answered piteously, ‘Sir, I’ve fallen on hard times. My mother has been sick ever since she returned from hajj. The entire day I keep running from pillar to post to get her medicines. I just want to be by her side as long as she is alive; work I can do all my life. There was no harvest this time, sir. The sugar cane dried up because it didn’t get any water. The other plants in the farm have also wilted. I didn’t get enough time to even carry them to the granary. I couldn’t even prepare the soil for the spring crop; the seeds are still lying wasted. Allah knows how difficult my days have become. Sir, I will repay each and every penny of yours. Grant me a period of one year. The moment my mother gets better, I’ll be back to work.’
‘The rate of interest will become thirty-two per cent.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
Rehman returned home to find that his mother was on her deathbed. It had become painful for her to even breathe. She only wanted a glimpse of her son, which was fulfilled as soon as he entered. His mother looked at him with fondness, bestowed her blessing on him and departed for heaven. Until then, Rehman had been up to his neck in debt. Now the debt pretty much drowned him.
He borrowed some money from his neighbours for the funeral but in order to provide peace and satisfaction to the soul it was essential to give a portion of one’s land as alms, read prayers for the dead and also give offerings to saints. A shroud was required too, and apart from all this, along with various other rituals, he also had to organize a feast for the community, give money to the poor and read from the Holy Koran.
The only way he could show devotion to his departed mother was by observing all the rituals. All his responsibilities towards his mother—temporal and spiritual—were coming to an end. Only her memories would be left behind to invoke at the time of difficulties. ‘I could have achieved so much, if only God had given me the means. My condition is worse than the people around me.’
He started thinking about where he could get the money from. Now even Daudayal wouldn’t give him a penny. ‘I must at least visit him once. Who knows, may be his heart will melt after hearing my bitter story. He’s a big man; if he chooses to be compassionate, a couple of hundred rupees will not even matter to him.’
After making up his mind he went to visit Daudayal. It wasn’t easy for him to make the journey. How could he show his face to Daudayal and ask for more money? Only three days have gone by since I promised him I would return the loan in a year’s time. What will I say when I ask for two hundred more! If I had been in his place maybe even I wouldn’t have given it. He may think that I’m not honest. What if he shuns me, or threatens me? What if he asks me on what grounds am I asking for more money? What will I say then? My hands are all the wealth I have. What else do I have? My house is of no value. The farms belong to the landowner; I have no claim left on them. I’m going in vain. He is sure to throw me out and whatever self-respect is left will be lost too.
In spite of such a disheartening thought he plodded on ahead like a widow on her way to the police station to make an appeal.
Daudayal had returned from court and was as usual reprimanding the servants. ‘Why haven’t you sprinkled water at the gate or kept chairs in the veranda?’ Meanwhile, Rehman inched towards him.
Daudayal was already annoyed, so he asked him with irritation, ‘What are you here for? Why are you after my life? I don’t have the time to talk right now.’
Rehman couldn’t utter a word. He was so disappointed by the harsh words that he retraced his steps. Hadn’t I expected this? Didn’t I know this would happen? I was foolish to hope.
Daudayal became a little sympathetic. When Rehman had gone down the steps of the veranda Daudayal called him back and asked him kindly, ‘Why have you come? Is it for some work?’
‘No, master, I just dropped by to ask about
