SHAH JAHAN AND HIS PRIVATE ARMY

Author(s): Sunil Gangopadhyay and Phyllis Granoff

Source: Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. 21, No. 2, ESSAYS ON PREMCHAND (Summer,
Fall 1986), pp. 165-175
Published by: Asian Studies Center, Michigan State University
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/40874097 .
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Sunil Gangopadhyay

JAHAM
SHAH ANDHIS PRIVATE
ARMY
Translatedfromthe Bengali by
Phyllis Grano
ff
Suddenlyone day a hugecommotion brokeout in the marketplace at Gajipur.
The sweet-potatosellers were forever sparringwith the pumpkin vendorsover
the choicest spots to set up shop, and fromtime to time things wouldrise to
a feverish pitch. This time there was really more smokethan fire. Some
people yelled their fool heads off, while others gave vent to long nourished
curses; there was plentyof pushingand shoving,and a feweven wentso far as
to brandishsticks in threat of yet greater violence. But it was just one lone
head that caught the blow of any of the sticks. Andwhosewould that have
been, besides Hazu's? Hazu sold neither sweet potatoes nor pumpkins;it was
simplyhis nature to be in the middle of whateverwas happening,no matter
what.
Startled by the blood pouringout of the open woundon Hazu's head, the
two warringfactions stopped their quarrel at once and practically stumbled
over each other in their rush to reach him. Andwhatcries and lamentations
theyraised. As for Hazu, knockedon the head by someone'sstick and thrown to
the around,he did not utter a sound. Cradlinghis sore head in his arms, he
shot quick glances fromside to side like a terrified wild animal. He acted as
if the blamewas all his. Andso, indeed, it mighthave been, for no sooner
had the wavesof pity rolled over him,whenall and sundrybegan their abuse,
"Whatwereyou doina anyway,stickingyourhead underflyingsticks?"
Such had always been Hazu's luck. It was as if disaster courted him.
There had been the incident right there in the marketplaceat Gajipur when
someonehad given the tail of a bull a good twist and let it go. Straightaway
it had madefor Hazu, butted himwith all its mightand knockedhim over.
Everyoneelse had escaped withoutso muchas a scratch. Andthen, way back
even before the hull, Hazu had once gone to the lake to gather someedible
grasses whena watermocassinhad sunkits fangsinto him. Needless to say, it
was the veryfirst tine anyonein Gajipur had ever been bitten by such a snake.
Youmustbe wondering by nowwhatHazuwas doingwandering aroundthe mar-
ketplace at Gajipur in the first place, and well mightyou ask. Afterall, he
had nothingto sell and nothingto buy. The truth was that he was roaming
around there for no good reason whatsoever. He wore a dark cloth wrapped
aroundhim in the fashion of a sarong and an undershirtand he was stick-
straight, whichno doubt accountedfor the impressionthat his armsand legs
werefar too long for the rest of him. He shavedjust about once a weekor so.
Evenodder, he had the habit of fixating on a face in the crowd,stranger's or
friend's, and just staring at it. Mindyou, that is not to implythat there
was anythingimportunate about his glaring; to the contrary,he seemedto want
nothingfromthe worldaroundhim.
The marketplaceat Gajipur was hardly a saintly place. Plenty of money
changedhandsthere, always giving the vultures somethingto keep their eyes
on. Morwas there any shortageof people ready and willing to cause friction
betweenthe Hindusand Muslimsor instigate moreserious trouble betweenthem.
Thoughthe petty shopkeeperswere mostlyHindus,their suppliers were Muslim.
The latest local official was a Muslim,Sheik AnwarAli, but his defeated
rival, the HinduVisnu Sikdar, still had powerenough. Withall of this,
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peace in the marketplacehungon a slender thread whichcould snap at the
slightest pull.
It neededa clever manto makehis way in such a setting, and even the
smartestof menstill neededsomething behindhim,if not the powerof a mighty
mouth,then the powerof muscle, and if neither of these, then at least the
powerof money. Hazu had none of these. Nor did he seemto be endowedwith
muchcommon sense. He knewneither howto ask something of anotherpersonnor
howto give. Whenhe had been just a bit younger,he could be seen to spend
his days in a deserted field, perchedatop a palmtree he had climbed, staring
intently into the sky. As the sun set and a part of the heavenswould sink
into a sea of reô9 Hazu seemedto discover someparticular meaningin all that
splendor. Therewereeven those whowentso far as to wonderwhetherthe boy
wouldgrowup to be somekind of sage or holyman.
Andthenone day Hazu fell out of his palmtree. Thatwas the last of his
sky-gazingfromhis lofty perch; fromthen on he had to contenthimselfwith
staring into the reflection of the red sky in the waters of the irrigation
channel.
WhenHazu got his head split open that fateful day in the marketplaceof
Fajipur, his uncle's friendMazammelGandamadea poultice of leaves to apply
to the wound. Then, pressing a cigarette into Hazu's hand, he asked, "Think
hardnow. Whowas it that hit you? Did you get a goodlook at him?"
HazuSheik iust shookhis head fromside to side, "No, UncleMozammel."
Mozammelshot hima look of contempt
as he wenton, "Whosays you're good
for nothing? You stopped the fighting with that brokenhead of yours, at
least. Whoknowsotherwisehowfar things mighthave gone. Go, go home,I'm
the one whohit you."
Puffingon his cigarette, Hazu set off for home. Mozammel
's comments had
not madethe slightest impressionon him. His head still smarted,and a thin
streamof blood continuedto trickle downhis neck onto his back where it
stained his undershirtred.
Hazu walkedacross the irrigation channel, dried out in the cold season,
and ambledslowlyacross the field. No one had ever seen himwalk any faster;
everythingin his life was governedby the samesluggish rhythm.That was the
wayGodhad madehim; whowas he to protest? Andso he walkedon underneath
the afternoonsky, whichhe watchedas it spread its shadowaroundhim.
Thoughthe son of a mullah,Hazuwas as useless as a sterile cowto a Hindu
homestead. Therewas not a thinghe could do: not workin the fields, not work
aroundthe lakes, not even the simplest of householdchores. At one time his
incompetence had been the occasion for morethan one soundthrashingfromhis
uncle and father, but finally they had given up on him. For Hazu was not
shirking; he really could not do a thing. Even whenhe was sent out to the
fields to weed,all he did was squat therewith the scythein his hand,staring
in silence at the weeds. It mighthave seemedthat he was steeped in profound
meditation,whenthe fact that he was completelyand utterly emptyheaded was
closer to the truth.
Still, Hazu's life had followedthe normalcourse; he too had been married
off whenhis timehad come. He had fatheredfour sons. But Hazuwas not quite
the husbandother menwere, nor quite the father, either. Noneof his sons
paid himany heed and theyalwaysused a surly tone whenever theyspoketo him.
His wife, Sayeda, was a borncompì ai ner; she bickeredand grumbledfrommorn-
ing till night, whenher mouthwas so dry fromall her yappingthat she just
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gave out. Hazudid not seemto take muchnote of any of this; he neither got
angryno smartened up. He just stayedwhathe had alwaysbeen.
Just before he reached homeHazu stopped to wash his feet in the lake.
Slowly, deliberately, he rubbedthe sole of one foot against the other. He
hadn't the slightest cause for hurry;all he would do anywayuntil nightfall
was to sit on the verandahand wait until someonebroughthimsomething to eat.
Eating was, in fact, the one thing Hazu seemedto care about; Hazu took real
pleasure in food.
NowadaysHazudid not alwaysget his three square meals a day. When
he was
still part of the larger extendedfamilyhe would manage,by hookor by crook,
to get whateverhe wanted. Motherssomehow do seemto have extra tenderness
for skinnychildren, and Hazu's motherhad felt an added twingeof concernfor
this son whocould not seemto makehis ownway. It was a year nowthat his
motherwas gone; his father had died sometimebefore her. Hazu's eldest
brotherhad brokenawayfronthe extendedfamilyand set up his ownhousehold,
leaving Hazuunsureof howhe wouldsupporthis wife and children.
Sayedawas the first to notice. "Do I see blood on yourhead?"
"Uh-huh. It's blood."
"Nowwhathave you done to yourself? Hm? Don't tell meyou've gone and
fallen again?" Witheach wordSayeda cameone step closer and her voice grew
louder and louder. Sayeda was strong and solidly built; to look at her you
wouldneverknowthat she had given birth to fourchildren. She workedherself
to death all day long, doing the workof two heftymenall by herself. And
there was powerenoughin her tongue,too.
Hazu's eldest son was thirteen, thoughhe had already learned to talk like
an adult. He workedas a cowherdfor one of the families in the village. Now
he joined forces with his motherand added his owninsults whichhe hurled at
his father. Oneby one the other members of the householdgathereduntil they
madequite a crowd.
Hazu was calm and cool. He knewthat this was just like any other day.
Theywouldall yell at himfor a while and then eventually they would stop.
The darknessof night would descend; jackals and nocturnalbirds would cry,
and then at last all wouldbe still. Just like any other day. But Hazu had
no inklingof the momentous changethat was to shake his life this time.
It soon cameout that Hazu had not, in fact, fallen and split his head
open; someonehad struck himwith a stick. Therewere those presentwhowere
wrothat that news; other were outragedand somejust felt genuinelysorry for
Hazu. Theyall werecertain that a simplekind soul like Hazuwouldneverhave
done anythingto deserve such a beating. But, alas, howstrange are the ways
of the world. It was, after all, Hazuwhohad gottenhis head crackedopen.
Hazu's hair was mattedwith blood in places. He listened to everything
that was being said, thoughhe revealed no changeof emotionon his face. He
bore no one any ill-will; he harboredno resentments. All he had to say was:
"Whoknowswhysomeonehit me. I felt this whackon the head and downI went.
It's really not so bad, just a little blood, that's all."
Sayeda's elder brother, Eklas, had shownup earlier in the day and now
heardhis latest misadventure. Eklas himselfhad been burntplenty in his own
life; he had seen his share and he knewexactly howtreacheroustne worldwas
these days for the innocentand unwary. He and Sayedacamefroma village just
two villages beyondHazu's. Eklas had been living in the city for sometime
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kept his ties with home. His ears sharpenedby his sojourn in the city, he
seemedable to hear the village groanand creak as it crumbledinto the dirt.
Eklas had just droppedin on his way back to the city, but seeing how
mattersstood, he suddenlyproposedthat Hazu comeback with him. In the city
he wouldmakea manout of Hazu; besides, Hazucould workthere and earn some-
thina for himself.
At first no one even took Eklas seriously. Hazu was such a fool he was
sure to get run over by a car in his first fewdays in the city. Andas for
his earninga living- well, that was hardlylikely. Afterall, whatdid Hazu
knowhowto do? Evenin the village he had neverbeen able to do a thing, and
everyoneknewthat in the city it was dog eat dog.
Eklas had an answerto all these objections. Even a simpleton, he ex-
plained, wouldknowenoughto try to save himselffroma burninghouse. Andin
the city, you mightsay, the house was always on fire. That would do the
trick; Hazuwouldhave to learn to save himself. Andwhatwas more,whatuse
was the village to himanyway?Afterall this time in the village Hazu hadn't
a pennyto his name. In the city, even if he did nothingmorethat roll
cigarettes, he could earn a good five rupees a day. No, no one wenthungryin
the city.
Hazu stared at Eklas1 eyes taking it all in. He had no idea even whatthe
city was. He had never gone outside the circle of villages that surrounded
him,with Munsi danga on one side, Suleimanpur on the other, a total of eight
or ten villages. Andyet whenEklas turnedto himto ask, "Well then, Hazu,
are you comingwithne?" Hazu at once noddedhis head and said yes.
Theyput off goinguntil morning. Hazuboundhis possessions in twocoarse
bundles; his face was radiant with smiles. Eklas assured Sayeda, "Don't worry.
I'll look after him. You'll see, in a month or twohe'll be sendingback money
orders for you."
Theyhad to walk as far as Adanghata beforetheycould get a bus. It was a
good sevenmiles. Therewas a newroad madewhentheyhad dug the channel. It
was a perfectmorning.The sun was not too hot, and therewas a light refresh-
ing breeze. Hazu saunteredalong, watchingthe reflection of the sky in the
irrigation channel. Eklas lovedto talk; he kept up a steady streamof conver-
sation, only half of whichHazueven heard. For Hazu seemedto be discovering
for the first timethe gloryof the sky reflected in the shimmeringwater.
It was near Suleimanpur whenEklas tunedto Hazu. "Hey. Lookover there.
Downthe field, Hazu, to the right."
There was a procession comingfromthat direction, flags raised high.
Theremusthave been a good hundredand fifty people. Theywereshoutingsome-
thing, thoughfromthat distance Hazuand Eklas could not makeout whatit was.
Anothergrouphad gatheredon their side of the channel. Theyhad their own
flags, and sticks, shovels, and axes as well.
Eklas remarked,"There'll be a real battle here today, I can tell you that.
Comeon, Hazu. Let's get going. Wedon't wantto get mixedup in this one."
But Hazu was by nature incapable of walkingfast; anyway,he just stood
there transfixed, staring at the procession with wide-openeyes. By nowthe
procession had left the field and was makingits wayup the embankment,wind-
ing and twisting like a gargantuanserpent. Nearbywas a bamboobridge;
clearly they intendedto use it to cross the channel and then makefor the
open field. Thatwas wherethe fightwouldstart.
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 Hazuhad been to Suleimanpur
before but he'd never seen the bridge before.
Nowit held himfast; whohad madeit and why? Just for this verybattle, per-
haps?
Eklas quickenedhis steps. Whenhe looked back he could see Hazu not far
behind,but not moving. Hazuwas concentratingon the processionwith the same
intense absorptionhe had for everything.
The people in the processionand those waitingin the field had beguntheir
shoutingnot far fromwhereHazu was moored. Eklas retraced his steps and
pulled the reluctantHazuwith him,yelling as theywent,"Youidiot.1 Whatare
you staring at like that? I supposeyou can't resist the chance to get your
head bustedagain? Let's go. Comeon."
Eklas had to drag Hazu along. He did not dare stop until they were well
past Suleimanpur,right by Ratan Agrawal's cold storage plant. Both of them
werepantingby this timeand theyneededa fewsecondsto catch their breath.
Eklas remarked,"Fromwhat I saw, I'll bet there are already somecorpses
littering that field, maybefive, maybeeven seven."
Andsuddenlyit seemedto Hazu that he could see exactly seven menright
beforehis owneyes, someface down,someface up, all sprawledout back there
on the field. Andwherethere should have been crops he saw patches of blood.
Eklas interruptedhis reverie. "Doyou knowwhymenkill each other?"
Sayeda had always said that whenHazu was steeped in thoughthe looked
exactly like a cow, with its farawaystare. So it was just then. Startled by
Eklas' question Hazu could only answer, "Oh, brother,you're asking the wrong
man. Whatdo I knowof all that?"
shouldn'tyou know? All you have to do is thinkabout it a bit."
"Why
"But I do think, plenty. You see, whenI was just a baby a big mullah
said that I've nothingbut burntcow dungin this head of mine. That mustbe
whyI don't understand anything,don't you think?"
"That's rubbish. Nowlisten. People kill each other to stay alive. If
someonetries to kill you, you've got to lunge at him and kill him first.
Otherwise
you're a dead man."
"But I've never so muchas touchedanotherperson. Whywouldanyonewant
to kill me?"
"It's because you're such a fool. Come,let's get to Calcutta. You'll
see, I'll makea manof you there."
Theycooled themselvesoff with a long drinkfromthe tubewell in frontof
the cold storage plant. Andthentheystarted out again.
Eklas had renteda roomon DargaRoad, not far fromMaulali.
Therewere sometwelve to fourteenmenliving there in the two-storeymud
house. It wasyourtypical city boardinghouse; all the menhad families back
in the village. Here theycookedfor themselvesand were gone frommorning to
eveningat their jobs.
Withso manymouthsto feed already, it was no problemto feed Hazu too,
but they decided nonethelessthat he should help in someway. At first they
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turnedthe kitchenover to him. But Hazuwas hardlya cook; he not only burned
the rice but was on his way to losing his hands as well. Andhe would sit
there, just staring into the fire on the stove, as if he foundin it a secret
to behold.
Nexttheygave himall the dishes and the clothes to wash. Whenthey got
back in the evening, there were the dishes, piled up in the courtyardalong
with the heaps of wet clothes. Hazuwas just sitting there doing nothing. He
seemedentrancedas he stared into space or watchedthe waterdrip fromthe tap
in a steadytrickle.
Saiphulla, the leader amongthe boarders,workedas a messengerin a small
claims court. He tended to take himself yery seriously. Nowafter a hard
day's work,to see Hazu like that was morethan he could stand. He dashed at
himand gave hima sharpbox on the ears. "Youstupid idiot' You damnfool!"
Eklas was right there. He madehis voice as grave as he could. "I brought
himhere to makea manout of him,after all. Andif it takes a fewbeatings,
well, that's whatit takes."
AndHazu did prowup, practically over night. That eveninghe washedall
the dishes, and all the clothes. The whole time Saiphulla and Eklas stood
guard; if Hazuso muchas stoppedmovinga hand,theyjabbed himin the back.
Noneof this botheredHazu in the least. In fact he ratherliked his new
surroundings. Withina few short days he had managedto fit right in. All
fourteentenants of the boardinghouse took turns teaching himto be a man.
Andif he happenedto makea mistakeat whathe was doing, theywouldgive him
a soundthrashing. Therewereeven a fewin the groupwhowere his son's age,
but that did not stop them;theywouldgrab Hazu by the neck and give hima
good shove. Still, Hazuwas happythere.
The housewas emptyduringthe afternoon,while the street outside teemed
with life. Peddlers passed by with their varied wares. Hazu loved to sit on
the verandahand watchthemall go by.
There was a mosquein the neighborhood whichbroadcast the morningand
eveningcalls to prayerover a microphone.Hazu had never heard a microphone
in a mosouebefore. It sent a thrill downhis spine, as if the Great Lord on
Highwerecalling to himdirectly fromheaven.
OnceHazusat downto say his ownprayershe neverwantedto get up again.
Motionless,he wouldstare at the groundin frontof him,hourafter hourif he
could. Nairnor Kaderwouldhave to yankhimup.
Eklas had promisedhis sister that he would find Hazu somework. Andit
was clear that Hazu could not stay dependenton others forever. There was a
cigarette-rolling operationin the shantytownnearby. It took somedoing, but
Eklas got Hazu a job there. It was easy work,no big rush, no pressure, no
heavyphysical labor, not even the nuisanceof havingto listen to a boss com-
plain. All Hazuhad to do was stretch out comfortably in a cornerof the room
with a basket of tobacco fixings on his lap and roll cigarettes. The pay was
six rupees per thousandcigarettes. Somepeople managed to finish fifteen hun-
dred or twothousandcigarettes a day. But it wouldbe enoughfor Hazu to do
a thousandat first, even five hundred.
On his first day Hazu rolled five cigarettes. The next day he did seven.
All the other workersteased him. Fromevery corner of the roomcame their
jeers, "Wellnow,fine sir, you haven't fallen asleep haveyou?"

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 Hazuwas not at all asleep. He was staring at the tobacco fixing, without
so muchas blinkingan eye. He was completelybewitchedby the aromaand the
appearanceof the tobacco, so muchso that he could not movea muscle. Even
after repeated scoldings Hazu never did roll morethan ten cigarettes a day.
Theownerof the operationfinally had to call Eklas and tell himhe could not
keep a workerlike that. He could not pay anyonewho rolled a meagerten
cigarettes a day.
Hazu was incapable of doing even the simplest of tasks that anyoneelse
could do withoutthinking. PerhapsGodhad singled himout for somespecial
work,of whichHazuwas yet unaware.
The cigarette rolling was not Hazu's last job. Therewereothers that the
menarrangedfor him,all to no avail.
Occasionallylate at night Imtiyarstoppedby the boardinghouse. He was a
handsome fellow, a bit on the heavyside witha thick lush beard. Imtazwas an
assistant cook at a big hotel. He and Saiphulla were fromthe same village.
He enjoyeda good timeand droppedin to amusehimselfwith his friends. And
they were always glad to see him, for he never came emptyhanded.Imtiyar
always broughtan ample pot filled with delicacies. There mightbe spiced
rice, or chickencurry, groundgoat meat or peas and chillies. No one ever
botheredto ask wherehe got all these dishes, whetherthey were stolen or
just left over at the hotel.
Hazu had nevereaten such foodbefore, and he did so nowwith great relish.
Imtiyartook a liking to Hazu. He stuck up for himwhenthe others got after
him. "Shameon you. Howmanypeople like Hazu do you see these days, kind,
innocent,simple? A manlike that whodoesn't even knowwhat's good for him-
self, sure'11 neverstick his pawsinto anyoneelse's fancyfare.
Saiphulla grumbled,"Evenif a thief crept in here in broad daylight our
Hazu wouldn'tstop him. He'd just stare at the culprit. He'd probablyeven
decide he liked him."
Imtiyargave a good laugh. "Thesedays, brother,it's not so easy to say
who's the thief. Whatever, I'm goingto get Hazua job at myhotel."
Theywereall dumbstruck.Imtiyardid not workin any ordinaryhotel; he
was part of a grandestablishmentwhereforeignladies and gents stoppedover
and the rich fromDelhi and Bombay cameto stay. The hotel had a posh veran-
dah; the werysight of it fromafar tookyourbreathaway. OnceKaderhad got-
ten into a bit of a ness and goneto the hotel to see Imtiyar. The doorman
had
barred his way. No one was allowed out of the kitchen duringworkinghours,
and no outsiders werepermittedto go in.
Manyof the boardershad long been tryingto get jobs at the hotel, knowing
that there werealways tips in addition to the set wages. So far Imtiyarhad
not been able to do anythingfor them,and nowhe was going to get Hazu a job,
just like that?
Theyall began to talk at once, whenSaiphulla, as befit his status as
leader, gravely raised his hand to quiet them. He turnedto Imtiyar, "You
don't realize whatyou're saying. You'll ruin yourself. If you get that fool
a job in the hotel, he'll break~someof the things he touches, lose somemore
and destroy the rest. He'll piss in the guests' drinkingwater, and then
you'll see if you don't lose your ownjob. A manwhocan't even roll cigaret-
tes is not going to be able to do anythingat all. Let himbe, let himjust
stay here, mindinghis business. Wecan take care of him. He's one of God's
creatures, useless as he is. Wewon't just abandonhim."
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 Evenso, Imtiyarwas not about to give in. "Youdon't have to worryabout
me. There's nothingto break in the job I'm going to get him. It's an easy
job- the simplestjob in the world."
Kaderinterruptedhim. "In that case, thenwhynot give the job to one of
us? I hear there's going to be a lock-out at the factory."
Imtiyaranswered,"Youwouldn'tbe able to do it. Not everyoneis fit for
eweryjob. The job I'm talking about is perfect for Hazu, but not for anyone
else. All he has to do is stand in a certain spot and bowrespectfullyto the
guests."
At once Kaderand Nairnspokeup, "He'll forget. He'll forgetto bow."
"Andso whatif he does forgeta fewtimes? It won't matter. No one will
even notice. It'll do if he just stands there."
Eklas turned to Hazu. "Whatdo you say, Hazu? Will you workat the
hotel?"
Hazu noddedyes, withouta minute's hesitation. It was as if he could
already smell the intoxicating fragranceof all those delicious dishes, ground
lambpatties, curried fish and meats, all sorts of marvelousconcoctions.
Imtiyartook it on himselfto rush out and buy Hazu twopairs of pants and
twolong shirts at the Intali Bazaar. Andthenhe escorted Hazu to the hotel.
In no timeat all Hazu fell in love with his newjob. It was an ideal job.
He did not have to run around; there was no hard physical labor, not even a
grumbling boss. Andit was far easier than rolling cigarettes.
Hazustood at attention along one wall of the glittering, whitemen's room
on the first floor of the Hotel International. Whenever a gentlemanpushed
open the door he bowedlow. Andit goes withoutsayingthat no one ever really
stopped to see if Hazu was bowingor not. Hazu listened as the streamsof
urine hit the bowl. Differentgentlemenpeed to differenttunes, it seemed.
Eventhe smells were distinctive. If a guest wantedto wash his handsat the
sink, Hazu steppedforwardwith a towel and soap for him. Manyof the guests
did not botherwith the soap and towels he held out; there were even somewho
did not stay to washat all, but just hurriedlydid their business and left.
Hazu was astoundedat the luxurythat surroundedhimand all for a pis-
soir, not even a bath house. He could not help wonderingif wise Saiphulla,
with all his knowledge,wouldever have guessed that people could makesuch a
gorgeousroomand only to answernature's call in. The walls were so smooth
that Hazu's eyes virtually glided downthem. Andthe mirrorswereso imposing.
When therewas nothingelse for himto look at Hazu took to staring at himself
in the mirrors.
Hazuwas on dutyfromone in the afternoonuntil eleven at night. Except
for two half-hourbreaks, Hazu just stood there. He did not find the job at
all onerous; being on his feet all that time did not botherhimin the least.
Finally he had founda refugewherehe was free fromtaunts all day long.
Noneof the guests ever spoketo him. Manyprobablynevereven noticed him
there. Theoccasional gentlemantossed hima fewcoins on the wayout.
Thingswere quiet duringthe day. The guests did not really start to ar-
rive until the evening. The hotel had two bars on the first floor, and as

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the nightdrewon and things got hopping,the door to Hazu's white roomswung
openmoreand morefrequently.
Of course, Hazu had seen a few drunksin his lifetime. They sold palm
liquor in the marketplaceat Gajipur. Althoughit was true that Hazu himself
nevervisited the toddyshops, he had been there whensomeacquaintances had
kicked up a rowafter drinkingtheir fill. But the drunksat the hotel were
an altogetherdifferentbreed. Therewas no commotion, no rowdiness,no fight-
ing. It was true that a gentlemanmightbe unsteadyon his feet; he mighteven
talk busily to the wall or have a hard time buttoningup his pants, standing
there rockingback and forth in his ownsteps. Therewas even the odd guest
whogot sick and threwup or the guest whostood in frontof the mirrorsseem-
ingly unable to identifyhis ownface as it stared back at him.
Throughall of this Hazu remainedlike a statue, pressed close against the
wall watchingintently. He nevereven movedto help the sick guests. Imtiyar
had told himagain and again never to say a wordunless directly asked and
neverto approachanyoneunless first summoned.
In the afternoonthere was a pervasive odor of napthalene. As the day
advancedother smells took over.
One night at a quarter to ten two youngmencame into the men's room.
Their eyes werered, their hair all tousled; theywereclearly drunk.
By this time Hazu knewmanyof the regulars. He had never seen these two
before. Witheverynewface Hazuwouldwatchall the moreintently, listen all
the morecarefully, even thoughhe never understoodmorethan a fraction of
whatthe guests said.
These twoyoungmenwere poets. As a rule, not manypoets came to the
hotel, except for the rare occasion whena wealthypatron mightinvite his
protege.
One of the poets glared at the wall, as he muttereddejectedly, "I can't
stand it anotherminute. The longer I see him,the angrier I get."
The second poet also addressed the wall. "Who? That midgetwith the
woman?He's just about talked my' ears off. The next time he opens his stupid
trap, I'm goingto belt himone.
"No, no, not him. I meanthis stupid lavatory attendant. What'sthe use
of makingsomepoor fool stand in a pissoir all day long?"
"It's a legacy fromthe British. Anotherexampleof our disgustingservile
imitationof all thingsBritish."
"Theyreally still do such things in England?"
"Theyreservedall these repulsive practices for the colonies."
"Butthis country'sa Marwaricolonynow."
The twopoets madetheir wayto the sink to washtheir hands. One started
to splash wateron his face while the other stared at himselfin the mirror.
Stone-faced,Hazustood therewith soap and towels.
Suddenlywithoutwarningone of the poets bellowedat him, "Whereare you
from? Village? District?"
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 Frightened,his eyes Hke the eyes of a cow tetheredto a post, Hazu just
of the question, he was at a loss
stood there. Startled by the unexpectedness
for an answer.
But drunkscan be strangelypersistent. It nowseemedthat the manhad to
knowwhereHazucamefrom;withoutthat information his drinkingfunwas over.
Andso the poet grabbedHazu harshlyunderthe chin and hollered at him, "Why
don't you answerme, huh? Whereare you from?"
Hazureplied, "Gajipur, sir."
Trembling,
"In whatdistrict?"
nipur."
"Medi
"What'syourname?"
"Hazu."
"Hazu? Whatkind of a nameis Hazu? I'm asking you for your real name,
the nameyourmothercalled you."
Everyonehad called himHazu ever since he was born. He did, of course,
have anothername. It was just that no one had used it all this time.
"Shahjan,sir."
The poet was totally put off. "That's a strangename. A strangenamefor
a strangefellow, I guess. Did you ever hear of anyonecalled Shahjanbefore?
Areyou a Hinduor a Muslim?"
Hazu started to shake again. In a timid whispercame the answer, "We're
Muslims."
At this timethe second poet burst into gales of laughter. "Don't you get
it? ShahJahan,hey, I meanEmperor ShahJahan,YourHighness,who,praytell,
has takenyou prisonerand lockedyou up in this pissoir? Whathappenedto the
fort at Agra?"
The first poet slapped his friendon the back. "Let's go. Let's get out
of this place. It's disgusting that we still follow such vile practices. I
can't even go and give the managera swift kick in the butt for it.
"Withfive pegs of whiskeyin you, you'd probablylike to, but tomorrow
you
won't give a damn. Andwhatgoodwouldit do you anyway to kick the manager's
butt? That'd just get you a kick for yourself whenyou showup at the door
next time."
"Thatmaybe, but one day I will kick his butt, you'll see."
As he got to the door the second poet was swayingslightly on his feet.
His speech was slurred as he said to Hazu, "Prisoner, Emperor,once you were
the sovereignruler of all of Hindustan. Nowyou are a prisoner in this pis-
soir. Thenagain, perhapsthis is yourTaj Mahal. I bid you goodnight."
Nothingthat either of the gentleman said madeany impressionon Hazu. In
fact, he had not understoodmuchof it. Just the prattle of somedrunks. For
Hazu it was enoughthat they had not beaten himsenseless or crackedhis skull
in two.

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 Nonetheless,the event left its mark. Not long after, another Bengali
aentlemancame in. Positioning himselfand fumblingat his pants, he said,
"Hey,you, is your namereally Shah Jahan? That's a good one if I've ever
heardone."
It looked as if the twopoets werehavinga field day with his nameback in
the bar. Eventuallytheygot so rowdytheywereasked to leave, but so it was
that manyguests cameto learn of the nameof the nonentitywhoworkedin the
men's room. Fromtimeto timesomeone woulduse it, yelling, "Hey,ShahJahan,
give mea towel."
Naturallyit madeno differenceto Hazuthat his namehad becomeso famous.
Plentyof timeswhenthe guests called himby namehe could not understand
what
theyweresaying. Theytalked differentlyfromHazu's acquaintancesand witha
fewdrinksin them,someof themdid not speak y/ery clearly anyway.
Best of all, Hazu loved his afternoons. Except for Saturdayand Sunday,
there weredays whenno one at all camein betweenthree and six. Hazu could
have gone out then if he wantedto, but he never did. He just stood there,
motionless, staring at the gleamingwall. For him there could be no more
splendid sight in the world.
One afternoonhe noticed a line of ants crawlingdowna wall. It was a
long rowof ants, all of themred, all of themmarchingin strict single file,
not a one out of line. Hazudid not care whatthe ants weredoing there on the
bathroom wall or wheretheywere going. It was just that the red ants against
the whitewall were so verybeautiful. Hazu was mesmerized by them. He went
on and on staring at them.
SuddenlyHazu remembered whenhe
the procession he had seen in Suleimanpur
was on his wayto Calcutta with Eklas. It had followedthe bankof the channel
and then crossed a bridge to the other side. Now,didn't it look just like
this?
Hazuwet his fingersunderthe faucet and drewa line of wateron the wall.
There,therewas the channel. Andthe bridge. Thewater ran off the slippery
wall. Andso the next timeHazuused biggerwatermarks.
The rowof ants suddenlystoppedat the line of water. A few ants moved
out in either direction at the front of the line, one or two then scurrying
back as if to consult the rest.
Hazuwas wonderstruck.Wasn't the procession of ants going to cross the
bridge to the other side of the channel? Thrilled by the game,he whispered,
"Mygood little children, whygo over there wherethe water is? What's the
use of starting so muchtrouble? See, there's so muchroomover here."
He painted anotherwatermark. The processionof ants turnedaround,tak-
ing anotherdirection. Hazu had neverbeen so happyin his entire life. They
werelistening to him. Theywere obeyinghim. Drawingline after line on the
wall, Hazucontinued,"This way,this way."

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