Religion

“Abba, he follows no religion. He says that Humanity is his religion, and that’s fine with me. I cannot change my mind Abba, I can’t live without him,” Fauzia was almost in tears as she put the phone down. How could she convince her father, who was thousands of miles away in Srinagar, India, that she loved Kabir with all her heart, and had made up her mind to marry him!

Fauzia had come to Toronto, from India, on a job, some two years back. She had finished her MBA and had got placed with Google, with a posting at Toronto. She was in seventh heaven. Her conservative family in Srinagar was not too happy about her shifting overseas, but could not reason out against it. Mustafa and Salma had visited many Dargahs, praying to Allah for a child, when, after seven years of their marriage, Fauzia was born to them. Both Mustafa and Salma made her the apple of their eyes and their lives revolved only around her. Mustafa was an affluent merchant in Srinagar, with many orchards and a thriving transport business.

Fauzia was brought up like a princess. After finishing college she moved to Delhi to do her MBA, and then to Toronto. In Toronto she met Kabir and fell for him completely. Kabir, after doing his masters from one of the best colleges out there, had started his own music company, ‘The Soul Sings’. His company was doing extremely well and it promoted young talent, without any bias. Fauzia had a melodious voice and once she went to one of their audition programmes, where she chanced upon Kabir. They met often after that, and soon both fell in love with each other, and one day, they decided to take the plunge and get married.

Kabir had only his mother Rina, as family. Rina welcomed Fauzia with open arms. She knew that Kabir loved Fauzia and this was reason enough for her, to accept Fauzia wholeheartedly. But that was not the case with Fauzia’s family. As Fauzia told them about her love for Kabir, and about their decision to get married, the first question Mustafa asked her was, “What religion does he belong to?” Now, for the past one year or so that Kabir and Fauzia had known each other, Kabir had said very clearly that he believed in no religion. He only respected Humanity, and practised that in every way. What religion Fauzia belonged to, and wanted to follow, was of no consequence to him.

“How can he not follow any religion? Is he an atheist? Tell me Fauzia, what sort of a boy is he, who has no religious bent at all? No, I am not at all comfortable with this. I strongly believe that Religion should be an integral part of everyone. How can anyone defy that? How can we agree to give your hand to such a rebellious person?” Mustafa had tried hard to convince his daughter, but had not succeeded so far. He was in a very troubled state of mind, thousands of miles away from his child, and he strongly believed that Fauzia was committing a blunder and he, being her father, could not let her do this! But then, what really could he do?

Fauzia put down the phone. She wiped away her tears and, with a determined look on her face, she left to meet Kabir.

“Kabir, my parents just won’t understand. They are not as broad-minded, and accepting, as Rina Aunty. I am ready to get married now,” she hugged Kabir from the back.

“Fauzia, is there any reason for us to rush into marriage? I strongly feel that your parents should agree to this and if possible should be present at the wedding too, to give us their blessings,” Kabir spoke pragmatically.

“No, I know my parents. They will now keep trying to dissuade me, but once we are married they will accept you Kabir, as their son-in-law. I am quite sure of that,” argued Fauzia. Finally the two got married, amidst their friends’ best wishes and Rina’s blessings. Mustafa and Salma were very hurt, and upset, but could not stay away for long. In about six months’ time the two, with a strong mix of feelings in their hearts, boarded the plane for Toronto.

Fauzia and Kabir were in a marital bliss. Rina, with her unconditional love, had become Fauzia’s friend. Fauzia was sure that, seeing her happiness, her parents will also be happy for her. It was just another twenty-four hours, and Fauzia would meet her parents after more than eighteen months. She just couldn’t sleep. She looked at Kabir, sleeping peacefully next to her. She felt too restless to remain on bed. She got up and went to the guest room that had been prepared for her parents. She then just looked around and thought of checking for more room in the cupboard. Space had been made, but then her eyes fell on the two drawers at the bottom. Never before had she opened these. She pulled out one, and found a couple of photo albums kept there. These looked quite old, though. She took them out. Was there a better way of passing time, than going through a photo album, she smiled. She sat on the bed. She turned the pages. Oh, it was Kabir’s childhood album! Why did he never show her these photographs? She felt thrilled, as she saw the chubby little boy with his parents. Rina Aunty looked so beautiful! She still was, Fauzia smiled. The boy was playing in the garden. His birthday? Posing on the terrace? Climbed on an apple tree? Which place was this? Somehow Kabir never spoke to her about his childhood. It was only she, who would keep rambling on with all her stories … about her home, her parents, her friends, etc. Once she had asked where in India did he live? He was a bit abstract with his answer, saying that everything has changed so much, that there was not much point in talking. He had once promised her though, that he would like to take her, along with their children, whenever they arrived, to show his birthplace.

Suddenly Fauzia found something very familiar in a picture. It was one apple tree that stood on a small hillock, in the garden of the house where Kabir and two other kids stood and posed. This was exactly similar to her own garden back in Srinagar, she thought. Now, the more she looked at the pictures, the more she found it so much like her own home. How could this be possible? How could her house be pictured as his, that too in Srinagar? She was totally confused. She cast a look at the drawer again, as if to find an answer, when her eyes fell on an elongated pouch sort of a thing, at the back of the drawer. She got up and, putting her hand inside, pulled the pouch out. The cloth looked crumpled and old and something hard felt inside. With curiosity she opened the pouch, and was shocked to see a knife. An old knife that seemed to have lost its sheen. What was all this, she was thinking, when someone put his arms around her, from behind. It was Kabir. She looked at him. He had a very strange expression on his face.

“Kabir, I don’t understand this. Everything looks like a puzzle. You never showed me your childhood album. Why, your house looks exactly like mine? In fact, the more I look, the more I am convinced of this. How, Kabir?” Fauzia seemed to be in a daze, “And what is such a big knife doing here? Why has it been hidden here, Kabir?” Fauzia had so many questions in her big pool of eyes. Kabir took her hand gently and led her to the bed. Making her sit he sat on a chair, in front of her.

“This is my home, Fauzia. I was born here and spent the first eight years of my life here. Life then was like a dream. We were all so happy. My father was a teacher and he was widely respected by all. My mother too taught in a primary school. Everything was fine when suddenly an unexpected movement of hatred, started. We, the Kashmiri Pandits, who had lived there for generations, were being asked to leave. No one understood what they were doing. Hatred was fanned for vested interest, and it took a nasty communal shape. We were all worried. I would hear my parents talk about the unfortunate happenings, followed by hope and prayers for everything to settle down again. But that was not to be. One night a group of people belonging to the other religion, led by a person whom my father knew so well, came to our house, shouting slogans of war and destruction. The leader stabbed my father in his heart, till he died. By then our neighbours seemed to be approaching our house in a big group, to protect us. Hearing them, the violent group fled. My mother and I watched in shock and horror, as my father lay there and bled to death. My mother went near him and, wailing, she pulled the knife out and threw it on the ground. Our protectors had arrived and they bundled us off, out of the house, in a short span of time. My mother just picked up her deity, whom she worshipped everyday, and these two albums, maybe as a reminder of good times. I don’t know why, I picked up the knife and kept it in my bag with the few clothes that I was carrying. Early morning we, along with many others, were stuffed into a truck that sped away carrying us out of our homeland.

We were extremely fortunate to have a kind uncle in Delhi who gave us shelter. Even as my mother and I were nursing our sorrow, we both knew that we had to move on with life. In due course she found a teaching job in a school, and then we slowly settled down. I finished my school, my college, and then I got a scholarship for my masters here. Since then I have stayed here. I took up a job here, and then I got my mother too, to come over.”

Kabir paused. Fauzia’s mind was blank. She could not even try to join the dots. Was this a nightmare? She had always read about things like this, in newspapers. She had never seen a real person, who had actually gone through such a turmoil. “But Kabir, how did your house become ours?” Fauzia’s voice was shaky, and was filled with fear. She was in two minds … did she want to know the answer, or did she not?

“Fauzia, that horrid night in my childhood, completely wiped away the word ‘religion’ from my heart. I had worked a lot on myself, and because of my mother, I did not allow myself to become a bitter man. I had made peace with my destiny and, years later, you came into my life. I fell in love with you with all my heart. As you kept on talking about yourself and your childhood, in so much details, my mind got filled with doubts. When you showed the numerous pictures of your home at different times, things started falling in place. I became sure that you and your family, through all these years, were living in our house. But I think my love for you was far too strong to let me break down, and become vengeful. Then you found the albums, and here we are, talking about all that happened so long ago.”

“Kabir, give me that knife please,” Fauzia’s voice was trembling. She took the knife out of the pouch and looked at it carefully. Someone had killed Kabir’s father with this very weapon. Something written on the handle caught her eye. It seemed very faint. She took a torch and threw its sharp, bright light on it. It was a name.

‘Mustafa!’

“You had known this all along? How much would you have hated me, Kabir?” Sheer pain was dripping from every word that she spoke.

Kabir came near her and, holding her hands, looked deep into her eyes.

“I would be honest with you, Fauzia. The day your identity was confirmed to me, through your own narrations and pictures, I was stunned beyond disbelief. I loved you with all my heart and you had turned out to be …?” Kabir could not finish the sentence. Tears were shimmering in his eyes. He carried on after a moment, though,“It felt almost like this dagger had pierced my heart. Not being able to handle this, I broke down in front of my mother. She heard the whole thing, without uttering a word. Then when I looked up into her eyes, I could see only understanding and love and nothing else! She held my head to her heart and said,“Son, love is the most powerful religion. We follow that. The religion that had destroyed our lives, is fed only with hatred. Let us have nothing to do with that.”

Rina’s voice came from the other room.

“It is high time the two of you get ready, to leave for the airport. You should not keep your parents waiting Fauzia, should you?”

Fauzia sat there frozen, gazing at that big, old knife.