Belief

Soun Battni’s gaze caught it from afar. That labourer was loading a passenger’s bedding and trunk onto the roof of a truck. Although fuzzy from the distance, the labourer’s outline was exactly like Jaan Saeb’s.

Soun Battni quickened her steps. Cars came and went by before her. People weren’t few either. On one side was the noise of the vehicles; on the other, the bus conductors’ cries. It was as though everybody was being chased.

Wading her way through the crowd of people and vehicles, by the time she reached in front of the truck, the labourer had already departed. She looked around, but his traces were nowhere.

Soun Battni asked another labourer about him but didn’t find out anything. There was no one by the name of Jaan Saeb. She sat down on the embankment of a shop, and her tears began to fall. My eyes weren’t deceived. It was indeed Jaan Saeb, she thought, and immersed in her own mind.

#

This is a ten-year-old episode.

Jaan Saeb was around twenty years of age. Actually, he was a native of some other village, though nobody knew the full deal. Jaan Saeb always donned a blue pheran, with trousers that ended just above his ankles, and he was always barefoot. His hair was long and flowed down to his shoulders.

By then, it had been six months since Jaan Saeb began visiting that village. Usually, he would put up at Mohod Saeb’s place, because one, he was treated with respect, and two, he was given warm water to bathe.

It was said that Jaan Saeb was born to his mother after many prayers. When she couldn’t give birth to a child for the longest time, she had visited a shrine and tied a prayer rag. Soon after, Jaan Saeb was born.

Jaan Saeb’s heart hadn’t quite aligned with studies, and it was said that right from childhood, he began whirling like a mystic. By the time he was eight, he would depart from his house, wandering from village to village.

Since Jaan Saeb never spoke a word about himself, no one knew where these lores emerged from or who had seeded them. The villagers were content with the fact that he visited their homes, believing his presence eased their ailments to a great degree. Slowly, Jaan Saeb amassed plenty of admirers.

Jaan Saeb did not talk much. Most of the time, he would respond with a shake of his head. He relished eating fish in Pandit households, who, using this as an excuse, would invite him to a feast and share their troubles with him.

Soun Battni was quite brainy. Her name was famous across the villages. The womenfolk would often drop by to seek her counsel. The men, too, held her in high regard. When she heard the women speak of the ‘miracle’ of Jaan Saeb, she was sceptical.

‘Is there any truth to such things in today’s day and age?’ she would ask. ‘Placing your belief in such matters is such an outdated idea. Cheaters dupe the innocent with fake tricks for their gain. Sure, if once a miracle did turn out true, one could believe it. But it happens with the will of God, and not some fraud’s mumblings.’

In this matter, the villagers opposed Soun Battni’s outlook. To them, Jaan Saeb was a mystic of a higher order, capable of performing bare miracles from time to time. Soun Battni hadn’t seen Jaan Saeb in person, but did she even need to? She had once crossed paths with a similar trickster of a mystic, who had caused her whatsit devastation.

Soun Battni recalled that instance even today…

That particular day, Soun Battni had freed herself from the household chores early. Her husband, Arzan Deev, was away on a trip with his boss and had taken Biloo Ji, their son, along for the journey. Soun Battni was to head to her parents’ place after a long time. Her mother had been unwell for a while, and had sent many a word asking Soun to show her face sometime—after all, can one trust life?

Donning a freshly ironed pheran, Soun Battni took out a tenner from her trunk, the one she had taken from her husband a day and a fortnight ago. She slipped the ten-rupee note in her pheran and tied the lungyi—its waistcloth—over it. The fare for the tonga and the bus will be four rupees. With the rest, I can buy something for my brother’s kids to eat, she thought.

Just when she was about to step out, she heard a call outdoors. ‘Dear madam—beware!’

Soun Battni glanced out of the window. A faqeer stood there, clad in a long white pheran. He had a big green turban on his head and a black muffler around his neck.

Catching sight of Soun Battni, the faqeer raised his pitch again. ‘The enemy is looking out for you! There’s no one to quell it. Where will you go, and where will you arrive? The serpent awaits you ahead.’

It caught Soun Battni’s attention. She had long harboured suspicions about her sister-in-law. Ever since Soun Battni’s husband had begun to prosper, there had been a burning at her temples. On an occasion or two, the situation had almost escalated into a brawl.

Noticing Soun Battni, the faqeer sensed that she was lost in her thoughts and that his trick had been successful. Moving under her window, he said, ‘There’s a magical totem ready for you, but nothing would suffice you. God is at your help.’

Soun Battni sought to test him and asked, ‘Peer Saeb, who is this enemy of mine? Name them.’

But the faqeer didn’t give a direct answer. ‘You don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I have the diktat from above. My watchful gaze is upon you.’

Soun Battni’s belief was now firm. Thinking of the faqeer as a friend of God, she felt that he should not be prodded further. He said what he had to; what else was he supposed to utter?

She replied, ‘I am at your mercy. There is nobody to hold my hand but you.’

‘You need not be needlessly anxious,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t be affected by anything. Take out the note. An offering has to be made to Dastgeer Saeb.’

Soun Battni was taken aback. She had but a sole tenner, the one she had kept aside to visit her parents.

‘Babbe, I don’t have a note today. I have eight annas. If you wish …’

Faqeer cut her off. ‘You have the note tied up, don’t you? Bring it, quick on; I won’t return. I have the calling of Dastgeer Saeb.’

Soun Battni was assured the man was of a big stature and all-knowing. Believing that the enemy needed to be vanquished, she took out the ten-rupee note and handed it to him.

The faqeer departed, shouting, ‘Go, make merry! I slashed off all your foes. No one shall be able to stand against you.’

Soun Battni’s heart felt heavy. Today, after so long, I had the chance to visit my parents, but the universe did not agree, she thought. But that is alright too. If this faqeer hadn’t turned up today, the enemy would have whacked me. The universe is at my help; what can they do to me? With this, her face lit up.

But the very next day, Soun Battni fell from cloud nine.

It turned out that faqeer had also visited her sister-in-law and Ameena ji, spouting the same ramblings letter-for-letter, and taken a note from them as well.

But that was not all.

It was said that Soun Battni’s mother had stood turned towards the door, fixing her gaze there late into the dusk, awaiting her daughter. Late into the night, she had given up.

Upon hearing this, Soun Battni turned maniacal and began to beat her chest. But what good would that do? That deceitful sage had carried out his plan and fled.

‘But Jaan Saeb isn’t one among them. He is a mystic in the truest sense,’ Hanifa ji counselled Soun Battni. ‘Anyone, upon whom he placed his hand, rose in life. Truth be told, it is because of him that we are going about our days. My husband, too, has a firm belief in him.’

‘No, no—I have no belief left for anyone anymore,’ said Soun Battni in response.

Sheela ji had stayed mum so far. When she couldn’t anymore, she chimed in, ‘But what’s the harm? That poor fellow doesn’t even charge money. Only a pound of fish has to be brought. Think for yourself—look at how much trouble your husband is in.’

It had been a month since Arzan Deev had a new boss, the one who had troubled him to his scalp. The man would demand calculations old and now and threaten him with suspension at every word. The tranquillity in their home had long been lost, and now, it was starting to affect Arzan Deev’s health.

Soun Battni softened. There’s no harm, she thought. Easy come, easy go. Damn it, only a pound of fish has to be brought and prepared.

With Mohod Saeb’s insistence, Jaan Saeb agreed to visit Soun Battni. Mohod Saeb accompanied him and had the jajeer, the smoking pipe, brought by the servant. After the meal, when Arzan Deev began tending its coal, Jaan Saeb said, ‘That’s it. The coal is ready. Rest now. The Master is ever-blessing.’

Soun Battni was about to say something when Mohod Saeb muttered in her ear, ‘Mystics know everything. There is no need to explain to him in detail.’

Right after smoking the pipe, Jaan Saeb and Mohod Saeb made their way back. Arzan Deev and Soun Battni, despite all their efforts, remained anxious all night.

Within four days, Arzan Deev’s boss was transferred. It was said that an order had come from the higher-ups—he was commanded to return to his previous post within two days.

As soon as the word spread, the villagers arrived to congratulate Soun Battni, but she wasn’t at home. She had gone to Mohod Saeb’s house, apologising to him with folded hands for the thoughts she had harboured about Jaan Saeb. She hoped to fall at Jaan Saeb’s feet in remorse, but he had already departed a day before.

#

Another tale followed this episode.

One day, Soun Battni was at home, sorting through the rice. Suddenly, Jaan Saeb appeared and demanded tea. Soun Battni couldn’t believe it. Until then, she had only greeted him whenever they met at Mohod Saeb’s. But that day, he had come to her place on his own.

Placing a pillow behind Jaan Saeb’s back and a blanket on his legs, Soun Battni went to prepare some tea. When she returned, Jaan Saeb was standing, as if waiting for her. He refused the tea. Soun Battni noticed that in his hand was the toy car that Arzan Deev had bought for Biloo Ji from the city just the day before.

Before Soun Battni could ask, Jaan Saeb spoke. ‘Who brought this thing here? I will get rid of this first,’ he declared, and with that, departed.

Soun Battni was left embarrassed. ‘It was such a pricey toy. I wonder what has happened to him.’ She felt sorry about the toy for the rest of the day.

The next day, when Hanifa Ji visited Soun Battni, her eyes were weary red, as if she had remained up all night. Soun Battni asked, ‘What’s the matter? Why do you look so disturbed? Is everything okay?’

Hanifa ji responded, ‘We spent the night at Amina’s place. Her son, Bash, was extremely unwell. She said he had brought home a motor toy from somewhere  and started playing with it. Right before her eyes, his body temperature spiked and he began to shiver. This morning, they threw that toy car away. Apparently, he is okay as of now—but we couldn’t sleep all night.’

Hearing this, Soun Battni shuddered. Oh no—could this be the same motor? she thought. I wonder if they found out it was ours.

She asked, ‘Where did Bash find it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hanifa Ji replied. ‘They said he picked it up from a trash heap somewhere.’

Soun Battni’s spirits shot up, and she began to offer silent prayers to Jaan Saeb. If he hadn’t cast that omen away, who knows, what might have happened?

After this event, Jaan Saeb’s hold on her only grew firmer.

Every time he arrived in the village, Soun Battni would wash his feet—a ritual that endured for as long as Jaan Saeb’s visits continued.

By now, it had been a year since Jaan Saeb’s last visit, and his whereabouts remained unknown. The villagers were quite upset—who would now cure their ailments? Then, one day, word spread that somebody had spotted him in another village around fifteen miles away.

Mohod Saeb gathered three or four people and set off in search of him. But they found that nobody by the name of Jaan Saeb lived there. When Mohod Saeb described his appearance to the villagers, they were taken aback. Such a face resembled one man in the village called Nabbe. But he had abandoned the village almost two years ago. When Mohod Saeb heard the tale of Nabbe, it was as if the sky caved in on him.

It was said that Nabbe’s father had passed away during his childhood and his mother often remained unwell. Nabbe had no siblings either. Their family owned five or six kanals of land, with which they sustained themselves. It was said that Nabbe’s land lay within the holdings of Yusuf Saeb—his elder uncle—who, after the death of his brother, sought to seize his nephew’s share.

Nabbe stood defiant with a tight chest for the longest. But one day, when Yusuf had him beaten up by his servant, Nabbe’s resolve crumbled. The villagers remained mere gazers of the spectacle, for they feared Yusuf too.

From that moment on, Nabbe nursed a hatred towards the villagers. Within these circumstances, his mother passed away. And one night, Nabbe fled the village.

Thereafter, he returned to the village only twice, but never spoke a word to anyone. He only circled the village before leaving again.

So, when the villagers heard Mohod Saeb say that Nabbe was a mystic, they laughed it off. ‘If he were a mystic, how would he have endured such a beating?’ they asked.

#

Soun Battni’s tears kept falling. That day, she was in deep trouble. Arzan Deev was ill and had been admitted to the big hospital in the city. It had been fifteen days since his treatment began, but day after day, he only seemed to lag. The doctor advised Soun Battni to take the patient to Delhi, but she was in no position to afford such an expense.

She did her best, went to each relative but found no substantial support. She had left Billoo Ji at the neighbours’, and stayed at the hospital with her husband.

Her sister-in-law, who lived in Habba Kadal, would bring her meals. But could she eat anything? After all, it had been four days since Arzan Deev had eaten anything. The doctor said the patient had only five to eight days left to live.

Her sister-in-law told her, ‘I think you should head home. First, take a look around there, and second, bring Billoo Ji here. Who knows what might happen—at least, he would get to see his father’s face.’

With weak knees, Soun Battni left the hospital. Crying, she made her way to the Batmaloo bus stop.

That day, she remained up all night and eventually dozed off on the embankment of the shop.

The sound of the vehicles startled her awake. She asked someone the time—it was nine o’clock. As she paid the fare to the ticket seller, her gaze landed on a tea stall. A man was lying on the ground, smoking tobacco. She rubbed her eyes.

Yes, it was him.

His long hair and blue pheran were clear to see. Dropping her ticket, Soun Battni dashed like a lunatic toward the tea stall. Jaan Saeb was calmly enjoying his tobacco. Soun Battni placed her head at his feet and began to wail.

‘Why are you crying?’ Jaan Saeb asked.

Weeping, Soun Battni began to pant, and pressing her head on his feet, she said, ‘Babbe, I’ve been looking for you for so long. You’re my only hope. I’m burning in this fire. Free me today—or I’ll give away my life here!’

Jaan Saeb was left stunned. The people around didn’t quite understand what the Pandit woman’s issue was. Also, why was she referring to a thirty-year-old as ‘Babbe’?

‘This isn’t Babbe; this is Ghulam Nabi,’ one of them told her. ‘He’s not even married yet!’

But Soun Battni didn’t listen. She only longed to listen to Jaan Saeb.

Jaan Saeb gently placed his hand on her head. She lifted her head and her tears kept falling. He asked, ‘I’m just a labourer. Why do you bow at my feet and burden me with a sin? What’s troubling you?’

‘My husband is unwell. There is no hope left for his survival. I have but your support.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, patting her head. ‘Go wherever you want to. The Master is ever-blessing!’

With that, he departed with his fellow labourers and returned to his work. Soun Battni stood there, watching. Jaan Saeb, even today, wore trousers that ended just above his ankles and walked barefoot.

It took Soun Battni two days to go back to the village and return with her son. When she arrived at the hospital, she saw that a crowd of people had gathered around her husband. Shivers entered her legs.

‘I am doomed! I had stepped out the last time!’

But as she got closer, someone shouted, ‘There she is!’ As the crowd made way for her, Soun Battni witnessed a new vista.

Arzan Deev was sitting upright, speaking to the doctor. Nobody could understand how he had suddenly become better. Arzan Deev held a glass of milk in his hand and was drinking it sip by sip. His face lit up when he saw Soun Battni and he reached out to hold her hand.

Soun Battni whispered in his ear, ‘I found Jaan Saeb yesterday.’

The next day, Soun Battni and her sister-in-law went to the bus stand to look for Jaan Saeb. When they reached the tea stall, they asked the vendor, ‘Brother, where is Jaan Saeb?’

‘Jaan Saeb, who?’ the tea-seller asked, confused.

‘The one I found here the other day—you called him Ghulam Nabi.’

‘Oh, he left last night,’ the vendor told her. ‘He said he had to travel far.’

Soun Battni asked, ‘When did he first arrive here?’

‘The day before yesterday,’ he replied. ‘Yesterday was his second day.’

A week later, Arzan Deev was discharged from the hospital. He was completely fine now. Apparently, the senior doctor admitted there had been an oversight in his treatment.

The entire village had gathered at the tonga stand to meet Arzan Deev. When he got down, Mohod Saeb embraced him in a tight hug. Everyone was overjoyed—for one, Arzan Deev had returned home healthy, and two, Soun Battni had spotted Jaan Saeb herself.

A few days later, Mohod Saeb asked Soun Battni, ‘What do you think—will Jaan Saeb ever return?’

Soun Battni darted a look at her husband, and with a long sigh, she told Mohod Saeb, ‘Why wouldn’t he? He surely will—if someone remembers him with a pure heart.’