GOD IS GREAT

GOD IS GREAT

Humaira and Dilshad parked their brand new car, but the low cost one, much preferred by mid-day meal seekers for a run to-and-from their favourite Hyderabadi Biryani House. One difference was, both were wearing new clothes. Both were unmarried and almost everyday, they would be consulting one another on a never-ending quest that was more a joke than a serious quest.

They ran up the stairs and found their usual haunt free and the prize for being regular and the earliest arrivals.

Their first act was to seat themselves and get ready for a fight. Humaira was the first to speak. “Hey, my friend. Last night did you have sweet dreams?”

Dilshad said, “Yes, I did. But how come you are interested in that. I am not going to marry you at any cost.”

Humaira retorted, “Hey, hey, hey, steady there. I will never come near you. Dear grandfather.”

Dilshad: It is a stupid thing that we are doing. Everything that could be said about our search has been stated already.

Humaira: Let’s put an ad in the Bunkum Bookreader.

Dilshad: For a change, let us pretend to be strangers from London, looking for a bride, but their pockets are almost empty.

Humaira: Mr. Pauper Millionaire. There are atleast a million guys like you around the world and some beautiful gentle ladies who find them worth a quest.

Dilshad: Hey, madam. Don’t get too far. I have a letter today from a maiden artist joining new arts exhibition for the town hall.

Humaira: Hey, mister. You are becoming a cheat. We part as strangers. Bye bye.

A routine infolding of a meet and separate farce that has been going on for atleast 3 years.

Dilshad: Hey, this is different look at her, how beautiful she is.

He puts his hand into his breast pocket, but draws in nothing.

Dilshad: I’m sorry, but I think I put the photo in another coat. I’ll be more careful next time.

Humaira: Hey, Mr. Ever Busy CEO earning exactly 9000 per month. I wish to God you marry an executive earning more than 50,000 monthly and she will give you a good beating with her own new shoes, bye-bye.

But the break this could have led to never came to pass. They kept meeting, talking, separating. Herds of guys cheating themselves but a good Friday came and Dilshad got an expensive bouquet and the ticket to Ustad Qawwali Competition.

After hours of waiting outside the grand theatre house, Dilshad returned home utterly broken at heart. An elderly guy, perhaps a headmaster or something appears to have netted a charming and beautiful young teacher. Dilshad spent hours on the balcony of his rented one room residence. Looking at the full moon and speaking to it for long hours. “You and I are most unfortunate. You always come to us and abandon us, we are destined to be never a success in bride hunting. Just now a sweet voice rode in from the ground singing the latest film song. She is young, beautiful, slim and in every way a country girl.”

It was decided then and there. She and no other.

He ran downstairs to Roshan baba’s ashram and fell at the holy man’s feet. She was standing and singing to the people in the house opposite to theirs.

“Babaji. God help you and bless you. Kindly do one favour for me. I have been watching this girl for a long time. I want to marry her. Please help me Baba, please help me.”

He ran to the flower shop in the house opposite and bought an expensive garland and some flowers also.

“My darling, I have been watching you for hours now, I want to marry you. The holy man has already blessed our alliance. Let’s go to him and get his blessings. Let us just cross the street.”

The girl was in tears. She caught his hands and kissed them with his ears.

“Babuji I have also been watching you, but I was afraid. I am grateful to you. Let’s go to the holy man.”

Holding hands and looking like a royal couple, they reached the holy man and fell at his feet. He blessed them and he took some money from his breast pocket and gave it to the girl. There were tears in his eyes, “My dear angels, I am so happy, God bless you.”

As they were just about to leave, a horse-drawn vehicle stopped before them and Humaira jumped out and her mother followed with two Garlands. The holy man took them and garlanded the couple with profuse blessings holding back his tears he said, “I have a girl of your age, in my village. Now I will go back to my village and get her married.”

“I may not come back. God is great!”

BIOGRAPHY

I taught myself the art of writing. Some awards, some appreciation kept me going. I kept on writing and bided my time. If there was anything special and readable in my work, humanity would discover me some day.

A writer has to write about people and situations he knows best. The stamp of authenticity is what marks great fiction. I write about the people among whom I was born: the Muslims of India.

I am sure the world is interested in them and a million readers are keen to know more about them and share their concerns.

They have a great and historic past.

The Taj Mahal, the national highways that link the country, the centralized and stable structure of government which the Muslim rulers perfected and the British improved upon, the Mughal cuisine, the best of Indian classical music, the fabulous "Mughal miniatures" and many other bequests are from the Muslim rule that lasted nearly a thousand years in India.

They came in small numbers. Not their force of arms but the need for good government brought them the welcome they received in India.

Once they came, they never went back. They did not haul away treasures to the countries they came from. They stayed and dug up diamond mines and irrigation canals and gave the country centuries of prosperity, security and peace.

Hindus and Muslims learnt to overcome cultural divides and to trust and be magnanimous towards each other. Hindu ministers manned the Mughal Treasury for centuries. The economy prospered to rank as the world's best.

It was the fame of Mughal rule and the excellent opportunities of trade and profits that brought Europeans to India. Columbus would not have landed in America if Mughal India was not so rich that Europe needed a shorter sea route and he set sail to find it.

I read in the "Hindu". widely read daily a few years back that our number may be as high as 220 million. That is at least 20 percent of the country's population.

But we have no political organization worth the name. The art of utilizing the vote to gain political ends, which is entirely legitimate in politics worldwide, is still unknown to our masses. Our leaders are just opening their eyes to the game. They have lost, meanwhile, half a century of political opportunity.

The common people, however, are authentic. We can find in them the integrity, self reliance and courage that inspired their ancestors to defy dangers and overcome misfortune.

To reach their hearts was easy. To write about them was difficult.

I have dared to present the throes of a people braving adversity and living on sheer hope. That hope rests on the coming generations. They are bound to find the solution to their peoples' problems. The future will be theirs, Insha Allah.

There is nothing wrong in a person having a special feeling for his own people. I hope this will not be misconstrued. Muslims are second to none in their dedication to the ideal of unity in diversity in modern India.

The founding fathers, Gandhi, Nehru and Azad taught us the best way for all Indians to work for a glorious future for their country:

* denounce and do away with discrimination of every kind, and

* establish mutual understanding and cooperation between the different religions, cultures and languages; since these are the exquisite strands that weave into the rich, vibrant and colorful tapestry that is India.

~ M. A .Q. Rizvon