To the Haji’s
Place with Ustad
By Rafiq Ebrahim
Glen Ellyn IL
“We
are going to see Pir Haji Amin at his place which
is deep inside the rural area of Sindh infested
with dacoits,” said Ustad Bilgrami, entering
my hotel room with springy footsteps.
“We? What do you mean by we? And who is this
pir? I certainly don’t wish to step into dacoit
territory. They chop off your head before saying
hi.” I protested and added, “ It’s
true. I respect and admire you. Thirty years ago
you were not only our sports coach at the college,
but also a guide, a genuine friend, and a mentor.
All the youngsters used to come to you to help solve
their emotional problems. You helped me out in more
than one situation, but that doesn’t mean
that you can put me in a precarious situation.”
Ustad kept quiet for a moment, picked up the receiver
and asked the catering service to send us two big
glasses of lassi – Ustad Bilgrami and lassi
were just inseparable.
“You know who this pir is? He is your old
college chum Amin. Remember how you and Amin used
to fight for the position of twelfth man whenever
our cricket team played a match? The whole day you
and this fellow sat in the pavilion, eating high
quality mangoes supplied by his landlord dad. Whenever
a player took a short break from the field, you
or Amin took his place on the ground, drop a catch
or two and come back to resume eating mangoes. Now
when I informed him that you were in the city, he
forcefully invited us to have dinner with him and
stay overnight at his mansion. Regarding dacoits,
don’t worry; there will be a bodyguard with
us. And you should know that I am that person who
pulls people out of precarious situations, not put
them in.”
“How is it that brat Amin turned into Haji
Pir?”
“Yes, he had his weaknesses, but after turning
forty spirituality dawned on him. He got extremely
religious, performed Haj and started spiritually
guiding and healing the village folks. He has thousands
of devotees; some even kiss the ground he walks
on. We have to go there also because his third wife,
an educated girl, twenty years younger than him,
an ex-student of mine has got some problem and wants
me to help her.”
It was impossible to disobey him. I packed my bag,
and as soon as we finished our lassi, came down
to meet two hefty individuals with guns belted on
their shoulders.
We were on our way to the pir’s house in his
Pajero. It was already dark and the kutcha road
in the interior of Sindh was eerily lonely. I was
getting scared, but the Ustad had quietly leaned
back on his seat and closed his eyes.
“What if the dacoits attack us?” I asked
one of the guys, but he just looked quizzically
at me, and then looked at his partner and both of
them began to laugh heartily, bending over in their
mirth.
“That’s not the answer I want?”
I said.
“Babu, no dacoit can ever dare to attack our
pir’s car.”
“And how do they know that this is your pir’s
car?”
They again started laughing, this time very loudly,
accompanied by a bout of coughing.
“Stop laughing and answer my question.”
“Babu, they all recognize our pir’s
cars. All the cars are black with white stripes.”
“Ha, ha,, ha! Hee, hee, hee…….”
They continued their fit of mirth. It seemed that
in their infancy they were exposed to vapors of
laughing gas in some lab.
After about two hours we arrived at Amin’s
huge mansion, surrounded by palm trees. A security
guard who looked like Wodehouse’s character
Sir Roderick Glossop, a loony doctor, looked at
us with a piercing gaze, searched us and then allowed
us to enter a long corridor leading to a living
room, one of the largest I had ever seen. The ground
was covered with a thick, soft Persian carpet and
huge pillows were placed on all sides for backrest.
Here we were made to sit and wait for the Pir’s
arrival. He came in pretty soon, with an aura of
spirituality surrounding him. Rich fragrance of
rose attar filled the air as he came near. He greeted
Ustad cordially, then looked at me and smiled. “
I still remember you, twelfth man.” So saying,
he embraced me heartily and asked me to sit beside
him. We talked for a while about the foolish things
we did at college. The pir then clapped his hands
and a horde of servants came in and started spreading
dastarkhwan and bringing in a large number of dishes.
After a rich, sumptuous dinner, we sprawled on the
carpet and rested our backs on the pillows. One
servant in particular kept on coming again and again
and asking the pir what should he do now. Pir Haji
Amin got restless. He told him to circle around
the pole in the corner till he was asked to stop.
The poor guy obediently began circling the pole.
Another servant brought in hookahs, placed them
at the very far end of the room, lit the tobacco
in the bowls. Their long pliable tubes carrying
the smoke that passed through water reached us.
I was wondering as to why the hookahs were placed
so far away, when Amin blurted out, “ We should
remain as far away as possible from tobacco!”
Some wisdom!
Ustad Bilgrami had nothing to do with hookah. He
went to where the ladies were and got engrossed
in conversation with the third wife, probably trying
to resolve her problem.
Then came glasses of purple-colored milk, that I
was hesitant to drink. Unable to refuse the pir,
I took a sip from my glass. It tasted bitter-sweet.
I gulped down half a glass and then it happened!
I felt as if I was floating in space, flying here
and there. Everything looked upside down. The last
thing I saw was the inverted servant circling around
the pole.
When my eyes opened, I was lying on a very comfortable
bed in a room full of modern amenities, and saw
Ustad leaning over me, taking my pulse.
“What happened?” I roared, trying to
get up.
“Take it easy,” said Ustad. “
You drank datura last night and were knocked out
sooner than expected.”
“ What the hell is datura?”
“It is a hallucinogen substance obtained from
the leaves of a plant belonging to potato family,”
he explained. “People here relish this drink.”
“Why didn’t it affect you?”
“Because I never took it. I switched my glass
with the third wife’s glass which contained
milk sherbet.”
“What happened to her?
”She was knocked out at the same time you
were. She is now peacefully sleeping. Now take this
cup of strong tea I brought for you. Soon you will
be okay.”
“Ustad, this is my last adventure with you!”
After being forced to take a heavy breakfast and
receive a bagful of gifts like Achkan, skull-cap
embroidered with pieces of mirror, shawl and other
items, we were allowed to leave and ride back in
the same Pajero with the same gun-carrying, laughing
bodyguards.
“Did you accomplish your mission, Ustad?”
“Of course! The problem was that Pir Haji
Amin snores very loudly and that’s a constant
irritatant to his new wife. I gave her a simple
solution. I told her to keep freshly cut cloves
of garlic in a Ziploc sandwich bag, put it under
his nose as soon as he starts snoring; and if he
wakes up, hide the bag. If he snores again, repeat
the process. In two or three days he should stop
snoring completely.”
“Does that work?”
“Oh, yes. My grandmother used to do that to
my grandfather, whose snoring made even the nocturnal
creatures in the garden outside run for their lives.”
“Ustad, you are really something!”
On our way back, the two bodyguards started laughing
loudly for no reason at all. They continued laughing
and it got on my nerves. “Stop it!”
I yelled. They didn’t, or they couldn’t.
“Negative plus negative makes positive,”
said Ustad. “Start laughing.” Both of
us began to laugh very loudly. That surprised the
bodyguards. They looked stunned and remained in
that state till we reached the hotel.
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