Beef Biryani

(Published in Lakeview International Journal of Literature and Arts, Vol. 6.2-7.1 August 2018-February 2019)

https://issuu.com/lijla/docs/lijla_aug2018_feb2019/76 fbclid=IwAR2OkoLWcSlw4Au1tnz70M6caybRV1v4RwwKj3d69zeaogcf52rixBC7DBk

When Laboni’s father had learned that the College Service Commission had randomly placed her as a lecturer in a college in central-east Calcutta’s, Park Circus area, he had gathered his brows in a frown and advised her to keep her commute simple, to college and back. He told her that there was no need to venture deeper into the Muslim neighborhood. He was a mild-natured, enlightened Bengali bhadrolok who had brought up Laboni and her sister to be confident and independent-minded, but the idea of his young, educated daughter going for work to Park Circus every day, sat uncomfortably on his reluctant acceptance of the fact that not everyone thought as progressively as him when it came to communal differences.

Laboni joined the position with her share of trepidations, soon to realize that Park Circus was not just a place where a majority of the population was Muslim. That it was also a culturally different space, separate from the city’s uniform landscape and it was not just the decision of the people living here to segregate themselves. She had inferred from random conversations with her college colleagues and students, how the people here recurrently faced discrimination. It was difficult to find jobs if one was a Muslim from Park Circus, because of their image of being “trouble-makers”. Men and women looking for work as factory hands or domestic workers had to assume common Hindu nicknames to gain entry into the city’s informal labor market. The area had been blacklisted by banks, making it challenging for the people to get credit. Muslims from varied socio-economic backgrounds jostled for space in this overcrowded neighborhood for it was not easy to find homes elsewhere. Their flocking together had resulted in the unfair stereotyping of Muslims as community-bound, culturally inward-looking, backward and frozen in the past, removed from the feverish pace of urbanization. People here grappled with disadvantages, yet they had a spirit to embrace life with all its colors and fight on and, Laboni appreciated this quality in them.

Zaytuna college was located at the intersection of two crooked lanes, fringed by a ladies’ tailor shop on one side and a Muslim boy’s school on the other. There was a vocational training institute on the opposite side of the street, with people streaming in and out throughout the day. It was a peaceful neighborhood with a good mix of elderly and young folks, everyone respectful of the other. While she had grown to like the neighborhood over the last year and a half and got used to the periodic blaring of Azan from the local mosques, she was still to adapt to the bizarre staff room politics at her college.

Laboni stepped off the bus and turned into the narrow lane leading to the college on a December morning, to find Abdul, the stout, grim college gatekeeper, drop her the same lukewarm nod she had become used to when he caught sight of her. As her slim frame glided through the entrance, wrapped in a Kashmiri shawl over her long, flowing kameez, her eyes rested for a moment on the marble slab at the entrance that read, “Zaytuna College for Girls” in an ornate black font. The college was run by an education trust headed by the celebrated freedom fighter Farooq Ali whose contribution to the Indian freedom struggle was so inspiring that he still had letters of admiration trickling into his mailbox forty-five years after independence.

About half of the teaching staff were Muslim and the other half Hindu and that should not have mattered at all if most conversations did not inevitably take on an uncomfortable religious tinge, no matter what the topic was.

Laboni had never really thought much of these petty distinctions, but more recently, she had started getting embroiled in an unhealthy tussle of narrow parochialism. The glaring lack of interest in academia among the students in the classroom she taught, had created a noxious vacuum in her. It had dug a hole in her heart that needed to be filled with some kind of stimulation and in this case, the unwanted excitement came from a rather negative source, and that saddened Laboni endlessly.

As she made her way to the staff room steeped in conflicting sentiments, Nusrat, the college principal beckoned her to the principal’s office and reminded her of the special feast that was planned later, to celebrate the college’s completion of five years.

“I wish we had the funding to celebrate it properly with a cultural show and all, but the dinner is all we get this year, because of all the expensive renovation,” she said with a touch of sadness in her voice.

The college had added a large hall on the ground floor and that had taken up a lot of their funds for the year. The hall had created the much-needed extra space but also hatched new problems.

Nusrat continued grumbling her fair, round face pinkening with worry.

“The boys' school next door is proving to be such a nuisance. We have to keep the windows closed at all times. In the winters that is still possible, but just imagine what will happen during the summers. That big examination hall will feel like a steam oven. I wish we had a whiff of this problem before we decided to sprout so many windows on the wall facing the boys' school.”

A small smile curved Laboni’s mouth. She had caught the boys clinging to the classroom windows facing the college, delivering flying kisses to the girls as they sat writing their tests. Laboni had warned them to stop their hideous behavior and pacified them for the time being but the girls’ appetite for attention had already been whetted and how can one really stop a group of young women who were determined to attract boys? They were busy coquettishly rolling their eyes at them, forgetting all about finishing their papers. This had called for intervention on behalf of the teachers and led to the decision of closing the windows facing the boys' school. There was a happy unanimity in that verdict, something that was not very commonly found in the staff room.

Nusrat drew Laboni out of her train of thoughts with the same question she had asked her the day before.

“Did you count the heads? I have to make sure that we have the right number of each kind of biryani boxes. The last time it was such a nightmare sorting through them, remember?”

Laboni remembered it all too well. The goat meat or what Bengalis fondly call mutton biryanis and the beef biryanis had got all mixed up and caused such a hoopla. As a matter of fact, that was the reason that she had signed up to help Nusrat with ordering the food this time.

“Yes, I counted twice, just to make sure.”

“Well, did you include the administrative staff?”

“Yes.”

“And Abdul?”

“Yes, of course. I thought that you had ordered already?”

“I would have ordered if I didn’t have to deal with Anisah’s complaint against her part-timers, first thing in the morning.”

Anisah was the cranky full-timer in the History department. She was a stickler when it came to making sure that everyone in her department did their tasks perfectly.

Nusrat was already dialing the number of Nizam Palace to order biryani. “And if you see Anisah, please send her in.”

_______

Laboni noticed Anisah in a serious discussion with two of her part-timers as she entered the staff room. She was still in her burqa. Anisah was a pious woman and very proper in every way. While that added a dimension of dignity, it also made her seem severe and unfriendly, at times. Laboni was glad to go unnoticed this morning, for Anisah had a bad habit of picking on her unnecessarily. She wrote a short note about the principal wanting to see her and placed it on Anisah’s desk, before plucking out the roll call for the first class.

“Here is the Principal’s favorite,” Anisah threw at Laboni right at that moment, as she hung up her burqa and straightened her salwar kameez.

“Nusrat Mam wants to see you in her office. I just left a note on your desk.” Laboni spoke stiffly.

“So, now Nusrat Mam has made you her errand boy as well! The things you do to remain her favorite.” Anisah’s mouth had an obligatory smile pasted on it, the kind of smile that did not reach her kohl-rimmed eyes.

Laboni did everything to avoid an altercation with Anisah but today she was just not in a mood to compromise. “I don't mind doing a bit of extra work for her." How she wished Anisah did not take that tone with her.

“Of course, you don’t! You like being in her good books.”

“I must be doing something right, if I have earned the Principal’s respect, don’t you think? Unlike some of the old-timers who just sit around complaining in their free time.”

Anisah’s eyes widened for a moment and then they shrunk back to their usual narrow slits.

“Nusrat Mam is dignified that way. She does not care who has joined the college when and from where, when it comes to acknowledging merit. That is not something that can be said for the majority of the people, right?” said Anisah.

“What do you mean? Everyone in this college is unbiased when it comes to merit…”

“Oh please!” Anisah rolled her eyes. She could definitely join the Bengali film industry with her flair for over-the-top drama, thought Laboni, pursing her lips in irritation.

“Sometimes you are so slow, really! I was not talking about our college. This place is like a sanctuary amidst all the madness enveloping us with its poisonous and wrong interpretation of history. Don’t you follow the newspaper? A mad politician has been running around in a chariot with a bow and arrow calling it a rath yatra, causing such pandemonium.”

“But the politician was arrested for the trouble he caused, wasn’t he? Now, would that have ever happened in any country that is not secular?” said Laboni pointedly. “Take our neighboring country for example.”

“Well, who knows what might follow the mad man’s chariot ride? Now the Hindu fanatics have just the right kind of encouragement to demonstrate their goonism.”

The Ram rath yatra had been a hot button issue for many in the country for more than a year now. The leader of Bharatiya Janata Party, an upcoming national party, had traveled nearly ten-thousand kilometers in a truck decorated to resemble the chariot of the god Ram to promote the construction of a temple at the reputed site of Ram’s birth, which was now occupied by a sixteenth-century mosque. Indian National Congress in Delhi had followed a strictly secular approach towards politics since Indian independence and the coalition governments that followed after, also maintained a similar outlook. Calcutta had been under the Communist party regime that had separated religion from politics for more than two decades. So, the Rath Yatra organized to stoke the Hindu sentiments, was an entirely new phenomenon to most Indians in the Nineteen-nineties. Laboni was as alarmed as others at the implication of carrying out such a campaign but that could not become a reason to be snubbed by a biased person, that too for no fault of hers.

She turned to Anisah with a deliberate dash of insolence in her tone. “Fundamentalists don’t need encouragement, they only need an excuse. Anyway, let’s not turn everything into a punching match. This has got nothing to do with us.”

Anisah glared at her and was about to say more when the shrill bell rang out announcing the beginning of the first period and the wrangle broke up as quickly as it had started, but Laboni knew that the remnants of the argument would continue floating like stubborn dust particles in the staff room till they found a future disagreement to settle on, locking the teachers in an endless loop of negativity.

________

The afternoon passed quickly and uneventfully as the teachers scrambled to finish the day’s work between teaching classes and submitting grades from the last examination. As the evening arrived, the students gathered along with the teachers in the new hall downstairs to listen to the Trust president’s speech. The girls looked bored and were more than happy to be allowed to leave after a while. Laboni gazed at the last of the girls departing, thinking back to her college days when she would twitter and bounce around with her friends, full of hope and excitement just like them. Youth has an extraordinary, light touch to it and as years pass and worldliness sets in, the spritely optimism of youth diminishes under the weight of responsibilities, she thought with a sigh. Laboni was not really that old, but she felt so ancient right then, for some undefinable reason.

She turned back to re-enter the hall where dinner was being served. Her stomach growled with hunger as her olfactory senses filled with the appetizing biryani smell of saffron and rose water, but as she bit into the piece of meat in her box, her insides recoiled and her temper flared up instantly.

“This is deliberate. Who…who did this? Who swapped my mutton biryani? If you dislike my presence in this college, terminate my employment, but don’t insult me like this!”

Laboni pushed away from the beef biryani box with disdain and stood up to leave.

“Imagine if this would have happened to any of you…if someone stuffed pork in your food, how would you have reacted?”

Nusrat’s eyebrows flew up to her forehead. “Please Laboni, no one meant this to happen. It was a mistake. We have so many mutton biryani boxes…I am sure it was a mistake.”

Farooq Ali addressed the staff in his sternest voice. “Please separate the boxes in two different areas of the hall."

The staff scrambled to divide the two kinds of biryani boxes with care, a nervous hush enveloping the hall, but the damage had already been done.

“Mistakes like this happen. One has to be open-minded about these things,” grumbled Anisah in a subdued voice.

A senior teacher frowned at her and turned to Farooq Ali. “If every moment you are going to bring up religion and difference in culture in the staff room, this is bound to happen. Farooq Sir, I don’t mean to cause trouble but there needs to be a discussion about keeping our opinions to ourselves and learning to coexist, peacefully.”

“Why are you talking like this? Do you think I am responsible for what happened?” Anisah glared at her.

“No one is blaming anyone, but collectively we are responsible for what happens among the teachers. If we keep squabbling with each other for every petty reason, something like this is bound to happen,” said another teacher.

The senior teacher spoke again. “This is an educational institution, the focus should be on educating the girls, not shaming the teachers for belonging to a different community.”

“Now please don’t start the rant about lack of equality,” quipped Anisah.

“No, we are not allowed to do that, because you think that only you have the right to rant!” The senior teacher turned her eyes to Farooq Ali again.

“I don’t always support how Laboni reacts to Anisah’s comments but, Anisah should also be careful about how she speaks to others. Her tart words hit us hard sometimes.”

“Nobody really meant any harm to anyone deliberately so, please let’s get back to dinner,” said Farooq Ali in a quiet but steady voice.

“Laboni has already decided to cause trouble. Whatever we do or tell, will not convince her otherwise,” said Anisah. She looked at no one in specific when she said, “I don’t understand why we need to keep appeasing her just because this is a Muslim college.”

“Oh, I know what you do and what you tell! And I don’t understand why we need to keep tiptoeing around you in our own country,” said Laboni in a shaky voice as she picked up her shawl to leave. “I can’t work here. Farooq Sir, I am going to submit my resignation. I am sorry things came to this.”

“Laboni, please don’t make a hasty decision. Let us talk later, once you have calmed down.” Farooq Ali knew that there was no point trying to talk to her at that moment. “In your heart, you know this is a misunderstanding.”

He looked embarrassed and visibly disturbed. He was in his eighties, and had a history of fighting shoulder to shoulder with his Hindu and Sikh friends during the war of Indian independence. The philanthropist in him had raised money and founded the education trust that had sprouted educational institutions in Calcutta, in the hope that Bengali men and women would take to education and march towards modernity. He was optimistic that they could mend what the British had destroyed and continued with the Bengal Renaissance, a process that been left unfinished, but instead what the elderly man was encountering, was a bunch of entitled young women, fighting among themselves over religious dissimilarities.

He was a frail man whose sturdy frame had started drooping with age, he never raised his voice, but when he spoke he could still make his authority felt. “This institution will not tolerate any kind of regressive talk or discussion anymore. From now on, if there is a single incident of religious or communal discussion, I will close down this college, I promise you that! Anisah, I would like a word with you tomorrow.”

Anisah’s heart filled with a vague sense of dread. The small, annoying skirmishes in the staff room had transcended to a higher and more serious level of trouble and a part of it was her fault. Had her life-long struggles and the resulting bitterness not skewed her behavior towards Laboni, she could have prevented this. She was not a bad person. Her Allah knew that.

The rest of the people in the hall were trying to think of ways to salvage the evening when Abdul ran into the hall, anxiety gnarling his facial features.

“Farooq Sir, please stop Laboni madam. A fight has broken out in the slums nearby. Jalal from the training center said that a group of rioters is moving towards this neighborhood. Laboni madam refused to listen when I tried to stop her from leaving.”

“Why are there rioters on the streets?” Nusrat hated how the evening was turning out. All she had wanted was a congenial dinner to diffuse the tension building up in the staff room for some time now.

“Jalal said the mob was chanting Allah’s name. I think it might be a communal riot.”

“But this neighborhood is so peaceful,” said Nusrat. “There has never been any trouble of this kind here.”

“I heard on the radio that Babri Masjid was attacked by kar sevaks earlier today. Maybe that is the reason why,” said one of the staff members.

“That is dreadful news,” said Farooq Ali gripping his walking stick to steady himself.

“We have to get Laboni back…she is not safe outside,” said Anisah, grabbing her burqa. “Nusrat Mam give me your burqa, quick!”

“No…you should not go outside!” said Farooq Ali, assembling a small group of staff members to look for Laboni. “We will look for her.”

But Anisah insisted on accompanying them.

_______________

The biryani boxes lay forgotten on the table, as the rest of the crowd in the hall, regrouped with an entirely different purpose this time. Nusrat asked the teachers to close down the college windows and extinguish as many lights as possible. There were nervous whispers in the building as the teachers and the staff waited in the semi-dark with terror-filled hearts. Minutes ticked by, and then the sudden noise of the front door being thrown open hastily, made everyone jump. Anisah and Laboni, both clad in burqa stumbled in. Laboni held on to Anisah like a child, clutching her hand like it was the only support that kept her upright.

“There is a group of men coming towards the college. I wrapped Laboni in the burqa before they caught up with us. They…they saw us entering the college,” said Anisah.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this. Now they know that there are people here at this hour,” said Farooq Ali returning with the staff members. “They are going to come looking…I know how these events unfold.” Ghosts of previous horrific experiences flickered in his aged eyes.

“If they ask around they will get to know that there are Hindu teachers in the college…what if…”

A loud knock interrupted his words. The knocks grew louder with passing seconds and were accompanied by restless voices. No one dared to move. The knocking continued and the voices turned even more animated. “You need to open this door now…”

“Abdul, open the door,” said Farooq Ali.

“We can’t!” Abdul’s face was covered in sweat.

“You all go inside the hall. We were having dinner before this started,” said Farooq Ali with firm authority to everyone. “That is what we will tell them. We also have to convince them that we are all from the same community, whatever be our religion.”

“They will not necessarily understand that refined message. We have to tell them that there are only Muslims here,” said Anisah.

“Please don’t insist on that Anisah,” said Farooq Ali knowing how the mixed staff might react to this suggestion but right then Laboni joined the conversation.

“We should listen to Anisah.”

Laboni covered her head with her shawl as others waited for her to explain. She did not, but the other teachers who were observing her started covering their heads too, with dupatta and shawls, whichever they had near them. They realized that if they wanted to survive, they had to blend in.

_________

Abdul opened the door with an unsure smile on his face. He saw a tall wiry man wearing a rounded skull cap, peering down at him. There were a few more men lurking in the dark behind him.

“Why did you take so long to open the door?” he said, sheathing the chopper in his hand in a dirty rag.

“Is there a problem?” Abdul deliberately tried to appear clueless.

“Have you not heard about what happened at Babri masjid today? Those Hindu activists tore down the old mosque!”

Abdul nodded his head processing what he was hearing and said as meekly as he could manage, “I am a mere gatekeeper. My job is to protect this college. How will I know what happened elsewhere?”

“Who is in there?” asked the man with a scowl, annoyed at Abdul’s ignorance.

“Teachers and staff of this college.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Are there any Hindus here?”

Abdul’s eyes opened wide. “What will a Hindu teacher do in a Muslim college? All are our own community people here.”

“That is not what we hear. We have information that half of the teachers are Hindu here.”

“In the beginning, the college tried to employ a few Hindu teachers, but you know how that can turn into a problem, so now everyone here belongs to our community.”

The man tipped his head. “Let us in.” He marched inside without waiting.

He saw Farooq Ali waiting at the entrance of the hall. “Salaam Wallehqum.”

“Wallehqum Salaam, what is this about?”

“A riot has broken out in the city—we are making sure everyone is safe in the neighborhood. My name is Javed. I and my friends are checking the houses to make sure everyone is safe.”

“That is very kind of you, but are you from this neighborhood? I have not seen you here before.”

“I… I live in the slums nearby.” He coughed uncomfortably. “We heard that Hindus teach in your college.”

Nusrat came forward. “Is there a problem with that? The college service commission makes these decisions, not us.”

“Madam, I understand… but you have to also understand us. We want this neighborhood safe and secure. How can that be if there are Hindus here?”

“There are no Hindus here,” said Anisah calmly. She thought it a bad idea beating around the bush with these men.

Javed moved his eyes to Anisah trying to decide if he should trust her.

“Did I interrupt a celebration?”

Farooq Ali cleared his throat with a quick cough. “Today is the college foundation day so we arranged a dinner, a humble daawat.”

“The city is burning, and you are attending a daawat?”

“We had no clue what was happening outside, otherwise how could we be celebrating at this hour…anyway most of the biryani boxes are untouched and I think we have all just lost our appetite after hearing about the attack,” said Anisah, trying to placate Javed when one of his companions walked up to the table and started opening the food boxes one by one.

“What kind of biryani is this?”

“Its Nizam’s beef biryani,” said Nusrat hurriedly. She was glad that Anisah had the good sense of hiding the mutton biryani boxes in the storeroom.

Javed’s companion shook his head incredulously. “You have lost your appetite, yet folks from the slums would kill for some of this.”

Javed put down the hideous rag wrapped chopper on the table to join his companion in opening the boxes, their eyes appreciative of what they were seeing.

“Take the boxes, please. No one will be able to eat here anyway,” said Farooq Ali.

“That is not the point!” said Javed narrowing his eyes, lethality bouncing back into his voice.

“I have a niggling doubt that you are hiding Hindus,” he said lifting the chopper in his hands.

Farooq Ali looked him in the eye with a serenity that could come only from someone of his age. “These are turbulent times, ushering in a wave of mistrust. It is natural to feel suspicious.”

Javed blinked, pondering for a brief second about what he had heard and swept his eyes around the hall, scrutinizing every face with hawk-like precision. His eyes settled on a downcast face standing at the back.

“Madam, you don’t seem to be interested in what is going on here,” he said to Laboni, whose eyes flew up at him, blood draining from her already pale face.

“I am not feeling too well,” she replied in a feeble voice.

Javed observed her pale face carefully.

“Have this biryani madam, you will feel better. The Nizam Palace spices cure the best of colds, my mother says. Not that we get to eat it often. Ammi would love some…,” Javed drew in a sharp breath to stop himself from babbling further.

His eyes focused on Laboni again. “Sit down over here madam, eat this biryani.”

Anisah looked at Laboni, panic filling up her insides. “She is not feeling well, she told you. Please don’t make her eat forcefully.”

Javed ignored Anisah and continued staring at Laboni.

“What is your name madam?”

“That is enough. Please stop harassing our teachers!” said Farooq Ali.

Javed’s face grew dark with emotions.

“I am just asking her name, why would that enrage you so much, unless you all have something to hide.”

Nusrat, who was quiet all this time, started in an even voice, “It is sad that you have to verify again and again that there are no Hindus here. I am the Principal of this college and I am requesting you to leave my teachers alone. They are all respectable people.”

Javed turned to lock his eyes with Nusrat in a long staring contest while the rest of the people in the room held their breath.

Laboni broke the stalemate, stepping towards Javed decisively. “My name is Laila Bano and this is Anisah Iqbal.” She pointed towards Anisah.

“Madam, tell me...am I asking for too much? What is the problem? Please, eat the biryani…” There was a strange eagerness in his voice as if he needed some kind of confirmation urgently.

“How can I eat alone? Everyone is hungry in this room in spite of what we are telling each other. Let us all eat together.” She opened a few biryani boxes, passed one to Javed and another to his companion. She took in a spoon full and started chewing slowly. Javed and his companion observed her for a few seconds and started eating from their boxes. They tried not to hurry too much, but they almost finished their share before others could.

Laboni exhumed a calm grace as she asked politely, “For how long do you think the trouble will continue outside? We have elderly staff members here. I wish they all reach home safely.”

Javed replied, his mouth full of biryani, “Don’t worry, we are just passing by. This neighborhood looks respectable and trouble-free. We will be heading back now.”

“Please take a few boxes with you. We have plenty here,” said Laboni.

Javed wiped his mouth with his hand and grinned. “My friends would really appreciate that. Thank you, shukhriya.”

_____________

Javed and his companion left with a few Biryani boxes soon after, assuring them that there will be no more trouble in the area.

As Abdul closed the door behind them, Anisah walked up to Laboni, tears rolling down her face. Laboni looked oddly unruffled as she gave Anisah an assuring smile. Nusrat and the other teachers gathered around her and held each other’s hands wordlessly. Farooq Ali sat looking at the teachers as they silently built bridges between each other. Preaching can go some distance but nothing teaches a person better than real life situations demanding extraordinary actions. Sacrificing one’s way of thinking for the collective good is the biggest triumph of integrity and unity, thought Farooq Ali and sighed, for he could finally see a ray of optimism amidst the black clouds of bleakness and ignorance.