Fwd: [aryasamajonline] a true story of shuddhi

[Guest guest]

another true story - for a change, it's on the positive side.

- Supraneeti

 

vivek arya <drvivekarya > wrote:

aryasamajonline

vivek arya <drvivekarya >

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 10:46:09 -0800 (PST)

[aryasamajonline] a true story of shuddhi

 

Till yesterday Inayat Ali used to be a neo-Muslim. It was barely seven years since his family had started kneeling in a mosque. Before this he sported a top knot, applied tilak on his forehead and had deities installed in the house. His innocent family was forced out of the temple to seek refuse in the mosque by the community.

 

It was like this: When Inayat Ali’s father Ulfat Ali used to be a Hindu and was called Dev Nandan Prasad, unawares he once happened to commit a wrong. One day a poor woman sought shelter in his house. When questioned about where she came from she blurted out the name of a village and said, “I am a destitute. My husband passed away about six months ago. I did not have a care in the world till he was alive. He scraped together his living at the Zamindar’s and kept us all going. Though poor I never had to serve anybody. After him, my dignity kept me from giving up purdah for a bellyful. I left the village instead and came here to look for work. All I need is four rotis and four yards of cloth. God has given you plenty. Take pity on me. Let me spend the rest of my life in a corner of your house praying to God, May God bless you.”

 

She was an Aheeran, she said, on being asked about her caste. Dev Nandan Prasad was a simple man. The woman’s plight softened his heart. His wife, too came to the woman’s rescue and said, “Let her remain here. She will cook, clean and fetch water, eat two rotis and lie in a corner.”

 

The Aheeran was retained. For two months she attended to the household chores, and then the calamity struck. From out of the blue a man appeared at Dev Nandanji’s. He queried, “Babuji, my wife has been missing for two months. I have been scouring all around for her. She deserted me for just a trifle. Don’t we know how women are and how little, in their willfulness, they care for a man’s honour!”

 

Just then, the Aheeran emerged from the house holding a pitcher and a rope in her hand. Seeing her, the man dashed to her.

 

“Firozi! What is this? Who are you fetching the water for?”

 

”You come here!” Dev Nandanji called out to the man rather sharply. “Are you out of your wits? Who are you addressing as Firozi? She is our maid. She is going to fetch water for us. Her name is not Firozi. She is Rukminia. You should be ashamed of your insulting behaviour towards a strange woman!”

 

In his excitement Dev Nandanji went out to say all this very aggressively but the moment his eyes fell on Rukminia as Firozi said to Dev Nandan, “Babuji, you have been deceived. She is not a Hindu but a Muslim. She is my fugitive wife Firozi, and not Rukminia.”

 

Dev Nandan’s blood froze.

 

In the evening, after the masters of the house had sauntered out, old women and young girls of the neighbourhood settled at their doors and began to flash across their opinion about the Dev Nandan and Firozi episode.

 

”O Baba!” warbled an old woman, “What gumption for a woman! Deserted her own man and came into an unknown land and an unknown house!” “That dame with a charred face! Pretended to be an Aheeran though a Turkish. These Muslim women are simply wayward, mother! She abandoned her master coolly and came to pitch here with strangers. And here I am! – scared even of crossing the threshold.” “A slut! That is what she was!” a married woman quipped.

 

>From the opposite door a middle-aged woman shouted, “God knows what will happen to Raghu Nandan’s father! For two months he has had that Turk woman to fetch water and clean utensils. His faith has been defiled. My husband was saying that relations with them would be broken off.”

 

”How can it be otherwise!” piped in the first old woman. “Religion is like a tenuous strand. It snaps at the slightest strain and to top it all our Hindu religion! Ram, Ram! Dev Nandan has accepted water from a person touching whom is taboo; looking upon whose face in the morning is sinful! Doomed! Dev Nandan’s clan is doomed. Why would anybody break bread with him and be dragged to damnation?”

 

The married girl said, “The story must have done its rounds in the city by now. Had this been known only to a few, it could have been covered up. In the morning that infidel’s man was dragging her by her plait and was thrashing her. Who has not seen it and who doesn’t know now?”

 

That was it! The next day Dev Nandan was called by the head of the locality.

 

”Look! You must get your water from some other well now.”

 

”Why?”

 

”You are no longer a Hindu. You are a Muslim now. Can you possibly remain a Hindu when for two months you have been getting a Muslim to fetch water and do other kitchen chores for you?”

 

”I have not knowingly taken water from a Muslim. She has deceived me. How am I guilty?”

 

”Brother! We are Hindus. No Hindu knowingly ropes a cow for killing but when a roped cow dies, the one who has roped it has to take the blame for it. Penance has to be undertaken.”

 

”I do agree! After she left, I have had my house cleaned and whitewashed. I have changed all the earthenwares in my house. Metal utensils have been purged in fire. Any other penance that you decide for me, I am ready to perform. I am not running away from that.”

 

Pundits and purohits were called for consultation on the subject of penance. The Brahmins after consulting the four Vedas, six shastras, thirty-six smritis and eighteen puranas gave their verdict – “Dev Nandan has been completely defiled. He can, by no means, remain a Hindu.”

 

On the other hand, after hearing about Dev Nandan’s debasement, the Muslims – of substance and naught – went all out, respectfully and affectionately, to entice him to their fold.

 

”Come to us! We do not believe in caste. We believe only in ‘Right’. Islam is full of love. God is merciful to the poor. Convert yourself. It is better to bask in our affection than be spurned by Hindus.”

 

Helpless, humiliated, ostracized and debased, Dev Nandan and his family took refuse in Allah’s mercy. What else could they do? Man by nature needs society, sympathy and love. The Hindu community had closed their doors on them. They were left with no choice but to convert. Dev Nandan became Ulfat Ali and his son Raghu Nandan, Inayat Ali.

 

Dev Nandan could not bear the cruel blow of society and nine months after his conversion abandoned this world altogether.

 

It has been seven years since this incident has been relegated to the dark womb of time. A distinct change has come over the town since then. Earlier, it had no social or political activity. To keep the pot boiling was the sole preoccupation of the people of the town. With a population of only ten thousand, the tehsil compound served as a club or society where every evening a few fawning rich gathered to pay court to the tehsildar – or to play tennis. The Arya Samaj had become a household name but devout flowers of the Samaj there were none. One gentleman was a r to the “Aryamitra’ of Agra. By mentioning Swami Dayaand he occasionally provided amusement to the youngsters. He only paid lip service to the Arya Samaj. We know it for certain that he adhered to all the customs, good and bad, of his old sect. Once his wife urged him to hear Satya Narayan Katha and he refused. Enraged by his refusal, that shrew of a woman, blinded by rituals, got up to hit her iconoclast

husband with a broom ad blur his face. The neighbours suffered three sleepless nights. Ultimately the helpless gentleman had to yield to his wife’s wishes.

 

But now the scene in the town has changed. The last non-cooperation movement has brought about an awakening. We now have a proper Arya Samaj Bhawan with its President and Secretary. There is a library too and all the members are presidents. It s to a number of dailies in Hindi and two or three in English. Hundreds of young and old men have turned newspaper addicts. Their number is multiplying everyday.

 

That day, the secretary of the Arya Samaj, Pundit Basudeo Sharma was reading an Urdu daily in the Arya Samaj Bhawan. Outside the hall, two Punjabi gentlemen clad in pyjama and shirt were saying their evening prayers. A tall and lean young man entered the hall. Hearing his footfall, Mr. Sharma raised his bespectacled eyes. He recognized the young man.

 

”Hallo Mian Inayat Ali! What brings you here today?

 

”I have come with a request for you.” Mr. Sharma took off his spectacles, cleaned them with the edge of his kurta and placing them back on his nose, remarked – “Bhai Inayat, you speak fluent Hindi.”

 

”Yes, Sharmaji, I can speak Hindi fluently. The reason is that I have pure Hindu blood coursing I my veins. My father was forced to convert to Islam. Otherwise would have been as much a proud Hindu as you or any other. Anyway! I have come with a request….”

 

”Please continue. What can I do for you?”

 

”I wish to become a Hindu again.”

 

”Become a Hindu?” Sharmaji was amazed.

 

”Yes sir. Adhering to Islam Seems to have become a curse for me. Not because Islam has no merits but because I and my family cannot harmonize with Islam. From times immemorial a Hindu heart – a tranquil heart accustomed to a Hindu way of life has been unable to adapt itself to Muslim manners and morals. My wife chants the name of Ram in the morning and not Khuda. Why remain a Muslim then? My mother yearns for a dip in the holy Ganges and a pilgrimage to Badri Ashram. I do not have the impertinence to divert her devotion to Mecca Madina nor will she abide by me. How to remain a Muslim then? I cannot say my prayers to the master of my heart in a mosque. My Hindu heart starts to throb strangely as I enter the mosque. It certainly does not betoken love for the Khuda of the mosque nor is this hatred. This feeling lies midway between hatred and love. Due to all these reasons I have determined to purge myself and become a Hindu again.”

 

By then the Punjabi gentlemen had come in chanting ‘Om’ after their evening prayers. Sharmaji introduced Inayat Ali alias Raghu Nandan to them and asked for their opinion in the matter.

 

”Bravo!” said one of them. “The grace of Rishi Dayanand will draw all the estranged brethren back to our Aryan religion. He may be purged.”

 

although hostility between Hindus and Muslims began to flare up.

but the aryasamajis did the shuddhi and brought back their brother back to hindu folds.

 

 

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