Haji Deen Mohammed

My mom is an amazingly good storyteller. When I was a kid she used to put me on her lap and tell me a lot of stories. I can still hear her voice laced with the cling of her bangles as she used to ruffle my hair. My eyes would move from her to the dark ceiling where I could visualize every minute detail happening.
Different stories had different ways of storytelling…
For a horror story….I could see her eyes becoming large with fear. Her hands clawing at me and then stopping me from biting my nail.
A fairy tale ….would mean a soft voice with a seemingly happy atmosphere where everything is Hunky-Dory but suddenly the problem arises in the tale and my eyebrows meet in concern for the usual damsel in distress. Such was the effect of these stories that once I actually put a pea beneath the mattress of my elder sister to prove she is not a princess when she dint realize it.
Some stories had mom saying in the end “To Dekho Beta , Kabhi Jhoot Nahi
Bolna…Bado Ki Izzat karna …Nahi to Allah Miya Gussa Karenge (something my sis still uses to tell her kids)
Or “kya samjha tumko?” where I had to tell the moral of the story.
I am a big boy now so no more stories for me. But I sure do remember most of them and today would like to share one of the stories from the “potli” of my Mom. One which is so relevant for all the youth today.
Mom tells me it’s from the Arabian nights. But I dint remove the book of Arabian nights which I possess, to check it….what you will read is my understanding of the narrative. What visuals I saw on the ceiling one night when mom was telling me this lovely story.
Chapter 1

Haji Deen Mohammed was a unique man. No it’s not that he was not normal. He was. But he was just too optimistic in nature. Never did anyone in the village see him in anger or in despair. He used to smile constantly and laugh at times showing his front tooth which was half broken. Not that he did not have worries. He had. And his optimism had no real ground to exist. He could hardly provide for his wife and two children. Craftsmen by nature he makes decorative items with the help of simple tools. His friend and helper, Mairaj used to buy it from him to sell them in the larger markets of Dilli and Bambai but he had not come back for long. Money was running out. In desperation he had started stitching handmade carpets for a small businessman but with no orders forthcoming from the cities even the businessmen had asked Haji to leave.

So now he is sitting on the thick ground in the hot afternoon watching kids play Gilli Danda with glee.

“ Haji…Haji” …someone was shouting.
Haji stood up cleaning his kurta from behind to remove the dust and see who was calling him.
It was Ali, Haji’s dear friend running towards him brandishing his dirty gamcha.
“Is Mairaj Back. That’s good. I knew he would .Its Friday. He always does” Haji shouted back as his buddy reached him, panting.
“How many Fridays have passed by, Haji. And you have just sat there on this muddy ground waiting for him” his finger pointing to the place where Haji had just been sitting.
“You just can’t kill time like this waiting for him. I have got a job for you. Kishen Lal wants to paint his house. He is paying Ek Paisa.
Kishan is a nice man”Haji smiled,
“Is he looking for me?”
“Yes, he is, because you are the only fool to work for so less and that miser doesn’t want to give what others are asking for. But good for you. At least you can have a meal in the night with your wife and kids”.
Haji put on his hand on his friends shoulder and started preaching him while walking towards Kishan’s unpainted home
“Allah is the Greatest, Ali. See how he has provided sustenance for me. I will come to your house after I am done. We can eat Sattu* then”.

* Sattu-a mixture of Rice,Jowar,Bajra and Channa. (CONTINUED--- CHAPTER 2)