Kabuliwala

I sit by the window, reminiscing the past-the month of June; it marked the beginning-the beginning of a new year at school and the excitement that it brought along, the onset of the monsoon-of the zephyr it brought after the scorching month of summer, and the frivolous dance welcoming the first rain. And as I look outside, I suddenly see a very familiar sight-of little kids on their way back home stopping by near a small, make-shift stall by the roadside. It was him-I had last seen him when I was 10. He sold roasted peanuts at the same place by the roadside and I was one of his favourite customers-a regular. The kid in me couldn’t resist the temptation to savour those roasted peanuts once again from my Kabuliwala.

Kabuliwala-one of my favourite childhood stories, Rabindranath Tagore’s classic tale of friendship between a little girl, Mini and Rahmun, (fondly addressed as Kabuliwala) an Afghani Pathan who comes to India to sell dry fruits and earn a living. For years, this story has always been presented as a tale of human relationships and the effect of time on human emotions. But back then, as a kid, and even today, I have always felt that Tagore’s tale has some unanswered questions, some unspoken words and some unexpressed emotions.

Well, Tagore’s story goes of the budding friendship between Mini and Rahmun, her worried parents at her growing closeness with a stranger, his being accused of murder and taken to jail, the toll time takes on their friendship while he is away, the withered human relationships, and the new beginnings that they both look forward to in their own respective lives when he is finally released years later. But, how is it possible that Mini, who regularly waits for the Kabuliwala, not once, asks about him as she sees him being taken away? How can it be that she never remembers him after that day? True, time takes its course and we eventually leave the past behind us-but what happens when the past resurfaces once again? What happens when, years later, we run into someone who was very dear to us? Does time take its course in such a harsh manner, that we simply fail to recognize them years later, just as Tagore explains how Mini failed to recognize her favourite Kabuliwala? It is here, that my version of this story slightly varies. It takes a slightly different route from the time Mini sees the Kabuliwala being arrested, bloodstains on his clothes and one of the policemen holding a knife, as the Kabuliwala tried to wriggle his way out of their tight clutch….

“Maa! Why are they taking him away?”, 5 year old Mini cried as she saw him leave. They did not answer her. They simply looked on. “Oh Kabuliwala! Wait! When will you come back?” He smiled and said, “Maybe when you would be ready to go to your father-in-law’s house”. This was one among the many jokes that only they had shared, they had laughed together; often leaving the others clueless. Little Mini could not control her tears and there was no way we could help her out. I asked my wife to take her inside, to feed her some of her favourite dry fruits that the Kabuliwala had given her earlier and to put her to bed. But that day, she did not eat them.  And since that day, she never did.

I used to believe that time is the biggest healer; that as the years passed, Mini would gradually forget him. She would get busy in her life, find new companions, and the time would move on-as the waves of the sea that crush the shore and never return, her memories of the Kabuliwala would soon wither away. I was partly right. As the years passed, she did find new friends. She spent so much time with them that she came no more as she used to do, to my room. I was scarcely on speaking terms with her. But her memory of the free-spirited, old, mountaineer, of the pleasantries that she shared with him, of the dry fruits that he always left for her, never really left her. For a few years, till she reached her teens, she occasionally asked us when he would return, if he would ever return at all. We, as usual, had no answers to her innocent conjectures. Whether she eventually understood the meaning of our silence, I do not know. But as she grew up, she never asked us about him again. Although, I could see the pain in her eyes as she occasionally sat by the window, waiting for him to return, I refrained from mentioning even the slightest reference of him.

Years had passed, and finally today was the day-the day when my Mini would finally get married. The hustle and bustle involved in the preparations kept us busy, they did not give us much spare time to think of the loneliness that would befall our little home from tomorrow. The preparations were in full swing- the decorators running around checking the last few minute details, the cooks making sure the savouries were just right, and my wife welcoming the endless guests in our own traditional, Bengali way. I was in my study, looking through the accounts when I heard a familiar, rustic call-“Mini beta, come here. I am back. Look what I have brought you”. It was Rahmun. At first I did not recognize him. He had no bag, nor the long hair, nor the vigour that he earlier had. But the love with which he addressed my daughter was all it took for me to recognize him. We exchanged a few formal salutations. I was happy to see him back, but deep within, I dreaded this day. I had never wanted to see him again-never wanted to meet someone who had been accused and imprisoned for murder, and definitely never wanted him to ever meet Mini again. I tried to avoid him from meeting her. “We are all very busy. There are ceremonies going on. Please come some other day.” He persisted, “Just let me see the little one, one last time, Sir. I have brought a few bangles for her. She had asked me to get them. But before I could, they took me away.”  “Did I not tell you earlier? She can’t come to see you. She is busy”.

His face fell. As he turned to leave, he heard a voice, “Kabuliwala!” It was Mini-dressed beautifully in a red saree as she awaited the arrival of her groom. Rahmun did not recognize her for a while. She was no longer the little girl he once brought dry-fruits for. He had forgotten that she would have grown up into a young woman now. He had forgotten that those little red bangles that he had bought would not fit her any more. “Are these the red bangles you promised to bring me? They are beautiful! Thank you. This is the best wedding present.” Rahmun’s eyes filled with tears-tears of happiness that Mini had not forgotten him even after all these years, tears of sorrow, of realization that his own daughter in Afghanistan would have grown up too. He wished time would stand still-that he could be with this daughter as she grew up. He was afraid she wouldn’t recognize him. Mini and Rahmun shared a little laugh, remembered some of their old, exclusive jokes and spoke for a while-they did not laugh aloud like they had earlier, but neither could one sense the expected distance that time would create. Over the years, she somehow knew he was arrested and accused of murder- but today, it did not matter to her at all. It did not hurt her that her dear friend had been a criminal. All that mattered to her was that he had returned. He had returned the day Mini would go to her father-in-law’s house-just as he had promised. Time had tested their friendship, and it was somehow able to withstand the test of time.

I remember I was sad when Mini had first met him. I was envious of the bond that they shared; but today, as Rahmun turned to leave for Afghanistan, to reunite with his family, with his daughter, I only hoped that the bond with his daughter had not withered away like mine had with Mini.