Come, My Pen: How We Became His Pupils

Good God! There was a time when Dani and I used to listen to the talk of the late Maulvi Sahib. His courage raised our courage, his style was the guide of our writing, his wit made him laugh himself and gave us stitches, his troubles brought tears to his own eyes and made us writhe. And today it has come to this, that I am afraid to bring his life to the tip of my pen. The reason is that this great man had learnt the lesson of Islamic brotherhood. He was proud of having risen on his own strength. He counted it his achievement to have risen from a low station to a high one. Whatever he did and whatever he accomplished was not due to anyone's flattery, anyone's recommendation or any family distinction. There was he, and there was the wide wrestling-ground of the world.

(Author's note: Dani, that is, Dr Ghulam Yazdani.) [TN: Ghulam Yazdani (1885–1962), later the eminent archaeologist of Hyderabad, was Baig's lifelong friend.]

He came down into this arena trusting in his own arm, faced every hardship with his own ability and courage. Whatever task he set his hand to, he worked himself to the bone to complete it, and proved to the world beyond doubt that having no friends or helpers is not an obstacle on the road to progress that cannot easily be removed, and that the absence of family connections is not a thing that can stop a man's rise. Whenever he grew warm he would always use the phrase "I am a self-made man", and whenever he gave advice on this point he always said: "My boy! Whatever you have to do, do it yourself; don't go about begging in the name of your forefathers' bones."

Man is bound by his nature. When the eyes of the world begin to fall on him, he always hides the weaknesses of his former state and shows its merits. Just as the unworthy children of great families hide their incompetence behind the names of their forefathers, so the able children of poor families wish that the names of their forefathers might be wiped from people's hearts. This is our moral weakness, and this is our ignorance of the lesson of Islam. There was one Maulvi Nazir Ahmad Khan who showed the picture of his ancestors in its true colours and took pride in it. He was proud of his early poverty, and often used to say: "My dear fellow! If you are the son of a Lieutenant-Governor, then at least become a Deputy Commissioner. Aren't you ashamed, as a ten-rupee clerk, to call your father a Lieutenant-Governor?"

At any rate, it was this thought of human nature that has kept me till now from writing the life of the late Maulvi Sahib. I had written a good deal, and tore it up, for fear of getting into a tug-of-war. Again and again the urge would come and then cool off. God bless Maulvi Abdul Haq, who pulled me out of these ifs and buts and persuaded me to commit to the pen what was in my heart. Now I shall write what I have heard with my ears and seen with my eyes, and write it without fear, whether anyone likes it or not. Where I show the late Maulvi Sahib's virtues, I shall also reveal his weaknesses, so that a true and living picture of the departed may be drawn, and these few pages may not become the kind of biography written to please someone or to annoy someone. [TN: Maulvi Abdul Haq (1870–1961), "the Father of Urdu", editor of the journal Urdu in which this memoir first appeared.]

I shall not keep to any order in telling the events, because that is a kind of artifice. Whatever I heard or saw on any occasion I shall write down just as it was, and I shall always try, as far as possible, to tell the events in Maulvi Sahib's own words. God willing, I shall make no mistake in stating the events; but it is possible that, having forgotten some names, I may leave them out or write them wrongly. As for truth or falsehood, I do not care about that. I am writing the life of my revered teacher. If it is true, I am doing my duty. If it is false, he will collect the damages himself, with compound interest, on the plain of Judgement.

As for my style, I am putting gravity on the shelf, because to bring gravity into writing the life of so witty a man as Maulvi Sahib would be not only to mock him but to insult him; or let us say it would be to turn Sayyid Insha into Mir and Mark Twain into Emerson. Since in his lifetime he applauded my impudence with laughter, there is no reason why he should now change his ways, call my frankness insolence, and bring a suit against me. [TN: Insha (d. 1817), the wittiest of the old Urdu poets; Mir (d. 1810), the most melancholy.]

Come, My Pen, in the Name of God

In 1903 Dani and I passed the F.A. examination from the Hindu College, Delhi, and both entered the Mission College. In the F.A. my optional subject had been science and Dani's Arabic. He advised me to take Arabic for the B.A.: we would help each other and it would make preparing for the examination easier. I was conceited about my memory, and never even considered whether I would be able to manage the subject; I agreed at once. In short, we both joined the first-year B.A. class. Our Arabic professor was Maulvi Jamil-ur-Rahman, a very godly man; the Arabic hour passed easily in talk of Sufism, and he did a little teaching too. Dani may have understood something, if he did; your humble servant learnt it by heart like a parrot. As for grammar and syntax, there I remained as blank as ever. [TN: F.A., "First Arts", the intermediate examination two years before the B.A. The Mission College is St Stephen's College, Delhi.]

We had always heard that misfortune does not come with warning, but we had never heard that Arabic professors do not leave with warning. One day when we two reached Maulvi Sahib's room, we found the room empty. On inquiry we learnt that Maulvi Sahib had resigned the evening before and set off for the Kaaba. We went to the Principal, and he gave us a flat answer: we cannot make arrangements for the Arabic class; you had better change your subject. I said to Dani, "Look here, I took Arabic on your advice; now you take science on mine. For the same convenience for which you made me change my subject, now change yours." As the saying goes, "what won't a dying man do?", he agreed. But when we went to the office and counted the lectures, we found that the time for changing subjects had passed; we would be short of lectures, and so we would have to sit the examination in three years instead of two. A stone had come, and a hard one.

When it came to "those who sold the cure for the heart have shut up shop", we had to look for another place. We put our heads together, held consultations, passed resolutions, and at last the motion was carried that, acting on the maxim "take your earth from a big heap", we should corner some formidable maulvi. In Delhi two or three men were reckoned great Arabic scholars: one, Maulvi Muhammad Ishaq; the second, Shams-ul-Ulama Maulvi Ziauddin Khan, LL.D.; and the third, Maulvi Nazir Ahmad Khan. The first had no time to spare from his madness, so there was evidently no hope there; the lot fell on the second.

It was summer. Maulvi Ziauddin used to sit in the Jama Masjid saying his litanies until ten or eleven at night, so we two went and camped on the steps of the Jama Masjid from evening on. Eight o'clock struck, nine, ten. Maulvi Sahib would neither come out today nor tomorrow. At long last we saw a lantern coming out of the gateway. We two also shook out our hands and feet, thought up whole sentences of flattery, and stood up.

We were standing on the bottom steps, so first we saw the lantern come out of the gateway; then, just as a ship comes into view from the shore of the sea, first Maulvi Sahib's turban, then his radiant face, his kohl-darkened eyes, his blessed white beard, his white gown, and last of all his yellow broadcloth slippers with turned-up toes came into view. Slowly he began to come down the steps, and our breath began to come up in gasps. We were still thinking of standing in his way when he slipped right past us.

At last, walking a little faster, we caught him up, and both bowed very respectfully and saluted him to the ground. He thought we were passers-by greeting him on account of his eminence; he did not realise that we were petitioners and that it would be hard to shake us off. He went on, returning the greeting, and we played the same trick as before, circled round and came in front of him again. Seeing this he stopped short and asked, "I do not recognise you gentlemen. Have you some business with me?" We told our long tale and brought our request to our lips. He said, "You know that I am an examiner of the Punjab University." He spoke these words in exactly the tone in which someone nowadays might say, "You know that I am an inspector of the C.I.D." But we had given up all hope of our lives; we submitted that we sought no favour in the examination, only help in our studies. He said, "To teach you and then remain your examiner is against my conscience. Find someone else."

Perhaps this question is an article of faith; perhaps the Punjab University had made Maulvi Sahib take an oath not to teach. Be that as it may, he gave us both a hard shove of "Peace be upon you", and ordered his servant to go on. That obedient fellow picked up the lantern and went ahead, and Maulvi Sahib set off after him with long strides, fearing perhaps that these two highwaymen might block his way again. But Maulvi Sahib's manner and the jolt of his "Peace be upon you" had left us both limp. We stood rooted where we were, and Maulvi Sahib turned into the lane of the Persian-wheel well and entered his house. Well, cold water was thrown on hope number two; but we learnt a lesson for the future, that to attack so formidable an enemy in the open field is dangerous; to catch such a Rustam one must become a Shaghad. [TN: in the Shahnama, the hero Rustam is killed by treachery by his half-brother Shaghad.]

A council was held right there on the steps, and a resolution passed that Maulvi Nazir Ahmad should be attacked under cover of Abdur Rahman. Now hear about Abdur Rahman too. His father's name was Sirajuddin, a most good and pious man. He had a shoe shop. Maulvi Nazir Ahmad always helped this shop with money and came every evening to sit there. Abdur Rahman was not my classmate, but we were very friendly. Maulvi Sahib cared a great deal about his education; it was because of him that Abdur Rahman passed the B.A. and LL.B. examinations, because of him that he rose in the legal profession, so much so that it is the result of Maulvi Sahib's interest alone that today there is no Muslim pleader in Delhi to match him. At that time he was studying for the F.A.

Anyway, the scheme was ready, and the very next day I began to work on Abdur Rahman. After a day or two I told him what we wanted. He said, "My dear chap, Maulvi Sahib has very little time; he may refuse." I said, "Abdur Rahman, my dear fellow, just get us to him, and if you can, put in a good word or two for us; after that it's up to us and our luck." He agreed and said, "Come to the shop at eight in the evening and I'll introduce you to Maulvi Sahib." What does a blind man want but two eyes?

At eight sharp we two arrived at Sirajuddin's shop. The shop was near the Fatehpuri mosque. We arrived to find Maulvi Sahib sitting doing some money accounts with Sirajuddin. As soon as we arrived we saluted him to the ground and sat silently at a corner of the divan. Sirajuddin asked after us; Abdur Rahman came and sat beside us; but Maulvi Sahib was so busy with the accounts of the rupees that he did not even see who came or went. I thought: here too the deal does not look like coming off; we shall have to leave here too with a rebuff. It is true that despair makes a man bold. What won't a dying man do? I made up my mind that today it would be one way or the other. Maulvi Ziauddin had got away safely, but with Maulvi Nazir Ahmad we would come to grips.

To cut a long story short, Maulvi Sahib finished his accounts and asked, "Who are these two gentlemen?" Abdur Rahman told him our names, gave some garbled account of our families, then mentioned our plight a little, and fell silent. I said in my heart: gamble on another's stake, and if you don't die today you'll die tomorrow. Leave Abdur Rahman be now; say whatever has to be said yourself, or there will be a formal retreat from here too, empty-handed. In a most pathetic tone I began to tell our misfortune. He said, "Then give up Arabic and study science. My boy, Muslims today have great need of science. We have a proverb: 'Study Persian and sell oil; see the games of fate.' With Persian you will at least sell oil; with Arabic you won't even know how to sell oil."

His humorous talk raised our spirits. We were men from under the Jama Masjid, after all; who could beat us at this sort of thing? We answered in the same lively words. Maulvi Sahib smiled at first, and then burst out laughing. Pointing at Dani he said, "This one seems very meek, but you are a great rascal. My boy, go and look for some other maulvi. Is there a famine of maulvis in Delhi? If I had the least time to spare, I would never refuse." I submitted, "Your honour's words are perfectly true; but those who are maulvis don't teach, and those who teach are not maulvis."

He said, "No, you'll find one or two who are maulvis and teach as well. Go to his honour Shams-ul-Ulama Maulvi Ziauddin Khan, LL.D." (he spoke these words with great sarcasm); "he has time, and he is learned too." I said, "And on top of that he is an examiner of the Punjab University." He did not understand what I meant. We were still smarting, so I told the incident of the Jama Masjid steps, with plenty of salt and pepper. He laughed a great deal and said, "Well, one ought to be afraid of you boys. If Ziauddin learnt that his praiseworthy qualities and admirable traits were being discussed like this at Sirajuddin's shop, take it from me, he would slap a suit on you. All right, I'll teach you; but you will run away."

From both our mouths together came: "No, never!" Maulvi Sahib said, "There will not be a single day's holiday." We said, "Very good." Maulvi Sahib said, "You will have to come even on Id and Baqrid." We said, "Very proper. At what time shall we present ourselves tomorrow?" Maulvi Sahib reckoned his time on his fingers for a while, then said, "At half past one in the afternoon." We said, "Very good." Since it had grown late with all this talk, Maulvi Sahib rose from the shop. We all saluted him, and he left saying "And upon you be peace."

I must say here that Sirajuddin, by agreeing with us from time to time, was a great help in reaching this decision. We two also rose happily and, with "Peace be upon you" and "And upon you be peace", left the shop. On the way Dani said, "Mirza, my friend, the old man has killed us. We'll leave college after lectures at eleven; walking from the Kashmiri Gate to Churiwalan it will be half past eleven by the time we get home. We won't have time to draw breath before we have to get ready to go to Maulvi Sahib's. Chawri Bazar to Khari Baoli, in the month of June! We'll get sunstroke on the way and kick the bucket!"

I said, "Dani, my friend, go along for a few days and see; perhaps Maulvi Sahib will take pity." But he was not to take pity to the end, and he did not. The joke is that in winter the lessons were fixed at half past six in the morning. But to be honest, it was only Maulvi Sahib's goodness that he agreed to teach us at all; the poor man had not a minute free, and the time he gave us he cut out of his own hours of rest.

For about two years we studied with him, and we never once complained of heat or cold, nor ever uttered a word about changing the time. Nor did we miss a single day in those two years.

So much so that Maulvi Sahib himself always used to say: "My boys, when you two come my heart is glad, because I find in you the smell of the true student. I know what is meant by education and how learning is acquired. Only my heart knows how I studied. If the boys of today had such misfortunes, they would run away from home. But" (looking at me) "master, I expect nothing of you; you only care about passing the B.A. Dani has a passion for it; he will make progress in Arabic. But you will stay as blank as ever, and God willing, in five or six years you will waste all my labour." By the grace of God this prophecy of his came true.

Before I speak of Maulvi Sahib's early education, I think it proper to draw a picture of his appearance, the state of his house, his way of living and his occupations, so that a true estimate of his character may be formed. But before I put this cinematograph film on, I beg pardon for my style, because in places my impudence will go beyond the bounds. Yet I assure all you gentle readers that if Maulvi Sahib had written his own biography he would have written it in this same colour, and if you had been in his company you too would have had to beg pardon like me when writing his life; otherwise your writing, instead of a biography of Maulvi Nazir Ahmad, would have become a collection of the dull doings of some dry-as-dust mullah. God knows that even now, as I write, I put the pencil down and a kind of rapture comes over me.