THE GATEKEEPER OF THE HEAVEN

     "Hello, Mansoor! I need two kilos of leg. No bones please."
     "Yeas, Saab!"
     "Haanji, Mansoor Mia! Can I get a kilo? From the breast only? No fibers please."
     "Ha, Saab!"
     "Hi, Mansoorji, how much is the liver? For one and half kilo?"
     "Haanji."
     "Mansoorbhai, Kemon, Achho? How are you? Half kilo mutton. From left thigh."
     "Yes, Sir! Giving . . ."

     Sunday morning. Overcrowded meat shop of Mansoor Khan at Park Circus Market. People of the locality throng at his shop for weekly quota of lamb meat for a good Sunday lunch to be enjoyed by the family. Large unskinned and headless bodies are displayed, waiting to be robbed of the flesh and bones by the people standing in the queue.
     At one p.m, the shop will have no such body in stock other than few pieces here and there, heads with dead eyes and the dry bloodstains.
     Mansoor is short and stout but fair complexioned person with glowing face. His milk white and well-pruned beard is displayed in pride but head is clean shaven covered under a white Faze Cap.
     He is the man of the show, wielding a sharp but heavy chopper in his hand, profusely sweating and with a constant welcome smile as he moves amongst the hanging lambs. But he does look to be more of a pious good old man of a sort of messiah than a merciless executioner.
     He offers each lamb its due freedom from all pain and suffering and each human its due freedom from all suffering of hunger and nutrition.
     His fast action of slicing the required portions by the shining blade in various directions is a treat to watch. He cuts, dresses, weighs and makes pieces to the need of the order. He does everything except packing and cash handling. Two young Muslim boys take care of those trifles.

     "What happens, Mansoor bhai! Why so late?"
     "Just a minute, Saa! Please wait!!"
     "How long will it take, Mansoor?"
     "Giving Sir! Now it is your turn."
     In the crowd of buyers, the face of Shyamlal surfaces. He sells fruits at the opposite pavement. He is his bosom friend and an old timer. Both are hailing from same rural area of Bihar.
     "Kya, Ho! Mia! (How are you, sir?) What a rush! It appears that today is your day." He laughs aloud.
     "Market is not that good, Shyambhai! What can we do? Allah ka marzi. (It is wish of Almighty.) We shall talk in the afternoon. OK?" He becomes busy with the customers.

     Even in those brisk moments, Mansoor tries to answer him whenever he feel that he can breathe comfortably. Both of them are good friends. They help each other by lending each other money, hearing personal problems and advising solutions. They have learnt their trade by trial and error over a large time but they are not competitors. They have all the closeness of mind, background, native place, food habits, and language. They agree except in one area - religion. They are divided on the issue of religion only. Mansoor is a pious Muslim, whereas Shyamlal is Hindu like thousands of people who come to the city for livelihood. They both confirm that religion is absolutely a personal affair, not a public one.

     Five p.m in the afternoon. The small shop with one small ceiling fan is hot in the sultry days of dog days. Mansoor wakes up from midday nap after trade and meal. He calls Shyamlal loudly to come to him from other part of the busy thoroughfare. Shyamlal came with two glasses of lemon tea. One glass he hands over to Mansoor Mian.
     "So, you have had a brisk business this morning. It seems that there is growth in demand of meat in spite of Doctor's advice to the people to switch over to Chicken." Shyamlal opines, sipping tea. Mansoor does not feel good to stick to the topic of his bread and butter. Rather, he asks, "You tell about yours, how this morning was! "Shyamlal smiles and says, "It was good! Season of Mango has come. Mangoes have grown well this year. Good supply." Mansoor retorts in false anger," Arrange one or two kilo for me, dear! Good ones. Perhaps, you've forgot me conveniently. Right?" Shyamlal laughs aloud." Kya baat bolta hai tu, yaar!!! (What you're telling, friend!!!) Tomorrow, two kilos of top grade will be procured from the fruit market of Burrabazar. It will be my gift of the season to you."
     Mansoor deliberately has pricked the friend for a cause. He comes closer and smiles apologetically," I only have made a joke. Okay!"
     Their light talk can not continue, as the time of Namaaz (prayer) in the evening is approaching. Mansoor asks for permission to get fresh. The meeting is adjourned, and Shyamlal leaves for closing his shop before setting for temple to participate in Sri Krishna Bhajan (Devotional songs) program. Both are engaged in prayer in the evening, and, at the end of prayer, they close their eyes and put prayer for their own and each other's well being. Most evenings in this far off place, they both move to their destinations - Mansoor to the mosque and Shyamlal to the temple to hear the religious preaching. They have cultivated this habit over the years, as both mutually understand that their time is running out, the candle of life is burning out to ensure the end is nearing fast. Future after life must have to be secured. For that, as the seniors used to say, "Religious preaching would create you suitable for the Heaven. Otherwise, going to hell is sure and final." This baffles them both. Two poor men. Two illiterate lives. Too much struggle to exist. Too much indignant lives of torture, labor and pain. To them, life has always been coarse and path of thorns, too hard to take on. Then they thought that if they were sent to hell by chance? That could be beyond tolerance.
     Too much worries of life even after death. It is funny to note that the hell, narrated by the pundits (priests) at the temple and moulanas (priests) at the mosques are all the same. Hell in both their religions is horribly shocking and fearful. Does it seem that life after death can be tougher than life itself? Shyamlal just shudders. A life of rest and luxury is a cherishing dream, which they can not afford in this ongoing life. So, both of them feel an urge of migrating to the heaven. And with zero education, they have no doubt that it will be more than justified if they are found suitable to work as gate keepers.
     The Gatekeepers of The Heaven. They do not deserve more than that. This is an interesting topic of discussion between Shyamlal and Mansoor on the selection. If a single vacancy exists, then whom would God finally select - Mansoor or Shyamlal?

     "Slaughtering animals is a sin. God can not allow a killer in his court to establish Satan's rule. Therefore, pal, your chance to get that berth is remote," says Shyamlal in funny gesture.
     Mansoor laughs, "Ha! Ha! Do you think that God is vegetarian? I am sure that he isn't. He can't be, as no strong person of the level of king of the planet can ever lead a life without good food, sex and luxury of life. Even, vegetable items have life. Moreover, he always takes up any matter judiciously. A killer may do such acts under compulsion. He would understand. In fact, I never killed an ant in life, but I do kill lambs to sell. More than one thousand kilos I have sold to lead my livelihood. One thing, you know, Shyamlal? I did not have taste of mutton for the last forty years. Allah Meherbaan! (God is kind!) He must realize truth streaming out of genuine mind. But what about you, friend? You do not deal in animal flesh but love to have it for your lunch sometimes. Right?"
     "Your explanation can not reduce the repulsion of Bhagwaan! (God) I can tell you this. But about me, don't you think that gatekeepers of heaven need to take good food to be very hardy to do such a strenuous job? How can my taking lamb meat be an issue, when I have no attachment with their killing?" retorts Shyamlal.
     So, the conclusion can not be drawn and the argument continues as meat of lamb is believed by both to be a favorite by two extreme class - God and His gatekeeper, but not their killing.

     Alam, Mansoor's nephew, arrives in the next morning from Aligarh for getting admission in the university for post graduate studies. He is a well-informed young man of twenty-five. He is a graduate with sharp analytical power. Mansoor meets him and is surprised to know that he starts the morning reading an Urdu newspaper while sipping tea. Need of a newspaper to Mansoor can not be other than for packing meat after sale. Alam turns out to be a man of wide knowledge and reading.
     He has no interest in the meat trade but carries interest in religious - political discussion, pointing out the plight of the Muslim in India. Precisely, he is more concerned for Muslims than for all human beings as a whole. This attitude is not very clear to Mansoor.
     One day when Alam enters from outside, Mansoor asks him, "Son, can you solve a problem? You know me and Shyamlal happen to be very good old friends. We came from our native village fifty years ago to this city of palaces and mansions when we were too young and struggled a lot to get our foothold. Now, at this old age, we often think of our life after death. Both of us want to reach heaven to work as gatekeepers of heaven, work we think we are fit for. My worry is that in case one vacancy exists, what will be the parameter of the Almighty to chose one from the two contenders. Both of us want to know who deserves? Is it me or Shyamlal? Who? We have a hot debate between ourselves on this."
     "Chacha! What is your problem? You can neither work under hindu God. No way. Nor Shyamlal chacha can work under Allah. Both are out of question. The ways both of you offer prayers are apparently the same but are contradictory in the eye of religion. The same way that one vegetarian can not sit with a non-vegetarian at the same row side by side for meals the posibility of contending for one post at one place is simply ridiculous, be it heaven or hell. Got it? By the way, don't try to tell it to anybody, Imam saheb will feel offended." Alam is laughing at Mansoor.
     "I'm illiterate man. I'm a hoax also. Shyamlal used to say that I am not fit for heaven as I am professionally a Jahlad (Killer). And you know, your uncle has never committed crime or killed an ant intentionally." The old man suddenly shrank as a balloon out of air. Then he has burst out in cry "Come, whatever may, I have to go to behest (heaven) by all means. I shall try. But one thing is not clear. If me and Shyamlal can lead a friendship of more than fifty years in this life of trying times on earth full of temples and mosques, then why are we are restricted in reaching one heaven for which you have cited the example of sitting of non-vegetarian and vegetarian?"
     Alam does not have an answer but just a lot of explanation and argument - which fly up in the air over the head of Mansoor. Alam reacts in sharper tune, "Chahcu! you are talking like anti -Islam. What has happened to you?" The old man leaves the place shaking the head confusedly, in sheer grief and utter disgust.
     From next day onwards, Mansoor Mian gradually becomes ill and much older, till he stops speaking and takes on bed all the time. The face has grown full of scratches with crow's paws at the side of his cheerful eyes. The meat shop is finally given on sub-lease by his nephew, when no one else can take care of the running of the business of meat selling. The operation has changed without the change noted in the tilted signboard of the shop. But the news spread in the locality. And the customers lose confidence and change their options, till the Sundays become less crowded, the steely chopper loses its shine to rule the world of lambs, who survive in greater number than before.
     Shyamlal is the only visitor he speaks to. Like ever before, they sip small glasses of roadside lemon tea, chat and tease each other on the same old subject - the gatekeeper of the heaven. And both of them realize that they are too good company. Mansoor Mian has decided in his mind that Shyamlal is his life.
     So, why should he miss this earthly pleasure for that heavenly ones? He has also made up his mind that in the worst possible case, he is ready to even give up the idea of going to heaven but never to lose Shyamlal.
     Mansoor smiles secretly, to himself only, because he cannot and knows he should not say this on his face point blank.

Partha Pratim Majumder

You may e-mail Partha at pratim_in@yahoo.com>