Noor-Un-Nisa by Ku.Pa.Raja Gopalan

This is an English translation of “நூருன்னிசா”, a Tamil short story written by Ku.Pa. Raja Gopalan. Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam.

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Noor-Un-Nisa by Ku.Pa.Raja Gopalan

This is an English translation of “நூருன்னிசா”, a Tamil short story written by Ku.Pa. Raja Gopalan. Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam.

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    It must be about one week since I was released from the jail. One day, in the morning, I was deeply contemplating reclining on a chair as to which of the lands the flood of my soul would flow into. I didn’t see any task that I could efficiently undertake. There was a lull in the National Movement, and the Congress party’s efforts to rebuild the country were in disarray.

The postman gave me a thick bundle of newspapers along with a cover. I opened the cover and read it, brooding over who, on this earth, could have written this lonely soul a letter. The letter written in English read as follows.

Madras Qulam Khader Khan, M.A., Pro. Deputy Collector.

My dear friend,

I don’t dare think you had forgotten me. As I don’t know where you are living, I haven’t been able to write you letters for these many years. But now, the person who is behind this letter and our probable meetings in the future after this is none other than my sister Noor-Un-Nisa.

She used to play with us during our school days. Do you remember it? She incidentally came across your name in a magazine published on the tenth and showed it to me. She could identify that it was you, as she could keep as simple things as your initials in her memory for long. I sent a ‘Demi-official’ telegram to Vellore as she had suggested seeking the address of your residence. I just received the reply today. Do you remember the childish pledge we undertook at the age of twelve while studying in Trichy that we both would never get married without informing each other? This letter now intends to fulfill that pledge. My marriage is taking place in Chennai. I am sending the invitation along with this letter. You must attend my marriage.

With love,

Qulam Khader.

This letter at once got me rid of the darkness of my mind like a lightning. I had been growing very anxious at the face of a woman that appeared very frequently in my mind, which got me love-struck all through these past ten years of my aimless roaming as a vagabond and six months of imprisonment for participating in the Salt-Disobedience movement. It was the face of Noor-Un-Nisa. The innocent face of a girl with the headscarf. Two naughty, complaining eyes in that face floating between eyelids wearing eyeliners. The teeth line resembles jasmine buds amidst the rose flowers, slightly visible as if biting the lower lip a little. It was her face that had dwelled in my mind, got me love-struck like an enchantress. Would she also feel the way I had felt? If not, she couldn’t have been instrumental behind this letter. Right? It seemed that she had called me out by my name from the crowd in which I was roaming incognito. It was an interesting story how the friendship between Qulam Khader and me had started. My father got me admitted into third grade in a middle school in Trichy when I was ten years old. Qulam was my ‘neighbour’ in the class. He was a young boy with some feminine appeal. One day he copied it and wrote it down on his slate while I was doing math on my slate. His secret act became open when his slate reflected the very mistake I made in my slate. The teacher found me guilty, thinking that it was I who copied from his slate, and caned me. Qulam called me out, snapping his hands, while going back home that evening.

“Why didn’t you betray me?” he asked. I didn’t reply.

I wasn’t sure what he thought of after that; he asked me to board his car to go to his house. “I’ll leave you back home,” he said. We got into his car. My long desire of travelling in a car had thus been fulfilled. In fifteen minutes the car stopped in front of a palatial bungalow in Thennur. Gyasuddin Saheb was a big businessman. It was said that he was a descendant of Arcot Nawabs. We saw him sitting, leaning over velvet pillows in the front hall of the house. A hookah pipe and a big vessel were placed before him. Big-sized mirrors and portraits of various Mughal kings were decking all over the walls. A thick fragrance of incense sticks planted in a peacock-shaped marble holder was wafting through the air. Velvety carpets were spread on the floor. Qulam jumped off the car and went to him running and told something into his ears. That man gestured to me when I was standing nearly stunned watching everything around me and said, “Come here.”.

When I happened to meet Moulana Shougat Ali later in my life, I would invariably remember this man. Qulam almost dragged me to him. The man called out to his wife as he fondly stroked my back. His wife, along with their two daughters, appeared from inside. I could very well say even now without betraying my memory that she must be about thirty years old. Tall and very beautiful lady. The sound that came out of her anklets was rhythmic and regal for every step she walked steadily. The elder daughter, Alima, was short and stocky. The younger daughter, Noor-Un-Nisa, resembled Qulam. She must be eight years old. Don’t ask me whether I had the ability to pen down everything this elaborately at that age. Definitely I didn’t have. What I am writing now is what all had got registered in my heart like photographs. The image of Noor-Un-Nisa stands tall as an indelible painting drawn in my heart.

When I saw her first that day, she was wearing a green skirt shining with embroidery, a light-shaded yellow jacket, and a rose silk Thavani. She didn’t wear anklets, sandals, bangles on her wrist, and rings on her fingers. She had chiselled earlobes unlike protruding ones found among the Muslims in Karnataka. Her face is still carved in my heart. Her long eyebrows and lock of hair were found pitch dark. She had tied her hair without plaiting it, and it added to her beauty. Her complexion did seem to have no comparison. Her eyes—words were insufficient to explain exactly how they looked. Were they looking like lotus? Or resembled fishes?—We could try explaining it with the mortal words of an amateur poet, if at all we wished to do it. Gyasuddin whispered something to his wife. She glanced at me for a second and told something to Alima. Alima went in and brought a bag full of apples, oranges, and pomegranates. I would never be able to forget the eyes of Qulam’s mother, brimming with love when she gave me that bag of fruits. She stroked my cheeks with the fondness of a mother.

Qulam led me to the car; we boarded it. While leaving, I turned and looked at the doorway. Noor-Un-Nisa was looking at my face, biting the end of her scarf. The moment she looked into my eyes, she ran into the house. I and Qulam became thick friends since that day; we played together, gossiped together, and fantasised about life building forts in the open sky. I spent most of my time in Qulam’s house. Noor-Un-Nisa used to be there when I was present, keenly listening to our chatters. She would also play with us. Closing my eyes with her palms from behind seemed to be giving her immense happiness. I would also feel something inexplicable when she did like that. Her hands were as soft as rose petals. When she laughed cheerfully, taking her hands off my eyes, I found dimples on both her cheeks. My heart would be filled with an unfathomable happiness, something beyond explaining in words. We had spent such wonderful days together till we reached fourth grade.

All of a sudden, my father was transferred out of Trichy, and I lost contact with Qulam. How would I explain my happiness at receiving this letter that had come to me after twelve years? I boarded the train the next night for Chennai.

Qulam, sitting with me in that big bungalow full of his relatives and guests, was eagerly talking about our olden days. A music concert by one Mohammed Kasim, a singer of some repute, was going on. Roses everywhere. Everyone in the house was offered attar and rose water as copious as water. Qulam led me to a room upstairs. We were chit-chatting for a long time. Qulam’s mother came there searching for him. On seeing me, she pulled her face inward and covered it.

“Amma, do you know who he is? He is our…”Qulam didn’t complete his sentence. “Yes. I remember. How are you, Thambi? She came forward as she fondly inquired.

“I am good, Amma.”

“Where are you now?”

“I am in Trichy now.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

I felt someone looking young was standing behind her, like a shadow, as I was speaking with her. A minute-long yearning came over. It should be Noor-Un-Nisa. Would she appear in front of me now? The next moment, I thought it was impossible. How would it be possible? She was a woman wearing purdah. Other than the petty reference in the letter Qulam had written, I didn’t mention anything about her while speaking. I was hesitant even to ask about her. Only after I was securely sure of not getting an opportunity to meet her did I grow comfortable with Qulam as usual while chatting. Qulam left me at about ten for bed. They had allotted me a separate room. I was rolling on the bed in the loneliness of that lonely room. As I couldn’t bear the electric light, I switched it off and kept the window doors open. The moon was throwing its cool light into my room through the window. Sitting on the bed, I was thinking of almost everything unthinkable in my mind. Wasn’t she roaming other parts of this house that time? Would she be aware of what my heart is feeling now? Impossible.

The desire of a flower comes out as its fragrance and hits one’s feelings. How would the waves of my longingness hit the shores of her heart? Impossible anyway. Why did she then bring me here using her brother as a tool in that letter? Has she fallen in love with me? …How would I ask her this? My guileless heart was tremendously troubled, like a roaring ocean with pounding questions after questions. It was midnight; I didn’t feel sleepy. The bustle of the city settled down. I could hear only the howls of the waves afar that came floating in the air. Suddenly I felt an unusual desire explode in my heart. Would it be possible for Noor-Un-Nisa to come at this hour to meet me? Or is she waiting for me to meet her at some unknown place?’ I thought.

I heard a sound of soft footsteps. Yes. It was Noor-Un-Nisa. She came near and stood by the other side of the window. The same image of hers, with a little difference in her toned build for her age. I could see her face clearly under the moonlight. Unable to assess my words as to what I spoke, I just mumbled, “Things happened as we feared. Didn’t it?”. She gestured to me, closing her mouth with her one finger.

She took out a cover that she held along her chest. “Read this letter only after going home. Leave this place in the morning itself. We have met and seen each other. That is it. No more delay even by a minute, she said, turning after a couple of steps. I noticed drops of sweat on her beautiful face; it might be due to pressing anxiety. I jumped a leap and grasped her hands, and we stood there looking at each other for some time. She released her hands off my clutch very softly and left.

Qulam’s face hung as he saw me getting ready the next morning.

“Any problem?” he asked.

“I think a day is enough for now. We can meet some other day. I have some urgent work,” I told him. In a short span of half an hour, I went out of the bungalow. On the banks of the River Cauvery, sitting in my room by the window, I was again watching the same full moon through the window—but as a totally changed man now!

I read Noor-Un-Nisa’s letter again and again. It read as follows:

“You can keep this letter with you, treating it either as my words or my existence in you. I am still unable to come out of the love I felt for you when we played together in Trichy. It might be because I feel that your image still stands in my heart as a statue. I am just dreaming that I have been playing with you all along with a never-dying youthfulness. My desire to meet you again in this birth has also been fulfilled. I am just going to spend my remaining days the way Jebunnisa, the sister of Emperor Aurangzeb, spent her days. It is very satisfying to hear your words you spoke to my mother that you are still unmarried. If you could live your remaining days without getting involved with any other woman, having your heart aligned with mine, I would be able to live in this world without being worn out. You don’t have to write me a reply affirming this commitment. I strongly believe that you would do it. It is the very basis of my life. I am always thinking about you, fully unmindful of what I am. We aren’t living as husband and wife in this world. We don’t need sexual gratification either. Let us not defile the full moon of ecstasy that blossoms in the sky of our sweet thoughts. I hope I sound right. Don’t I?”

Yours

Noor-Un-Nisa.

I felt Noor-Un-Nisa had come in person in the moonlight and solemnly sought my words of pledge. I have been roaming in all possible mundane ways as ordered by my dearest enchantress. She just appears in front of me like a golden damsel the moment I think of her, encourages me in all the tasks I do, and pacifies me with her soothing appearance in my mind when I am down with anxiety.

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