Positive Chronicles - Saint of the gutters
by Shrikant Rao
At ten in morning, Pila House is as busy as it is at any given time of the day. In this narrow nightmare of a street, handcarts, water tankers, taxis, double-decker buses, urchins, pimps, junkies and gauche looking men, begin their slow crawl past the horrendous
cages and the painted faces. Maula, the 60-something dervish in his trademark discoloured lungi and a black bandana, however, is entirely at ease in this setting as he exchanges
pleasantries with a madam with paan-stained teeth who is supervising cleaning operations.
It is washing day. The dim
lit cages are being cleaned, the
floors scrubbed and washed
and the girls empty the soapy
contents on to the street.
The sage, who narrowly escapes a jet of dirty water, breaks into
expletives. There is a titter among
the girls. Madam glares at the girls
and extracts a five-rupee note
from within her blouse and profers
it with “Baba maaf karna hai!”
Maula, now adequately mollified,
tucks the note away in
the folds of his lungi and makes
small talk. “Is everything fine?”
he enquires of no one in particular,
the lilt in his Urdu of southern
provenance. “Sub jhakaas hai
(everything is fine) baba,” parrots
the hyperactive beauty in the
next cage in local street lingo, first
wiggling her bottom and then performing
that ultimate dare – the
Indian eunuch’s version of the
Mexican wave which can strike
terror in the most hardened of
souls. In the midst of this high
voltage performance, two youngsters
perched in the window of
a rundown building on the opposite
side of the street train their
plastic binoculars.
It does not require much
imagination to determine what
they are hoping to discover at the
other end of the toy. Clearly, the
boys are in no mood to sound
retreat as the local bombshell
s t r ikes poses . Whi s t les and
catcalls follow. “Baba, see Mallika
Sherawat!” If the mendicant
appears shocked, he is not showing
it. Over the years that Maula has
been doing the rounds of the area,
he has become inured to the antics
of its inhabitants. Moreover, if
some of them do appear to be
having fun at his expense it is
not intended as disrespect, he
maintains. Who doesn’t respect an
emissary of God? A little mischief
here and there can sometimes help
lighten the load in their heart and
minds. “I understand and pray
for them,” says the begging saint
displaying a remarkable capacity
for psychology.
To the sex workers of Mumbai’s
red light zone, Maula is simply one
of the many holy men who bring
good luck – to be read as good
business, and they are not averse
to passing on a part of their earnings
to him. Maula for his part relishes
the attention and the money
that he gets during his daily perambulations
across the street. He
will not tell you though how much
he makes in a day. “Police and tax
people are not to be trusted,” he
says with a pragmatism that can
only be admired. If Baba is different
from others of his ilk, it
is mainly because he has a definite
purpose in life. He sincerely
believes that the Most Merciful
has chosen him to minister to the
spiritual needs of the dregs of society.
He says that he did not take to
begging to sustain himself, but in
order to support his family back
home in the south. There are even
whispers that he did all this to see
a son through engineering college.
However, we will never know – the
begging saint dislikes discussing
personal matters.
Aeons ago, we are told, when
he landed in the city, Maula
tried his hand at odd jobs but
gave up when he discovered
that he had spiritual leanings.
In later years, he realised that
idle spirituality did not bring in
the bucks, and that it would only
allow people depending on him
a Barmecide Feast. That is when
he became a baba and embraced the bowl. It has not been an
asy trek to sainthood for Maula,
who claims to have encountered
tough times.
“I have often gone hungry for
days. I was harassed by the police
for bribes, and by jealous beggars,
who could not bear to see food
and money coming my way. Very
often, I ended up being robbed
of whatever little belongings I
had. It was all Allah’s will and he
gave me the strength to surmount
all my problems.” It was this
experience, which made him an
epitome of thrift.
When Maula is not on the move,
which is rare, he lives outside a
public toilet, often helping friends
with his hard-earned money, but
with the proviso that it is returned
to him. Like a good Muslim,
he does not charge interest.
And though he is known to pinch
pennies in order to sustain his
family – it is said that he dispatches
most of the money he collects
to his family through his network
of beggar friends – he is also generous
when it comes to treating
a guest, in this case yours truly.
“There is after all something called hospitality. Money is very
important but more important is
our duty to the Most Merciful,”
he says, as he offers to pay for a
cup of tea. The waiter at Zulfikar,
the eatery that Maula frequents,
s e ems to acqui e s c e r eadi l y
with that philosophy. He will
not accept your offer to pay
the bill. And, “Baba’s word is
final,” says it all.
If Maula inspires respect among
his tribe, it is mainly because of
his caring nature. Forever on the
move, he is known to share his
meal with those who are infirm,
visit sick peers and act as a counsellor
for those who have fallen
on evil ways. A young beggar high
on cocaine gets a severe tonguelashing
from the mendicant, and
looks sheepish. He next proceeds
to hold both his ears in a manner
suggesting repentance and
promises to stay free of drugs.
Baba though looks thoroughly
unconvinced, “What will
you tell Allah on the Day of
Judgment?” – the poser does
seem to suggest that he takes
his self-appointed role as God’s
representative quite seriously.
Characteristically the beggars
lined up outside the restaurant
break into laughter at his ministrations.
“Baba let’s go to eat,”
they say breaking into a chorus.
Maula pauses for a while and then
shakes his head despondently,
“No one understands me.”
But very soon, this seriousness
gives way to cheer – as food
provides the diversion. The saint
will now retire to a spot outside
a nearby restaurant where he will
join the double row of squatting
beggars for leftover food. “The
food there is very good,” says the
mendicant with a grin, indicating
that he is not entirely averse
to the simple pleasures of life.
“If it is mutton it has got to be
Mohammed Ali Road,” he adds
with a conviction that can only
come from years of gourmet living.
Soon enough the altruistic
side of Maula comes to the fore.
After collecting the afternoon’s
goodies from the restaurant, much
of the fare is handed over to a stray
dog prospecting for food.
As he says, “It’s all Allah’s will.”
See more articles on Positive Chronicles at: http://www.lifepositive.com/articles/PositiveChronicles
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