The bazaar was just coming to life, earlier than usual on the accord of Ramzan.....
It was eight in the morning and the busy lane of Kazimbazaar was beginning to fill up with early risers who came there mainly to 'socialize'....
Ruqsana came trotting towards Hakim chacha's shop, balancing the right strap of her bag on her right shoulder and the edge of her hijab by her left hand.
On approaching the shop, she enquired about Nusrat and Hakim chacha called for her in his usual high-pitched voice, exposing his red, decayed teeth, probably from the over-consumption of paan.
Nusrat joined Ruqsana sometime later, bangles clinking against each other around her chubby wrists.
They both walked hand-in-hand swaying slightly in a rhythmic way.
The whole bazaar road was dotted with a wide range of colourful shops, selling commodities ranging from colourful dupattas to shorba kabaab, typical of the various Muslim ghettos in the vicinity....
Their school was a ten minutes walk from the bazaar road; a large banyan tree in the vicinity of the Masjid complex was what they referred to as their school.
The Quazi sahib used to preach them the Quran Sharif and the interpretation of various Fatwas that were issued....
They both were really excited. The Ramzan was to end that day and the festival of Id-ul-fitr was the day after which meant a day off from the school and a full time to enjoy the Eid mela!
They passed from the Ghat....
Everything was just as it always used to be except from the fact that sitting on the lower steps of the Ghat was an old man, his face hardly visible under the veil of his matted hair and he was sitting in a yoga position, probably meditating, with a saffron drape covering his body.
The girls got curious.
Ruqsana had never encountered such a man before. He seemed to be lost in his own world, quite immune to the mumbling and grumbling going on around him.
She took a step or two in his direction, trying to examine him more closely.
Her first reaction was the one of dread as the man actually quite frightening in a way, with ash spread on his forehead but slowly that feeling of dread subdued and curiosity crept up in its place.
"Who is he?" Ruqsana mumbled mostly to herself but her voice trailed a longer distance and Rampyari, who was Kanhaiyalal's daughter, and was at that time helping her father in arranging the marigold flowers into garlands to be sold at the Ghat, probably heard her as she replied at once with a childish lisp-
"He's a Sanyasi. He came here in the morning in a boat.....I saw many such Sanyasis when I went to Haridwar with babuji."
She said and went then went about with her own business.
"Come Ruqsana, we're getting late for school." Nusrat said.
"Oh!" Ruqsana mumbled the response in a quiet voice, not loud enough for Rampyari to hear and went on gazing at the Sanyasi, with extreme concentration and curiosity.
Nusrat broke into her reverie and pulling her by her hand, paced swiftly towards the school. The hours at school went by. Ruqsana was too absorbed in her own thoughts to actually focus at what was being taught.
Her mind was still at the Ghat, observing the Sanyasi with its eyes. A curious mind doesn't stop but wonders......
So she too wondered about the life of the Sanyasi, what exactly he was doing here, what kind of life he had led and why it was that he dressed so peculiarly........
When she reached her home that evening, she was still thinking about the same thing.
Her mother, oblivious of the fact, reminded her to get ready for the namaz and Ruqsana followed the instructions with the realization that this was the last namaz of the month of Ramzan and that tomorrow was the day that she and all her friends waited for whole year round....
