A tapestry of emotions

Man Booker Award-winning author Arundhati Roy pens her second novel after 20 years - ‘The Ministry of Utmost Happiness’. The most awaited book is a compelling narrative of different economic, cultural and religious practices across India

She sat in a corner with her baby asleep on her lap, watching people, Muslim as well as Hindu, come in ones and twos, and tie red threads, red bangles and chits of paper to the grille around the tomb, beseeching Sarmad to bless them…

…This is my son, Aftab, she whispered to Hazrat Sarmad. I’ve brought him here to you. Look after him. And teach me how to love him.

Hazrat Sarmad did.
For the first few years of Aftab’s life, Jahanara Begum’s secret remained safe. While she waited for his girl-part to heal, she kept him close and was fiercely protective of him. Even after her younger son, Saqib, was born she would not allow Aftab to stray very far from her on his own… When Aftab was five he began to attend the Urdu–Hindi madrassa for boys in Chooriwali Gali.

Within a year he could recite a good part of the Quran in Arabic, although it wasn’t clear how much of it he understood – that was true of all the other children too… Aftab had a sweet, true singing voice and could pick up a tune after hearing it just once.

His parents decided to send him to Ustad Hameed Khan, an outstanding young musician who taught Hindustani classical music to groups of children in his cramped quarters in Chandni Mahal. Little Aftab never missed a single class.

By the time he was nine he could sing a good twenty minutes of bada khayal in Raag Yaman, Durga and Bhairav and make his voice skim shyly off the flat rekhab in Raag Pooriya Dhanashree like a stone skipping over the surface of a lake.

He could sing Chaiti and Thumri with the accomplishment and poise of a Lucknow courtesan. At first people were amused and even encouraging, but soon the snickering and teasing from other children began: He’s a She. He’s not a He or a She. He’s a He and a She.

She- He, He- She Hee! Hee! Hee! When the teasing became unbearable Aftab stopped going to his music classes. But Ustad Hameed, who doted on him, offered to teach him separately, on his own. So the music classes continued, but Aftab refused to go to school any more.

By then Jahanara Begum’s hopes had more or less faded. There was no sign of healing anywhere on the horizon. She had managed to put off his circumcision for some years with a series of inventive excuses.

But young Saqib was waiting in line for his, and she knew she had run out of time. Eventually she did what she had to. She mustered her courage and told her husband, breaking down and weeping with grief as well as relief that she finally had someone else to share her nightmare with.

Her husband, Mulaqat Ali, was a hakim, a doctor of herbal medicine, and a lover of Urdu and Persian poetry…

…When Jahanara Begum told him about Aftab, perhaps for the first time in his life Mulaqat Ali had no suitable couplet for the occasion. It took him a while to get over the initial shock. When he did, he scolded his wife for not having told him earlier. Times had changed, he said.

This was the Modern Era. He was sure that there was a simple medical solution to their son’s problem. They would find a doctor in New Delhi, far away from the whisper and gossip that went on in the mohallas of the old city…

A week later, dressed in their best clothes, with an unhappy Aftab fitted out in a manly steel-grey Pathan suit… The ostensible purpose of their day out was that they were going to inspect a prospective bride for their nephew Aijaz – the youngest son of Mulaqat Ali’s older brother, Qasim…The real reason was that they had an appointment with a Dr Ghulam Nabi, who called himself a ‘sexologist’.

Dr Nabi prided himself on being a straight-talking man of precise and scientific temper. After examining Aftab he said he was not, medically speaking, a Hijra – a female trapped in a male body – although for practical purposes that word could be used.

Aftab, he said, was a rare example of a Hermaphrodite, with both male and female characteristics, though outwardly, the male characteristics appeared to be more dominant. He said he could recommend a surgeon who would seal the girl-part, sew it up.

He could prescribe some pills too. But, he said, the problem was not merely superficial. While treatment would surely help, there would be ‘Hijra tendencies’ that were unlikely to ever go away. He could not guarantee complete success.

Mulaqat Ali, prepared to grasp at straws, was elated. ‘Tendencies?’ he said. ‘Tendencies are no problem. Everybody has some tendency or the other . . . tendencies can always be managed.’

Even though the visit to Dr Nabi did not provide an immediate solution to what Mulaqat Ali saw as Aftab’s affliction, it benefited Mulaqat Ali a great deal…

…He was now able to convert his anguish into a practical problem and to turn his attention and his energies to something he understood well: How to raise enough money for the surgery?

He cut down on household expenses and drew up lists of people and relatives from whom he could borrow money. Simultaneously, he embarked on the cultural project of inculcating manliness in Aftab. He passed on to him his love of poetry and discouraged the singing of Thumri and Chaiti.

He stayed up late into the night, telling Aftab stories about their warrior ancestors and their valour on the battlefield. They left Aftab unmoved.

But when he heard the story of how Temujin – Changez Khan – won the hand of his beautiful wife, Borte Khatun, how she was kidnapped by a rival tribe and how Temujin fought a whole army virtually single-handedly to get her back because he loved her so much, Aftab found himself wanting to be her…

Extracted with permission from Penguin Random House