The Autobiography of Aslam Sher Khan
By Matin Khan, Allied Publishers, 1982
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Marriage and Family |
I placed my son, who was my father's heritage, alongside his grave. I hoped that my dead father would derive comfort from his living roots, and that his grandson would draw strength from my dead father. I bent down, and tied the taveez my father gave me around my son's neck. Picking him up in my arms, I walked out of the graveyard into the world. |
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was very concerned at my defeat in the elections, and my loss of face in Bhopal.
"I think it is time you got married," she said. "God has helped
me fulfill your father's wish. It is time you fulfilled mine. I'd like to see
your child before I die."
The search for a wife started. I was looking for companionship and comfort. Amma felt that the girl should be tall and well-built, and should have a wide pelvic to bear strong children.
We eventually found the girl in far away London, a Muslim girl who hardly understood the language of her Indian father. Since language did not help us communicate, we allowed sight, smell and touch to replace it.
In a way, I was happy that Rehana and Amma did not understand each other's language. Rehana's liberal, Western education would have found it difficult to understand the saas-bahu syndrome in India.
My mother-in-law, who I called Mama, arrived from London during the last days of my wife's pregnancy. My son was born on August 17, 1982, and I was ecstatic that my dead father had found his roots in my new-born. We named the boy Akram Sher Khan.
We decided to have the aqeeqa ceremony of my son in Bhopal. We took the Grand Trunk Express to Bhopal - Amma, Rehana, my son and I. As I watched my little child lay next to Amma, I promised myself that I would never let him become a hockey player.
The aqeeqa ceremony among Muslims is similar to the mundan ceremony among Hindus. The new-born child's head is shaved invoking the name of God, and the child is given a name.
Relatives and friends who had gathered for the ceremony started leaving only towards the evening. Menfolk kept hollering for their wives, who in spite of having spent the whole day together, stood by the door talking even more.
After they left, Amma started preparations for her prayers. Rehana was busy talking to my sisters about her life in London. I took the child in my arms and stepped out of the house. I hailed a taxi which took me to Saifia College. From there I walked to the adjacent graveyard where my father lay buried.
I was not allowed to go to my father's graveyard when he died, as I was considered too young to see a burial. Children other than his own had lowered him to his grave, while I sobbed my heart out onto a pillow at home.
The world, including Rehana and Amma would have considered it stupid and insane of me to take my child to a graveyard. But I was taking my son back to his roots. I placed my son, who was my father's heritage, alongside his grave. I hoped that my dead father would derive comfort from his living roots, and that his grandson would draw strength from my dead father.
I wanted my son to be unconquered in spirit, one who would embrace a cause and be prepared to go even to hell for it. Like me, his father, who embraced the cause of hockey, and went right up to hell for hockey.
I bent down, and tied the taveez my father gave me around my son's neck. Picking him up in my arms, I walked out of the graveyard into the world.
With Rehana and Akram