In a village situated on the banks of the Indus, the “Abaseine,” or
Father of Rivers as it is called, there dwelt many years ago, an Imam,
or “Mullah,” a President of the Mosque, who had come to be much
respected by the people for the constant and regular manner in which he
officiated, and walked closely in the ways of the Prophet. In his time
many used to go to Mosque who never went before. This Imam had his fees
of course, for the performance of Nikahs, or marriages, and other rites
of the Mahomedan faith, some of which he bestowed on the sick and poor.
On festival days, besides an increase of fees, he generally received
clothes and other articles from the faithful, so that in point of fact
he made a rich harvest.
Towards the latter end of his days, however, this Imam contracted habits
of stinginess, yet he never failed to preach liberality to others, and
above all, the giving of alms to the sick and poor.
[Illustration: THE MISERLY MOSLEM PRIEST AND HIS WIFE.]
He would tell the faithful, “You must always give what you can, and if
you have no money, give them of the food you prepare for yourselves, and
ever remember” he said, “that those who do this the most exactly will
obtain the best blessings, and if you give them dishes of a savoury
nature, so much the greater merit, and so much the better for you.”
This Imam had but one wife, devoted to his interests in every way, and
with the strongest belief in her husband’s sanctity and sincerity, and
she looked up to him as her spiritual guide and teacher.
She had noticed for some time, however, how niggardly he was becoming,
and her neighbours had also remarked this to her, “But,” they said, “he
never ceases to preach to us to give dainty dishes to the poor.”
All this distressed the wife, so she made up her mind that she would try
one day to hear what the Imam actually did preach to the people.
Now, the Mosque was situated on the road-side, and there was an open
window to that side, and as his wife knew that she could not be admitted
to the Mosque, she made up her mind to listen at the window.
One day when she got there quite unperceived, she saw the Imam with his
face toward Mecca, and he was telling the people just as the neighbours
had told her, viz., “That whatever you do, give alms to the poor, and
nice dishes when you can, for this will bring you a blessing at the
last.”
When she heard this she said to herself, “If this is so, and I believe
it, I make a vow from this day forward to send nice dishes to the poor,
for I am not going to be behind others in this duty.” Whereupon she at
once prepared and cooked daily such dishes as she could, and then sent
them to the poor living round about her; and sometimes she would spend a
good deal of money in the purchases she made for the cooking of “Pulāo”
and “Parātha” (sweet pudding and cake).
This she had continued to do for some time, when one day her husband
returned from the Mosque a little earlier than usual, and she was
herself a little late, and coming into the house and seeing the dishes
ready and on a tray, he thought that they had been sent as a gift.
Opening the covers he exclaimed, “Oh! Mother of Mahomed! we are indeed
in luck’s way. Who, in the name of fortune, can be the blessed of the
faithful who has sent us such a savoury meal? Why! here is Pulāo! and
cakes! and I do not know what beside! What a delicious feast!”
“No one, sir,” replied the wife, “has sent this, but I have prepared it
for the poor!”
“What!” said he, “of our money? And what have you spent, pray?” He
became very angry, and she could only wait till he was quiet; then she
said, “Did you not preach to the people, and I dare say do so still,
that those who give dainty dishes to the poor shall be blessed
hereafter? Did you not say that prayer carries us halfway to Allah,
fasting to His palace gates; but only alms-giving gets us in? Yes, I
have heard you say so myself!” He replied, “You wretched woman, how and
when did you hear this? And if you did hear it, my advice was for
others, not for ourselves; I never meant that we were to send to others,
but that others were to send to us, and you must stop this waste at
once; do you hear me?” “Yes, I hear you, but I cannot stop it now, for I
have made a solemn promise and vow that I will continue this to my dying
day. You have said, and I always believe what you say, that the best
blessings attend those who give dainty dishes to the poor; and you don’t
want me to be blessed, eh?”
The Imam then said, “If you go on in this way, and spend my money, I
shall be ill.” And sure enough, he did not rise the next morning in time
to go to the Mosque, a duty he had not failed in for years. His wife
went to rouse him, but he would not get up. At last she said, “All the
people will be waiting for you.” “I cannot help that,” he replied, “but
if you will break your wicked vow, I will at once get up and go to the
Mosque.” “No,” she said, “I have already told you I will on no account
break my vow, and all your talking will never shake my purpose,” “Well,
then,” said the Imam, “I shall certainly take to my bed and die.” “Then
die you must,” said she, “but remember that if you do not go to the
Mosque, they will put in some other man instead of you, and you will be
the loser.”
This, however, had no effect upon him, and when she went again to see
him he once more asked her to break her vow, and she as steadily
refused. She then left him for the night, and the next morning when she
went to see him he was to all appearances dead, and failing to get any
response, she called in her friends and neighbours, who pronounced that
he had truly passed away; and then they sent up the usual cries and
lamentations in such cases. The day following, according to custom, the
body was washed (ghussal), covered with a shroud, and laid ready on a
bier, and shortly after carried to the Cemetery, or “Kaburistān,” under
a chorus of mournful voices, saying, “There is no Deity but Allah, and
Mahomed is his prophet,” or in their own words, viz., La-il-la-ha.
Illul-la-ho. Mahommadoor Rassool-oolahe.
The wife contrived to secrete herself in the procession, for she well
knew that no woman could go to the graveside, and when the bier was
waiting after the funeral prayers of “takbir” and “dua” had been said,
she came to the front, and asked to have one more look at her husband.
The funeral service contains four Tukbeers (creeds) and the Dua
(blessing). (See Funeral Obsequies in Jaffur Shurreef’s
“Qanoon-e-Islam.”) Those round about the body were for moving her away,
but others cried, “Let her be! Let her be!” Going near the bier she
whispered, “You are just going into the grave; you had better think
better of it.” “So I will,” he replied softly, “if you will break your
vow.” Drawing her lips tightly together, she gave a final “No!” and then
called out at the top of her voice, “Friends and neighbours, this is the
time for charity; you see my husband is dead; now go to my house, and
take away what things you like. I shall not want them any more, and they
are of no further use to your old Imam.”
She had scarcely uttered these words when the Imam rose from the bier
like a ghost, scaring away many of the sorrowing mourners near by.
“Wait!” he cried out; “release me; I am not dead, but only in a trance.
Hear ye! all of you, what this wretched woman says, and mark well her
extravagance and waste. When I lived with her she squandered my money,
and now, when I was on the point of being buried, she gives away my
possessions. She shall not, however, have her way now with what I
possess at my death, do what she will with the money-bag while I am
alive.”
It was some time before the people could be reconciled to the belief
that their old Imam had come to life again, but when they were, he was
taken back amid much wonder and rejoicing. He appeared again at Mosque,
and lived for some time afterwards, determined to defy his wife as to
the disposal of his goods after death, while she gained her wicked will
in regard to his property while alive, and continued to send her savoury
dishes to the poor.
So you see, my friends, it was the woman, after all, who won the day.
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