“Eid is here after an entire month of fasting during Ramazan. What a wondrous dawn it is – the trees are a rare shade of green; the fields are alive with a rare excitement; and the sky is streaked with a rare reddish glow. Look at today’s sun, luminous and benign, as if giving Eid greetings to the whole world.
“The village is humming with activity; people are readying themselves to go to the Eidgah. Someone sees a button missing on his kurta and runs to the neighbour for needle and thread; another, finding his shoes unbearably stiff, goes bounding to the teli’s house for some oil to soften the leather with. There’s a rush to feed the bullocks. It will be afternoon by the time they return from the Eidgah. A distance of about 9 km to cover by foot and so many people to meet and greet there – it will be impossible to return before afternoon. ”
During Eid, I recall the writer’s classic short story Eidgah. I have not come across a better description of the cheer – elation would be more accurate – that Eid brings with it. Premchand, who in his own words is a kayastha bacha, finds even nature transformed on the occasion. It is doubtful if anyone can rival his description of the Eid prayer.
“Suddenly, the Eidgah came in sight. The thick shade of a tamarind tree above, below a jajam spread out on a pucca floor. Row after row of rozadars stretching far beyond, where there is no jajam even. New arrivals come and take their place at the back; there is no room in front. No one bothers about wealth or position here. Everyone is equal in the eyes of Islam. The villagers too duly performed wazu and stood in a row at the back. How beautifully it is managed and organised. Thousands of heads bow together and then rise to their feet together; again they bow together and rise to their feet together, like thousands of electric bulbs lighting up together and then dimming together. This action is repeated several times. What an exceptional sight it presents with its collective actions and unending expanse – filling the heart with reverence, pride and inner joy. As if one single thread of brotherhood connects all those souls, creating an unbroken chain.”
This time, I remembered the luminosity of Premchand’s description with a bitter-sweet feeling which had more to do with my current context. I can’t get one question out of my mind – why is it that the sight of thousands of Muslims does not alarm Premchand? How does he manage to see in a gathering of the community an unending thread of brotherhood?
— Apoorvanand
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