April 13, 2003

The highlight of the colourful life of Atiya Begum Faizee was, of course, her closeness to Shibli Naumani that created a history of sorts

IT is wonderful to recall after so many years that I did not discover Atiya Begum’s real identity before I had already had several meetings with her.

It was 1951 and I was just a school boy preparing for my matriculation examination. It was then that I heard about the first historical conference of Pakistan to be held at Burns Garden. I had of course nothing to do with the conference, but the exhibition which followed a few days thereafter had a lot of excitement.

At the exhibition, there was one particular exhibit that caught my attention. A contemporary Chinese wood print of a beautiful flower which was underneath a Shahi Farman (Royal Decree) of Mughal King Aurangzeb. Protected in a glass case, the beautiful print itself was partly covered under the Farman. It seemed that the glass cases of Aiwan-i-Riffat Museum had been used for displaying the exhibits without disturbing their original contents, like the wood print I saw.

Now at that time in life, I was madly in love with water colour painting and drawing. That is why the beautiful wood print caught my fascination.

I, therefore made it a point to visit Aiwan-i-Riffat again to feast my eyes on those prints in full view and at my leisure. So, after the Historical Exhibition was over, I visited the site again.

It was around April 1954 when my consequent visit to Aiwan-i- Riffat materialized. I asked the keepers to let me in with permission to copy the prints. At this point, an elderly lady, came out to meet me. She seemed quite curious when she learnt that I was an amateur artist and that I wanted to copy the prints. I was conditionally given permission. But the lady asked me to let her see whatever I had copied before leaving. This I did. The lady was obviously pleased with my work. She even called over her husband, Rahim Sahib, to look at what I had done and to see into my sketch book.

The copying process took me several more times to Aiwan-i-Riffat. Every time, this kindly old lady would give me the keys of the museum whenever no keeper was there (most of the time there was none). By this time, I had noticed that she was addressed as Atiya Aunty or Atiya Khala by other children coming there with their parents. Even then I did not know of the significance of our meeting. It was only after I told my senior friends about my meeting with Atiya Aunty, that I was told of her fame in the literary world.

I was told of Moulana Shibli’s letters to Atiya Begum and the furore caused by those letters when published for the first time, and their significance to Shibli’s biographers.

I must admit that after gaining this knowledge my innocent acquaintance with her turned into a relationship which was not like the first, albeit a sincere one upto the last moment of her life. I began to make mental notes for relating them to my children when she would be no more in this world.

Surely, as I gathered it from my impressions received at Aiwan-i-Riffat, Shibli doted on her, as an overly mature person would do to a youthful maiden. But this is my personal view.

Atiya Begum was nearing thirty and Allama was about fifty when both met. Atiya Begum talked of Shibli as her mentor. This relationship of a mentor and his pupil, was I consider, the best interpretation of their mutual bond, and I wish to keep the matter at that.

If Shibli appreciated her qualities she deserved it, like the classical Persian poetry he so much eulogized. Both have attracted his keen sense and good taste of critical judgment. Shibli was, the least I can say, not a dud i.e. one who remains oblivious of beautiful objects around him.

People may want to know whether Atiya Begum resented any references to her friendship with Allama Shibli. While Atiya’s elder sister, Nazli Begum felt embarrassed at these suggestions, Atiya Begum, I am convinced, did not. She rather, I dare say, enjoyed it. Why else she would treasure a printed copy of Shibli’s letters with her? I saw the book safely deposited at the bottom of her steel trunk, under her household linen.

To me, Atiya Begum was a witty, sharp minded lady. She would no doubt converse with ministers, princes, ambassadors, diplomats journalists, scholars and the learned alike with ease and with fluency in English, in French, in Persian and of course in Urdu, Gujrati, and perhaps in Marahtti.

On Wednesday afternoons, Atiya Begum would entertain guests with her favourite green tea which gave the sweet aroma of ginger and cardamom. At one of these mixed gatherings I saw the ambassador of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), M.E. Jaya Bolt (who always addressed Atiya Begum as ‘My sister’). The gathering also included Sardar Naeem of Afghanistan, Mumtaz Hassan of State Bank of Pakistan, a few poets, writers and radio artists.

When I saw Aunty Atiya the first time, she was in her late seventies. She was short necked, not of tall stature and bald on the head. This baldness she very successfully managed to conceal under her scarf securely bound around her forehead. What impressed me at once on our first meeting was her youthful alacrity, curiosity, and despite her advanced age, her agility. Her big eyes were always profusely bedecked with kohl.

She could walk at such a speed that even I, a young boy, could not keep pace with her. Her person and her surroundings were wrapped in a heavy fragrance of rose perfume. This fragrance is stuck in my head, from that day to this, and will likely remain in my head when I lie dying.

In my opinion Atiya Begum was not particularly beautiful in her youth, as her photographs taken in the year 1908 shows. Her elder sister Nazli ,Begum who was married to Nawab Saheb of Janjeera state was much prettier. But Atiya had style, and Shibli loved style more than a beautiful face.

This concept of a beauty can be traced in several of his critical writings. If I am in any way contradicting my earlier observation here, then I am to be blamed, not Shibli.

Shibli was at that time working on an anthology of classical Persian poetry called Sher ul Ajam. The fourth volume of this remarkable anthology contains paragraphs praising the courage, wisdom and understanding of women characters as presented in Persian epic poetry.

The tone is almost reverential. I will claim that such thoughts were brought about by his meeting the open reminded Faizee sisters, and that he wished a beginning of the social renaissance in Muslim society starting from bright women the like of Atiya Begum.

I hope I am not exposing her after her death, but Atiya Begum did think that she deserved publicity, although she was not a national celebrity. She once coaxed me to write her biography. For this purpose she sent me to Amjad Ali (of Pakistan Quarterly) with a note to hand over to me some material. That note is tucked up somewhere among my old papers.

I did not think then that I had the ability to write what she desired. But she imagined that I could. Now here I am writing disconcertedly about her days and nights as things come to my mind.

I remember of many long and hot summer days spent at Aiwan-i-Riffat, making pen and ink drawings to go with her articles. These articles were published in the short-lived Illustrated Weekly of Pakistan.

Atiya Begum was well versed in classical music. Once I read in an Urdu novel, a line sung by a dust man early in the morning in Ramkali Rag. The next day when I told her about told her about what I had read, she hummed the lines for a moment and then said. “No, it cannot be sung in Ramkali”. Back at home I consulted the novel again and discovered that I had confused the actual words of the song.

Atiya Begum’s husband was a Jewish artist, converted to Islam and renamed as Faizee Rahmin. Atiya became acquainted with him in London. They used to meet at the Foyles Book Store.

At time, Atiya Begum would get into a fit of frenzy. Shrieking madly, it would seem that her vocal chords would break. On such occasions, Faizee Rahmin would confront her closely with a direct gaze into her eyes. This would immediately subdue her. She would become calm and meek as if nothing had been the matter. One would think that he mesmerized her. I for one thought so.

During her last years, Atiya Begum was made to move to a hotel. I still wonder why she was made to as to why she was made to vacate Aiwan-i-Riffat. She moved to Hotel Deluxe in the vicinity of Karachi Club. There used to be a number of half dressed girls at that hotel. It looked very odd when on entering the hotel, several girls would try to approach you helter skelter. Atiya Begum was very much annoyed with the behaviour of these girl’s. So much so that she would start shouting and waving her fist at them. It was quite a job for poor Rahmin Saheb trying to pacify her at such moments.

When necessary, Atiya Begum would summon me via post cards. It is a wonder that these cards reached me the same day, such was the efficiency of postal service in those days. I still have such post cards with me bearing post marks indicating same day clearing and delivery.

Before finishing I would like to make a few comments regarding her political views. Atiya Begum was not in favour of Pan Islamism. “Charity begins at home”, she would say. I heard this when Suharwardy was the Prime Minister. If I understood her correctly, she believed that setting right one’s own house was the prime responsibility of a good Government.

She was fed up with SIESTA loving Government officials.

I heard her complaining several times that government servants took long spells of sleeping after lunch without regard to the people awaiting their attention.

In her last days at the Hotel, when her husband had died, she could hardly take a step without help. She would rest one hand on my shoulder and move about by holding back of the chairs with the other hand. Her elder sister Nazli Begum was also bed ridden. It was a pity to see them in such a condition. May Almighty God give rest and peace to their departed souls. Ameen.

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