A Life Incomplete, page 10
Waryam Singh is standing near the bed in drenched clothes. Seeing her enter, he gives her a rolled-up newspaper and gestures towards the chamber. ‘Take this lamp with you and change your clothes first,’ he instructs.
Without saying a word, Saroj takes the roll, picks up the lamp and goes into the chamber. She is taken aback by the sight that greets her. A young woman, apparently on the verge of death, lies on a cot, groaning. Her emaciated body is little more than a skeleton. It is tough to tell how old she is but Saroj surmises that she must be at least twenty. A stench similar to that of rotting flesh comes from the dirty rags in which she is clothed. Saroj shrinks in her corner, assailed by a wave of nausea. She wants to immediately flee from this hellhole. Holding her breath, she unwraps the newspaper to discover a plain cotton sari and vest. Clearly, Waryam Singh had no doubt that she would brave the rain to come to his place and had gone to the market in anticipation to buy these articles. But how could he be so confident that I would come, she muses.
She changes into the dry clothes as quickly as she can before returning to his room. Shuddering at the thought of the putrid stench in the chamber she takes a deep breath. Waryam Singh has collected a selection of medical items from the shelves of the doorless cupboard and appears to be waiting for her.
‘Please come inside, Saroj,’ he bolts the front door shut and asks her to follow him into the chamber. Disregarding her own revulsion, she quietly obeys and follows him.
‘Who is she, Bhapa ji?’ she asks.
He sets the medical supplies on a newspaper and settles down besides the head of the patient. ‘We’ll come to that later. Let’s first attend to the task for which I have called you here,’ he says. ‘Pull up her shirt along the back and all the way up to her shoulders.’
Looking at the girl’s back as she lifts up her shirt, a shiver goes down Saroj’s spine and she feels dizzy. A wound as large as her hand and as deep as her fingernail is spread across the middle of the girl’s back. Neglect over an extended period of time has caused an infection so acute that even specialized surgeons would have hesitated to tend to her.
With a determined look in his eyes, Waryam Singh ignores the wails of pain and spends the next half hour trying to clean the wound and putting a bandage around it with Saroj’s help. He helps her sit up for a minute to give her some milk before allowing her to lie down in a slightly more comfortable posture.
Saroj is beginning to feel extremely uneasy about her prolonged absence from home. Turning towards Waryam Singh, she implores, ‘It is getting really late. Do help me get home, Bhapa ji.’
He can see the worry, nay fear, writ large on her face but replies firmly, ‘I’m sorry, Saroj. You can’t go home tonight and leave me alone with an unknown young woman in my house.’
‘I understand that, but I really can’t stay here any longer,’ she protests.
‘In that case, please take her home with you. For tonight only. I’ll make sure that she gets admitted to hospital first thing tomorrow,’ he pleads with a hint of desperation.
What does he mean? That I should become the custodian of her corpse for the night, Saroj wonders. ‘I’m sorry, Bhapa ji. I can’t do this,’ she replies firmly.
‘All right, then. Let’s go.’ Waryam Singh bends down to put on his shoes. He opens the door to get a sense of the weather. The rain has eased a bit, though the wind is still pretty strong. Saroj can see the disappointment in his eyes as he steps out of the house. She feels ashamed that she is letting him down. But she knows she simply doesn’t have the stomach for the groans of pain and the combined stink of rotting flesh and formaldehyde permeating the room.
Without further comment, she follows him as he escorts her home, before trudging back to the patient.
15
Kuldeep hasn’t experienced a moment of happiness since his return home from prison. Satwant’s demise has destroyed his aspirations much like an unseasonal hailstorm devastates a ripe spring crop. His life is like a boat caught in the turbulent midstream of a river in flood. Neither bank of the river is in sight to offer some sense of hope.
Barely a few days back, he had been like a bird on song, winging its way towards its beloved. But his entire little universe had been shattered by the shocking news of her death. Now, thanks to the guidance of his spiritual guru, his boat is acquiring new purpose and direction, and moving towards salvation. The pain is still there, though its intensity seems to be diminishing with each passing day. The colour of his attachment to the world around him has also started to fade under the soothing balm of salvation that his guru is administering to him. The unexpected encounter with Saroj that night, however, appears to have applied a fresh coat of paint to it. He feels himself like the wretched soul who is forced to remain astride not one, not two, but three boats.
The sight of Saroj has created such turmoil in him that he thinks he is losing his mind. Helpless, he falls at the feet of his guru and seeks his protection. After about two and a half hours of discourse, he feels his sinking spirits propped up by a new force. Under the power of the guru’s sermon, his misgivings start to subside and he is imbued with a fresh energy. He is impatient to get away from the familiarity of his home, his surroundings and to make a fresh start in his life.
So when did he fall in love with Saroj? He isn’t quite sure. But he does remember the time when they were deeply involved with each other, a time when they had exchanged vows of everlasting love, when they had even glimpsed a part of heaven somewhere in their distant future. It was, however, nothing but a mirage – one that not only disappeared in an instant but also changed everything around them.
Saroj wasn’t particularly wise or mature at the time. Her early experience with widowhood had left her with the firm belief that marriage wasn’t meant for her. Even when her innocent mind fell for Kuldeep, she was looking for little more than the fulfilment of love. Kuldeep, on the other hand, was at a stage of life where he was expected to acquire a life companion and settle into married life.
Saroj had surrendered her heart and soul to Kuldeep. And maybe Kuldeep had also done the same. But there was a big difference in their minds and in their perceptions about selfinterest. Kuldeep was keen on marriage and even though the idea ran contrary to Saroj’s belief, she found it hard to turn him down. She promised that if she could obtain the consent of her father and of society, she would gladly be his wife. That stage, however, was never reached.
Kuldeep’s parents were the first to get upset when they learned of his intention. His proximity to Saroj was already becoming the talk of a neighbourhood where the very mention of a widow’s name was considered a bad omen. They swung into action and started pursuing every possible option to find a suitable match. For a while, Kuldeep resisted and turned down several proposals. But that lasted only until he was shown Satwant’s photograph and he agreed to marry her. Saroj learnt of this unexpected development only after he was formally betrothed to Satwant. Was it because she was fairskinned, while Saroj had a darker complexion? one wondered.
The news came as a shock to Saroj. Yet, she was not overly distraught because she felt that she could still retain her association with him. She was being naïve, the foolish girl, not realizing that her place in Kuldeep’s heart would quickly be supplanted by another one. Her hopes that she would continue to stay in contact with Kuldeep also did not materialize. There could be two reasons for this. First, Kuldeep was completely captivated by the beauty of his bride and Saroj didn’t quite measure up on that particular yardstick. Second, the neighbourhood had been rife with gossip about his relationship with Saroj and he found this completely intolerable. To bring matters to a close, he wrote a stern letter to Saroj advising that she should neither try to meet him, nor correspond with him. Saroj replied with her own final letter to him, and we know that as a consequence, Kuldeep stormed out of his house and Satwant left this world forever.
For Kuldeep, this was the first time after Satwant’s death that he had once again felt some stirrings towards Saroj. The Saroj that he had met the other night was so different from the exuberant young maiden that he had known. She had spoken with such maturity, almost like the ideal woman of his imagination. The Saroj of yore was only the girl next door that he loved. This one was so much more – an epitome of selfsacrifice, a guide and a reformer too.
The evening after he met her, Kuldeep is sitting in his firstfloor room for his usual meditation and recitation of verses from the holy book. His concentration is broken by a sharp spray of rain that splashes over the back of his head and trickles down his neck. Irritated, he looks back to see that rain is coming in through the open ventilator shaft. He gets up to close the ventilator before settling down once again into the cross-legged posture that he employs for prayer and meditation. It is about nine and he can hear the rain pelting down. Getting up once again, he starts to pace up and down. Everything in the small room appears scattered and out of place. He thinks of Satwant and the way she’d make sure that everything was kept in an orderly fashion, when the room was dusted not just once but several times in the day. Images of Satwant fussing around the room are so real that he wonders if she really had left this world for ever, that she wouldn’t come back soon to set the room in order again. Out of the blue, he hears a voice very close to him, ‘For your sake, dear Kuldeep, I shall become your Satwant.’
His pace quickens as he peers closely at every object in the room with a new-found interest. A pile of books are stacked haphazardly in the cupboard. He picks up one and finds several more tumbling down to the floor. The way the books had been arranged defied any method or classification. The hardbound little gutkas with verses from the holy Guru Granth Sahib are at the bottom of the pile. A few religious tracts are placed on top of the gutkas, followed by commentaries and explanations of a few other scriptures, a substantial sort of book on the life of Guru Nanak and a few assorted publications. The table near the cupboard is as chaotic. A few old newspapers and magazines, along with a couple of gutkas and a few books – all scattered in a manner that getting to any particular object would have been a real chore. The cot and its bedspread, clothes, shoes and pretty much everything else appear similarly out of place. There are pegs to hang the clothes properly, yet the jacket is struggling to cling on to the leg of the cot and the trousers dangle from the top of the door. His turban and one of his shirts compete for space with the books and magazines. The shoe rack with three shelves seems to belong to everything other than shoes. The top shelf has a small clock that waits for someone to wind it so that it can resume its habitual ticking. The middle shelf is home to an ink pot, a tube of toothpaste, a writing pad and various other odds and ends. A bottle of aspirin and a tin of Ovaltine occupy the bottom shelf. One pair of shoes gathers dust near the foot of the bed while another has settled down next to the steel trunk. One of his slippers sits absurdly on the chair, apparently abandoned by its companion that is nowhere to be seen. A small tin of shoe polish and a brush sit disconsolately next to a duster. Everything is as Kuldeep had discovered it that fateful day and he has not allowed a soul to enter his room and set it right.
‘Kuldeep! Please come down for a moment!’ his mother calls out from below. Overcoming his reluctance, he makes his way down the stairs.
Entering the room downstairs, his eyes first fall on his ailing father. They move to his child, sleeping peacefully in the cradle. And they settle on his mother’s crestfallen countenance. Their eyes meet briefly and he knows in an instant that all his efforts to cultivate a sense of tranquillity has come to naught. The familiar noose of family ties and attachments stares him in the face.
‘Looks like nothing bothers you, my son,’ his mother begins her harangue. ‘Are you concerned about your father’s failing health? Sure, you should continue with your prayers and your meditation. No one is going to obstruct you from following that path. But you must also think of your home and of your own health. Just look at the way this sickly pallor has spread over your face. You haven’t eaten a morsel in five days. How long can anyone survive in this state? Maybe we should get someone to counsel you. After all, who else do we have but you to look after us at this age? Ever since that witch Radhia left, this child of yours doesn’t let me do anything in the house. Waryam Singh, at least, used to drop in once in a while to check if we needed something. He too hasn’t showed up for days now and I wonder if he has gone off on leave or something.’
Kuldeep is barely taking note of his mother’s outpourings. His mind has already moved on to his guru and he can see himself sitting at his feet, listening intently to his sermon. His body, meanwhile, ambles across to his father and sits by his bed. ‘How are you feeling today, Bapu ji?’ he hears his voice say.
‘Deep,’ Sadhu Singh sighs deeply as he speaks. His eyes are moist with tears. ‘What am I seeing, Deep?’
‘What is it, Bapu ji?’ Kuldeep’s foot taps the floor idly. Sadhu Singh is silent, tears streaming down his face as he gazes at his son. Kuldeep knows what his father will say.
Sadhu Singh clears his throat before speaking. ‘I had such high hopes of you, Deep. I had these dreams that my son would grow up and be the support that I need in my old age so that I can spend my final years in comfort. We saw you grow up, one day at a time, and we cherished these hopes. But…’ His voice cracks and he is unable to continue.
The tears in Sadhu Singh’s eyes, the pain so evident in his voice would have been enough to melt any son’s heart. But Kuldeep is unmoved. There is no visible effect on his face or, indeed, in his demeanour. Nor does he utter a word in response. Instead, it is his guru’s words that echo in his ears:
It is mine, it is mine, they always say
So attached they are to this way!
‘Why don’t you speak up, son? I am your father, after all. I do have some claim on you. Say something, please. Talk candidly with me and maybe I can…’
Kuldeep’s mind is still focused on his guru’s sermon.
Mother or father, son or brother
Relatives near or far, even your wife
None will matter once you are gone
And you will be no more than a ghost
Tears course down the old man’s cheeks as his trembling hand tries to caress his son’s back. ‘Speak up, my precious. Do talk to me. Let me know what’s going on in your mind.’
‘Talking much only produces evil,’ Kuldeep hears the words in his head.
Once more, Sadhu Singh sighs deeply and puts his arms around his son. ‘Look at me, my dear. Don’t you have any idea about my condition? If you insist on remaining mum like this, I swear I will bang my head against this wall and breathe my last right before your eyes.’
His father’s voice carries a strange kind of resolve that Kuldeep can no longer ignore. Looking up, he asks softly, ‘What do you want me to do, Bapu ji?’
‘I want to see my son flourish and be happy.’
‘In other words, you want me to get married, right?’
His father nods in agreement.
‘But I have already fulfilled this desire of yours once, haven’t I?’
‘It wasn’t fulfilled. It was terminated halfway.’
‘And who can guarantee that it will fructify this time?’
‘There is never a complete guarantee for anything. But it is hope that sustains this life of ours.’
‘Bapu ji, don’t our scriptures say that every breath we take is precious and that we are the most fortunate of all creatures because we were born as human beings? Why not use every breath of ours to remember His Name and make our life a true success?’
Sadhu Singh is at a loss for words. A part of him tells him that he has no reason to be unhappy. Under similar circumstances, young men of Kuldeep’s age have been known to go completely astray and even destroy their lives prematurely. His son, at least, seems to be following a noble and righteous path. But the other part reminds him that what he needs most at this time is to have his son by his side. Instead, he can see the writing on the wall. Kuldeep is rapidly slipping out of his grasp.
Father and son chat for about an hour, until their conversation is abruptly interrupted when Sadhu Singh breaks into a violent bout of coughing. It turns out to be much worse than his usual attack of asthma, and they can see his condition deteriorate sharply. He needs an injection, which means getting hold of the doctor.
Kuldeep grabs his raincoat and sets off in the direction of the doctor’s house without giving a second thought to the raging storm. As he approaches Maakhnia’s Centre, he sees someone on the other side of the road, braving the rain with small, unsteady steps. As they get closer, he sees that it is Saroj and his heart lets out an involuntary cry. ‘Where is she going at this time of the night?’ he asks himself in a trembling voice. His steps falter for a second before gathering pace once again as he crosses her. He takes another ten or fifteen steps before pausing momentarily to look over his shoulder. Saroj is nowhere to be seen and it takes him a split second to figure out that she could only have gone inside Waryam Singh’s place. He winces in pain, as though a dagger had been driven through his heart. ‘Going into the house of Waryam Singh? A man who is single and unattached? At this hour?’
He had been nursing some doubts about Waryam Singh’s character. He considers him a self-serving, good-for-nothing busybody who is constantly trying to be the centre of attention. He is of a lowly status, excessively chatty and a person girls from decent families should avoid for the sake of their own reputations. Kuldeep is aware, of course, that Waryam Singh had been quite helpful during Satwant’s illness. But who could be sure that he wasn’t pursuing some ulterior agenda of his own. It is suspicions like these that had led him to do some plain speaking with Waryam Singh the previous night.
Thoughts about Saroj have temporarily displaced concern about his ailing father from Kuldeep’s mind. He is assailed with unexpected misgivings about her, driving him crazy.
Accompanied by the doctor, he takes the same road on his way back, slowing down as he approaches Waryam Singh’s house to gently nudge the door. It is shut and he thinks he can hear the cries of a female voice, struggling perhaps to escape from a stronger person’s clasp. The clattering sound of the rain and the noise of the howling wind, however, make it impossible to know for sure if it is Saroj’s voice.
