A Life Incomplete, page 20
Three days pass and Kuldeep realizes he cannot detain them indefinitely. Summoning all his courage, he says, ‘Ahmed Khan, you have your own home and family to think of. You should say goodbye and leave me to my fate.’
‘And what kind of savages do you take us to be?’ Zubeida flares even before Ahmed Khan can say a word. ‘How can we think of leaving you and your child in this state?’
Moved beyond words, Kuldeep takes her hand and places it on his forehead. ‘Bhabhi,’ he says, ‘from this day you are not just my brother’s wife. You are my own sister. I shudder to think what might have happened if the two of you had not turned up. Another three or four days and I would have taken this child to an orphanage.’
Her throat choked with emotion, Zubeida places her hands on Kuldeep’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head.
‘Please take this child with you,’ Kuldeep sobs. ‘I want you to adopt him. He will be your child, not mine, from today.’ Tears stream down his cheeks as he picks up the child from the cradle and places him in Zubeida’s lap.
The ways of nature are truly mysterious. You can cut a branch from a fruit-bearing tree and graft it on to one that is barren. And so it is decided that they would return the following day with the child. They want Kuldeep to come along with them but he resists, arguing that he needs some more time to figure things out and that he might travel around a bit to get a grip on himself. He also has to do something about the textile stocks on which he had spent close to two thousand rupees. He decides that he will hand the stocks over to one of the larger textile merchants in town and recoup whatever he can from the transaction.
Getting ready to leave the next morning, Ahmed Khan puts one hand on his wife’s shoulder and the other on Kuldeep’s. ‘I want a solemn promise from both of you before we leave,’ he says.
‘Zubeida, now that you have adopted this child, I want you to swear by the name of Allah and his Messenger that you will respect the traditions of this house and that neither beef nor tobacco will enter your home from today.’
Turning her thoughts to Allah and his Messenger, Zubeida closes her eyes, bows her head in deference and takes a silent vow.
Facing Kuldeep, Ahmed Khan looks into his eyes and says, ‘And you, my brother, must promise that no matter where you plan to travel, you will first come to Lahore. You will spend some time with us and then go with the blessings of Allah in whichever direction you choose.’
Kuldeep nods in agreement, his eyes focused on Zubeida. Not having experienced the joys of motherhood, she is already at one with the child and together, the two appeared to have entered a world of their own.
Their departure with the child lifts a major responsibility off Kuldeep’s shoulders. He heaves a sigh of relief and starts to think about his life and where it is headed. The emptiness of the house returns to haunt him. Now it is just him and the boy, who makes him a chapatti or two along with some tasteless gruel that passes for a meal. Not that he would have been inclined to eat properly if it had tasted better. His appetite has deserted him and he is buried under the collective burden of grief, repentance and remorse. His grief stems from recognition of his own foolishness which has cast a pall of gloom over a bright future. He repents that he had allowed himself to be swayed by flimsy logic to accuse Saroj and Waryam Singh of misconduct. His remorse emerges from the realization that he has lost everything that he valued. If only Saroj were around! She would have kept her promise to save him from drowning in the currents and brought him ashore.
The superficial lustre of Prakash is wearing off Kuldeep’s heart, revealing the more lasting colour that is his love for Saroj. He finds it difficult to shut out the events of the last few months and particularly her words that night, ‘Whenever you call me, dear Kuldeep…’
Am I even worthy of calling her? he wonders. I can go through seven cycles of birth and rebirth and I still won’t measure up to her. Why would she pay any heed to my call now? She extended her hand to save me and I brushed it away. She melted her own heart to make a balm that would heal my wounds and I rebuffed her by saying that even the softest cotton will hurt when it touches me. And yet, she might have forgiven me. She might have set aside all my flaws if I hadn’t committed that one transgression. How could I have said what I did about Waryam Singh, a person who helps even his foes, one who devotes every breath to serving humanity! How could I lose my head the way I did?
His mind’s eye sweeps across the horizon searching for someone who might stand by him. He can see no one other than Ahmed Khan and Zubeida. But he has already loaded them with a heavy burden. Thanks to them, he has the freedom to leave town and go wherever he wants, to renounce the world if he wishes. He decides to rid himself of all his possessions and start his life afresh.
It takes him a couple of days to free himself of all encumbrances. He now has about twelve thousand rupees in cash, of which he places ten thousand in a fixed deposit in the bank and keeps the remaining with him. He has moved so quickly that nobody in the neighbourhood has got the wind of his intentions. He is ready to leave but hasn’t yet picked a destination. Not that it matters. All he wants is to go to a place where nobody knows him and he doesn’t know anyone so that he can erase his dismal past.
It is around eight in the evening. He sends the boy to fetch the local junk dealer. Retaining just one trunk and a bedding, he sells off everything else and asks the dealer to cart it away. Having already settled the rent with the landlord, he pays the month’s salary to the servant and hails a tonga from the street.
The boy helps him load the trunk and bedding on to the tonga. Kuldeep wears his jacket, wishes the servant well and sits in the tonga. He looks back at the first-floor window one last time to see if Satwant is still standing there, waving at him like she did whenever he left the house.
As the tonga proceeds towards the railway station, his thoughts drift towards Saroj and her words ‘Whenever you call me, dear Kuldeep…’
It is a dark, moonless night that magnifies the smallest of lights and makes glow worms appear like brightly shining candles. Saroj’s words twinkle like a glow worm in his consciousness. Shouldn’t he meet her one last time? Who knows? She has a heart of gold. She just might forgive me. And if she doesn’t, I have nothing to lose.
By the time the tonga reaches the railway station, the twinkling light has intensified in radiance and is beckoning him towards it. Brushing aside the porters who come forth to carry his baggage, he tells the tongawallah to turn back. I’ve forgotten something important, he says.
The tonga turns around and makes its way up the same street.
34
Several days have passed and there is no sign of Waryam Singh. Saroj is getting anxious, counting the days and hours as she waits for the one who has become such a precious part of her life.
After many days, she receives a letter from Delhi. Every sentence of the letter reflects Waryam Singh’s acute sense of disappointment. He has searched high and low for Prakash, but to no avail. He intends to spend another two days and if he fails to locate her, he would return to Peshawar. He promises that he would come straight to her home to offer his life and all his devotion at the feet of his goddess.
Saroj has already learned of Prakash’s disappearance. She knows that the twin blows of Prakash’s departure and his mother’s demise would have had a devastating effect on Kuldeep. She feels his pain from the bottom of her heart, and for a brief moment, the empathy overshadows the anger that she has nursed against him for several weeks. However, the memory of his callous behaviour is hard to ignore. His accusations against her and Waryam Singh resonate in her ears.
The three days she spends after receiving Waryam Singh’s letter seem like a lifetime to Saroj. Each moment is like an eternity and she searches for ways to pass the time. Radhia has moved to another house and there is nobody at home that she can talk to. It is late in the evening and Babu Ganga Vishan has already retired for the night. She walks across to her cupboard and searches for something interesting to read. She leafs through one book after another but none of them excite her. Why not write something instead, she thinks. There was a time when she used to write short stories and poems on a regular basis. Many readers had appreciated her writing. And yet, she had drifted away from the habit. Reprimanding herself for her sloth, she decides that she would work on writing a short story.
She looks for her old notebook and as she pulls it out from its hiding place under a couple of books, a small photo falls out. Picking it up, she is drawn into it. She is holding the photo and becoming a part of it. It is one of Kuldeep in his early teens; he had presented to her years ago. The bottom part of the photo has a dedication: ‘To my Saroj’. Her mind goes back to her childhood, to those simple times when she and Kuldeep used to play with such abandon. She used to sing:
Mohina, that glint in your eye
Went straight through my heart
Like the arrow of love
She remembers the times when she would play the violin and they would sing this song, over and over again. Holding the photo in her hand, she goes back in time and sings ‘Mohina, the glint in your eye…’
She closes her eyes as she sings, her mind taking her into that heavenly stage of their childhood. Just as clouds bearing the tidings of love gently drift into her blue skies, she is awakened by the rumbling sounds of thunder that carry bolts of hatred in their midst. Opening her eyes with a start, she glares at the photo before tearing it up into small pieces and flinging it out of the window.
She picks up her notebook and sits in her chair, her back to the door. She wracks her head for a suitable plot for a story but her thoughts keep going towards Kuldeep. Unconsciously, she starts to hum the same song:
Mohina, I wait at your door
Begging for your time
Spare me a moment
I promise, I want no more
Once again, her eyes close involuntarily and she can hear Kuldeep sing in unison. But it is too real. She can actually hear his voice sing at the door behind her:
Mohina, I wait at your door
Begging for your time
Spare me a moment
I promise, I want no more
She turns her head around and gazes in disbelief. It is indeed Kuldeep singing their childhood song, somewhat offkey but with most of the notes in place. She feels a rising tide of anger within her. But is it just anger or is there something else too? The human eye is capable of observing the smallest of objects but emotions fall in a different category. There are times when even the mind’s eye fails to discern them.
She glares at Kuldeep, her eyes going over his form from head to toe as he stands in the doorway. Her limbs shake with anger but words fail her. Why have you come, she wants to know. But instead of posing the question, she continues to examine his face minutely, looking for the answer. His eyes appear moist.
She gets up abruptly from her chair and takes a step towards him. ‘Kul…,’ she starts to say but the words are caught in her throat. She takes another step and says, ‘Kuldeep ji!’
This time she manages to say his name but receives no response. ‘Kuldeep ji!’ she repeats.
‘I am very sorry, Saroj ji. I have come to seek your forgiveness. My mistakes…’ Overwhelmed by his own emotions, he breaks down, lowers his head and bends towards Saroj’s feet to apologize.
Unable to see him crying, she catches hold of his arms to lift him up and walks him to a chair. Sitting down in the other chair, she looks at him in wonder. A few words and some tears have swept the slate clean, erasing all her misgivings about him. But the reprieve is short-lived. No sooner does her mind move to Waryam Singh than she again feels the familiar burst of anger.
‘I know, Saroj ji, that I have behaved so badly with you and Waryam Singh ji that I have no claim to your forgiveness. If I have summoned all my courage to show up at your doorstep, it is because of your promise that…’
Ever the epitome of kindness, Saroj defences threaten to crumble under the onslaught of his tears. ‘Promise?’ she interjects.
His voice still cracking with emotion, Kuldeep says, ‘You were sitting beside me in the park when you made the promise. Kuldeep ji, you had said, whenever you call me, I will come and pull you out of the abyss.’
Like a film running in slow motion, the events of that evening unfold before her eyes. It is all so vivid that it seems like yesterday.
‘I’m sorry, Kuldeep ji,’ she braces herself as she speaks. ‘You have gone so deep under the waves that Saroj’s hand cannot reach you there.’
‘In that case, I really have no hope left,’ he says in a voice laced with disappointment.
‘Hope for what?’
‘Love,’ he says and lowers his eyes.
‘You can expect the same amount of love from me that I would have for any other person on this planet.’
‘I understand, of course, that I’ve lost the right to claim any special affection from you. I can only blame myself for that loss. But still, my good Saroj…’
Making a determined effort to keep her emotions in check, she interrupts sternly, ‘Before you say anything else, may I ask you to withdraw the prefix “my” that you attached to my name. Please take it back because Saroj now belongs to someone else.’
Kuldeep recoils as though a double-barrelled gun has been fired straight at his forehead. Stepping back, he looks questioningly at her.
‘Yes, you should not be surprised. I am with the one you had associated me with.’ Her eyes shine with anger.
Kuldeep listens in stunned silence. He doesn’t have the courage to say anything in response. What can he say anyway? Her words are like the affirmation of a sentence by the Privy Council itself. There is no higher court of appeal available. Getting up from the chair, he walks towards the door. He wishes he were invisible, so that neither his footsteps nor the rustle of his clothes would be audible to Saroj.
Saroj stands like a statue as Kuldeep’s outline vanishes in the distance. It is true that she neither hears his footsteps nor the rustle of his clothes. All she hears is a deep sigh from the doorstep and a voice that says, ‘Goodbye, Saroj ji. My good wishes will always be with you. Though you may not see me again in this lifetime, I will continue to pray that you and Bhapa ji will be able to forgive my sins…’
An equally deep sigh emerges from Saroj as she leaps towards the door. Has she actually seen Kuldeep or is it all a dream? Looking down the street, she wonders if he had really come and left. She opens her mouth to shout, to call him back but fails to muster the energy. Kuldeep has gone out of reach.
Saroj feels her heart sink.
She goes outside the house and, in the light emanating from her room, bends under the window to collect the torn pieces of the photograph. Having gathered them in her hands, she slowly trudges back into the house.
35
When a person tumbles down a steep mountainside, he desperately tries to clutch at any branch or root that can break his fall. But imagine his fate when he latches on to a branch, only to discover that it too has broken off the tree. He has little hope of survival.
Kuldeep is in a similar sort of state. He didn’t have too much hope when he had gone to Saroj’s place. Deep down, he knew perhaps that redemption was only a remote possibility. And yet, he had gone. Hoping against hope…trying to gauge the pulse of one who is already dead.
His life, now, is devoid of any purpose or meaning. He hasn’t decided where he wants to go but that is hardly an immediate concern. To keep his promise to Ahmed Khan and Zubeida, he knows that he will have to go to Lahore before making any other plans.
Having spent the previous night and day in the empty house that he had always called his home, Kuldeep locks the door and hands the key to the naan bai. Once again, a tonga is summoned and the trunk and bedding are hoisted on it.
Accepting the key, the naan bai looks quizzically at him. ‘So you didn’t leave last night? You came back?’
‘Yes…I had forgotten that there was something important to be done.’
‘And where are you going?’
‘To Lahore. I am visiting a friend,’ he replies and clambers on to the tonga. A little later, he has boarded the train to Lahore.
As the train steams out of the station, Kuldeep realizes that this may be the last time he was seeing the city of his birth, the place where he had spent most of his adult life. But he feels no sadness, no sense of loss. If at all he feels anything, it is a numbness that has spread throughout his body. Through the window, he observes the countryside, mottled with farms, trees, shrubs, ponds, all hurtling past at breakneck speed. His own memories move back in time at a similar pace. It wasn’t that long ago that he had taken the very same train on his way to Borstal Jail in Lahore. That journey had taken him away from Satwant, this one from Saroj. In between the two, like a flash of lightning, he sees images of Prakash.
He feels something simmering inside him but fails to identify the source. His mind frequently strays in the direction of Waryam Singh and the encounter invariably produces a twinge of jealousy. But that is wrong, he reasons. He is clearly worthy of Saroj, unlike a pauper like me who has no great merit. How I wish my eyes had been open that evening when Saroj extended her arms towards me. However, it took last night’s humiliation to bring me to my senses. Surely, I have received the treatment I deserved.
And if there is one bit of silver lining in the dark clouds dominating his horizon, that is the unconditional affection and support that he has received from his erstwhile jailor. When all else seems to be crumbling around him, the burly Pathan and his wife have been a source of infinite comfort.
The train reaches Lahore. As he hurries behind the porter on the narrow footbridge that loops over the railway tracks, his eyes fall on the adjacent platform. He cannot believe his eyes. Ahmed Khan is getting ready to board the Frontier Mail to Peshawar.
