This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 10
‘Yes, what else!’ said Kartaro. ‘Just look at these young educated kids. Believe me, these educated girls don’t know a thing about taming a man. Soon after the marriage, they open up, show every inch of their body. Going out with their hubby to the bazaar, going to the cinema with him, he’s had his fill in a month. We’d let months or even a year pass before we showed him half of our face.’
‘What is it, mother?’ asked Tara as she came down the stairs. Sheelo was with her.
‘Shut up!’ Meladei said to Kartaro. ‘Watch your language before grownup girls.’ She lifted a corner of the mat where she sat, took out some change and spoke to Kartaro’s ten-year-old daughter Peeto sitting nearby, ‘Child, run and get two anna’s worth of hot sweet boondi from Mohan and two anna’s worth of eggplant pakoras from Iqbal. Get a paisa’s worth of ice, too.’
‘No, no, no! That’s not needed, sister!’ Gyandevi raised both her hands in protest.
‘No bahinji, its nothing,’ said Meladei. ‘You have to have a glass of cold water. You’ve come this far in such heat.’
Peeto took the eight-anna coin from Meladei’s hand and flew off like a swallow, her chunni trailing behind her.
Gyandevi looked at Tara and Sheelo, ‘Come, girls, sit here. Girls like you should take on the task of organizing the women of the gali.’
Kartaro attempted to explain on behalf of Gyandevi, ‘Listen, girls, bahenji was telling us how in the Bengal of Calcutta, the Muslims have killed ten thousand of our Hindu people. They also stripped our Hindu sisters and mothers naked in front of everyone in the bazaar, and hundreds of rotten Muslims took turns.’
‘Be quiet! May your tongue fall out! Shame on you!’ Meladei hissed at her. ‘Don’t wag your tongue before young girls. Bahenji was asking us,’ she said to Tara, ‘to collect donations of cash and clothing from the gali. You can make a list of what we get.’
Tara had bowed her head demurely on hearing something that was not supposed to be said in her presence. She said to Gyandevi, ‘I’ll keep a record.’
Gyandevi said imperiously, ‘Sure, you can do that. You must have seen in the newspapers …’
Kartaro could not stop herself, ‘It’s her brother who works at the newspaper.’
Gyandevi continued, ‘The Muslim League declared open war on 16 August in Bombay on Hindus. Those damned people say that they want Pakistan, want to carve half of Hindustan into Pakistan. Want Punjab to be a part of Pakistan. Will throw Hindus out of here.’
Basant Kaur said, ‘Throw us out! Punjab is not their father’s property; it has always belonged to Hindus and Sikhs! The rotten Muslims ruled in Delhi, Agra and Lucknow. Punjab was always ours.’ She was the wife of the postal clerk Birumal, and had studied up to the tenth grade.
Ishwar Kaur shook her clenched fist, ‘Punjab belongs to us and to keep it ours we must fight the Muslims. You all saw the huge procession that the Muslims marched in on 16 August. The battle has begun in Bengal, now it will begin in Punjab too.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially, ‘The rotten Muslims are preparing for war. They’re making gun barrels from water pipes. Their women now carry daggers and knives. We’re still asleep. You all should tell your men to go to akharas to exercise and train, ask them to learn to fire a gun or use a sword or a club. How else will you save your belongings?’
Jeeva chipped in, ‘What is there in a wretched Muslim’s home? Four earthenware pots, one hookah and a burka! That’s why these hotheads are all so keen!’
Gyandevi tried another explanation, ‘We should be strong enough to protect our religion and guard our properties. The Hindus have turned into a mimosa plant that closes up when touched. All we know is how to earn money, then lose it and remain compassionate. We sisters should be ready to defend ourselves. Anyone tries to molest you, slit his stomach open. Look at the Rani of Jhansi and at Padmini, and look at us! All girls and young women should carry a kirpan.’ She showed a kirpan strapped under her clothes, and challenged, ‘I dare any one to lay his hands upon me!’
Tara’s younger sister Usha and Meladei’s daughter Dammo were thrilled, ‘We too will carry a kirpan!’
Tara said lightly, ‘Who would you use it on, stupid?’
‘Use it to cut off their husbands’ noses,’ answered Kartaro.
‘Hai, may everyone keep safe and healthy! What do kids have to do with kirpans and daggers,’ said Purandei sorting out her skeins.
‘Sister, such talk turns children into cowards,’ Gyandevi told her.
‘Bahenji, it’s the British who are causing all this strife.’ Tara began in a quiet voice.
Ishwar Kaur at once contradicted her, ‘But why do the damned Muslims fight us at the urging of the British? They don’t have to.’
‘The Hindus too can be instigated,’ Tara said boldly. ‘We were just talking about preparing for war.’
Gyandevi, Kartaro and Basant Kaur all spoke together, ‘It’s the Muslims, may they die childless, that start the fight. Poor Hindus don’t. Who wants to fight? If someone attacks us, won’t we fight back? We’ll drink their blood!’
‘Auntie, you’ll drink their blood?’ Tara again said quietly. ‘You don’t even drink water from their hands!’
Kartaro threw aside all decorum in the rage to express her loathing. She brought her foot forward and stamped it on the chabutara, ‘My shoe will drink water from their hands!’
‘You called, bahenji?’ Pushpa said coming down the stairs. She looked sullen and everyone noticed it. She sat next to Kartaro on the chabutara. Meladei mentioned the Hindu–Muslim conflict, and then said, ‘What happened, girl? Why this dour face?’
Kartaro answered for her, ‘Fought with the doctor.’
‘Stop it!’ Pushpa turned her face away.
‘Everyone look at that lying face!’ Kartaro pointed at her. ‘Listen, what do you want to hide from your gali neighbours? Look at these educated girls! Sister, it’s your neighbours who hold your hand when you’re in trouble. Husbands are useless at such a time!’ She felt Pushpa’s abdomen, ‘Mare in foal yet?’
Pushpa’s face flushed with embarrassment. She shrank back.
Peeto brought sweet and savoury snacks in two leaf cups, and a chunk of ice tied in the corner of her chunni. Meladei handed the ice to her daughter Dammo, ‘Go and make ice water and fill four glasses. Bring two plates too.’ She turned to Pushpa, ‘So, what was the quarrel about?’
Pushpa had to confess, ‘Auntie, nothing much. He leaves early for the hospital. I got up late today. Was having a wash. The servant lad made paranthas and served him on a dirty plate. He threw away the plate in anger, and left without eating. He could have called me.’
‘Hai! Hai!’ Kartaro put her hands on her head in mock dismay. ‘You ask your servant to feed your husband? See what education does to you! Hey, these are the ways to keep your man hooked. Even a dog obeys the person that feeds it.’
Basant Kaur said, ‘My friend, a husband-and-wife tiff and clouds in the month of October don’t last.’
Tara said to Gyandevi to change the topic, ‘Bahenji, the Hindu–Muslim conflict is nonsense. Where will the two go if they fight one another? Their country is one! Our real fight is with the British oppressor.’
Ishwar Kaur replied vehemently, ‘Don’t be so simple, beti! The Muslims are the ones behind the demand for Pakistan. What’ll we do with the country if we lose our homes and native land? For the British, Hindus are the same as Muslims. Since Khizr and Sikandar formed the ministry in Punjab, can a Hindu get a job in any department? It was unheard of for a Muslim to work as a babu in some office. They used to work as peons, drive tongas or do other menial jobs.’
Gyandevi intervened to end the argument, ‘There should be an iron gate at the entrance of the gali. You all should be ready to defend yourselves. Whatever donations are received for Bengal, these girls will keep a record. The Committee will issue a receipt for all donations.’
Tara began to get up, ‘Whatever needs to be recorded, Pushpa bahin will do it or I’ll do it. I have to go to my tutoring job, I’ll be late.’
‘Yes, sure, beti, you go ahead.’ Meladei said, ‘Let the menfolk return. Let Masterji, Ratan’s father, Jaidev come back, doctor sahib and Sardarji too. It’s proper to ask the men before making any decision.’
Sheelo climbed the stairs with Tara to her house. Tara went to a corner of the room, washed her face over an area that led to the drainpipe, and removed her neatly folded clothes from a rope slung across the side of the room. She closed the window that opened into the gali.
‘Oh, it’s hot!’ Sheelo said. ‘You shut off the air.’
‘I’ll open it; let me change my clothes first.’ She said. ‘That stupid Biru peeps at me through the window. He’s just a pup, but has learned all the bad ways of a goonda. I haven’t told anyone yet, I feel so embarrassed. But if I do blurt it out someday, I know the gali people will thrash the idiot. We only have one room. It’s very inconvenient to change clothes when father and brother are at home. Sometimes the dupatta slips off the shoulder without one knowing.’
Sheelo was looking hard at Tara’s breasts and at the bra that covered them as she changed her clothes. She said, ‘Your body is no good. Look at mine, it’s imported. I’ll give you mine, you can sew one like it yourself.’
‘No baba no, what I have is fine for me. As it is, mother is always nagging me about wearing such tight clothes,’ Tara said. ‘What do you care? You’re married, you can do what you want. Listen, I’ll be back around half-past-six. Mother will find someone to escort you.’
‘I’m not leaving yet.’ A sparkle came to Sheelo’s eyes and she turned her face away, ‘I have to go back to my in-laws the day after tomorrow. Now that I’m here, let me see Ratan just this once.’
‘You always say,’ Tara took a deep breath, ‘that Mohanji is such a good person. That he really treats you well!’
‘So what! What if he does treat me well?’ Sheelo said. ‘Old infatuations die hard. Can’t one have one’s own wishes and desires after marriage? At home my husband is always after me: don’t eat this, this won’t suit you, you’ll get a cold, your stomach will be upset; where did you spend those four annas? He neither laughs nor shows anger.’
‘Aren’t you scared?’
‘When I should have been, I wasn’t. Now that’s history. Ratan’s the real father.’ Sheelo smiled.
‘What do you mean?’ Tara gasped.
‘It’s his.’ Sheelo said, lowering her gaze.
Tara felt so disgusted that she could hardly breathe. She managed to ask, ‘How?’
‘Don’t you remember, I was once here around noontime? When you came back from the college in the evening, you went to drop me off at Uchchi Gali.’
Tara was speechless. She felt faint at the thought of Sheelo and Ratan committing such a sin in her house.
‘When does he get back?’ Sheelo asked.
‘How should I know!’ Tara said angrily.
‘Save your anger!’ Sheelo said. ‘We’ll see when your time comes. You don’t care for that Somraj either. Sister, such things are ordained by fate.’
‘I want nothing to do with that man. I’ll never get married to him,’ Tara said, heading for the stairs.
Her dislike for Sheelo’s shameless behaviour was rekindled. Ratan, she had begun to loathe even before her own engagement.
When Tara stepped into the gali, Ishwar Kaur and Gyandevi had left. Most of the women had wound up whatever they were doing, and had gone to their homes to get the evening meal together. Tara came into the Machchi Hatta bazaar from her gali and turned towards the Shahalami Gate. She walked with downcast eyes, keeping on the left side to avoid the bustling crowd and packs of unruly cattle being herded back to their shed after grazing in the fields. What Sheelo said had disturbed her. Deceit is sin. Despite such shamelessness Sheelo was good and virtuous in the eyes of everyone whereas her own intentions were questioned because she didn’t want to get married. But I won’t give up, she thought. Asad bhai said that he’d go to Dr Nath’s after Tuesday. He might be there today. He should be told about all this, about these people fanning the flames of riot in the galis.
Inside the entrance of Seth Gopal Shah’s mansion, there were verandas on both sides. In the verandas were seats for the account clerks. The cotton-filled seats, hardened after years of use, were covered with ink-stained, dirty white sheets and large bolster pillows lay on them against the wall. Both the munims sat cross-legged on the mattresses, facing the ledgers bound in red cloth. Tara always walked straight into the aangan beyond without looking at them. On the right and the left side of the aangan were broad stairways to the upper floor. She took the stairs on the left to an upstairs room.
She found the room empty.
The rear of the room opened on to a veranda. She went out and called out, ‘Kikka! Gulli! Where are you? Come, children.’
There was no response.
Where were the children? Tara wondered. Somebody should surely have heard her, and said something in reply. She looked down into the aangan and called out for Karmo, the old woman servant.
The house looked deserted. On one side of the aangan, Chaitu the servant boy was creating a racket as he washed the floor with water from a tin bucket. Tara called out to him and asked about the children.
Chaitu said, ‘The kids are in the other wing of the house. They won’t come. Maaji has said that they don’t need a tutor any more.’
Tara’s heart missed a beat. She was walking towards the stairs when she heard someone call her, ‘Tara, is that you?’
Dr Nath came towards her. He rephrased Chaitu’s message, ‘You’re looking for the kids? They’ve all gone to Vachchovali. Come this way. Asad too is here, we’ll all sit together.’
Nath’s words did not have the ominous tone of Chaitu’s, but Tara’s mind was still on the servant’s words. The wing of the house they went to belonged only to Nath. No women lived there. Tara felt a little embarrassed, however she could not but follow the doctor.
Tara had tutored Kikka, Bholi and Gulli, three-and four-and-a-half-year olds, for three months the previous summer. More than tutoring, it was playing with colours and doodling with crayons on paper. Tara knew it was meant to help her with her college fees. The previous year, Nath had gone to Simla after appointing her as tutor and paying her one hundred rupees in advance. The war was over, but the governor of Punjab sent for Nath for his advice now and then.
This year Tara had asked Puri to remind Dr Nath about the tutoring. She would be able to save some money, she thought, for her winter clothes. Nath was not needed in Simla as he was last year, and she sometimes saw him at the mansion when she went to tutor the children. Nath would ask after her, and sometimes invite her to stay for tea. The women of the house had received Tara cordially and were friendly towards her. But when they heard that she went to Nath’s side of the house alone and had tea with him, they began to treat her like a pariah. Now when Tara met them, they would look askance at her and exchange meaningful smiles. Tara felt hurt and ostracized.
Tara had told Asad about her tutoring the children of Nath’s family. They met twice at Nath’s place; during the vacations there was little other chance of meeting at the house of some friend from the college or the Student Federation. Asad would sit with Nath and wait for her to finish. He would then leave with her and they would walk together up to her gali.
Tara knew that the family of Seth Gopal Shah was among the wealthiest in Lahore. In the right wing of the mansion, with three huge inner courtyards, lived Nath’s aged father, and the families of his other sons. The left wing held Nath’s quarters. He lived alone, and his servant and his kitchen too were separate. Tara also knew that when Nath was a boy, Masterji had come to this mansion for eight years as his tutor, and that he regarded Masterji with reverence. Upon returning from England, he had come to visit Masterji at his home to pay his respects. Tara still had a vivid memory of Nath being dressed in a bright white shirt and trousers, and how Masterji was flustered when such an eminent guest arrived. Her father had called for something to be brought for the guest to sit down, but Nath sat next to Masterji on the straw mat spread out on the floor. Everyone in the gali knew of this visit.
Nath led Tara to a veranda in his wing of the mansion. When Asad saw Tara, he stood up and greeted her with a ‘Namaste’.
Nath asked his servant to bring tea, and said to Asad as he took his chair, ‘Yes, go ahead. You can speak freely before Tara.’
‘Yes, I know I can,’ said Asad. ‘Dr Saheb, I was saying that these fanatics are poisoning people’s minds in both Hindu and Muslim neighbourhoods. In the mosques, the mullahs are preaching to the faithful and issuing fatwa for jihad in the name of the Prophet. They are making plans to collect arms and ammunition. If riots break out here, the carnage will be worse than in Calcutta. If Khizr chooses to remain oblivious to all this, the governor should be told.’
‘The bureaucracy is not troubled by sectarian riots.’ Nath said. ‘The riots would diminish the influence of the League and the Congress. Tell this to your leader Fiqar; he left the Congress and joined the League. Tell this also to Ibrahim, the leader of the railway union. The Muslims trust these men.’
Asad leaned forward in his chair, ‘They are doing what they can. The government too needs to act firmly.’
Tara ventured to say, ‘Some women from the Hindu Defence Committee were inciting similar trouble in our gali today.’
‘I know, this is happening not only in this town but in the whole province,’ Nath said in agreement. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked at Asad, ‘Sir Khizr can’t do much at the moment. Several members of his Unionist Party have defected to the Muslim League. If he puts any pressure on the League, he might face desertion by the rest of the Muslim members. He doesn’t want to take that risk. His ministry is on its last legs; let’s see how many days it can drag on for.’
Asad tried again, ‘You can speak to the governor, Sir Evan Jenkins. You’re his advisor.’
