This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 20
Puri called out, ‘Throw bricks down from the roof tops.’
Prabhu Dayal, Mewa Ram, Bir Singh and Mukund Ram too repeated Puri’s call, ‘Pull down the latrines! … Throw down bricks!’
Puri shouted at Tara, Usha and his mother, ‘Go to the roof at once and pull down the latrine walls and throw the bricks at the attackers.’ After the news of rioting in the galis of Bhati Gate and Said Mittha, the women had been told about this method of defence.
Puri went to Ratan’s door and called, ‘Give me something too!’
Ratan was removing a small box from an almirah. He put it down carefully, and handed Puri a lathi kept beside the door. Puri went down, taking the stairs two at a time.
Mewa Ram and Bir Singh with hatchets in hand were the first to reach the gali. Bir Singh too challenged the crowd by yelling imprecations about the mothers and sisters of the attackers, ‘Come on, you …!’
Tikaram, Puri and Manohar, swinging their lathis, faced the invaders. Prabhu Dayal, Mukund Lal and others too had reached the gali. Terrified women were screaming all around. Mewa Ram gave the Hindu war cry, ‘Nara-e-Bajrangi!’
‘Har Har Mahadev!’ Puri roared with others.
Women were crying and yelling at the top of their voices, but were also pelting the attackers with bricks from the rooftops. The bricks fell in such numbers that neither the attackers nor the defenders were able to take a step forward. Both sides were shouting ‘Ya Ali!’ and ‘Har Har Mahadev!’ and hurling curses and abuse at each other.
Rampyari’s voice was heard from the window of Dewanchand’s house, ‘Hey Shamoo! Stop! Come back upstairs!’
Someone called from the rooftop of Panna Lal’s house, ‘Mewa! Puri! Biru! Watch out!’
There was an explosion in the midst of the attacking crowd, and a giant flame leapt skywards.
Hai! Oh! Ooo! came the screams. The attackers turned round and fled, stumbling and bumping into each other. The gali was filled with acrid smoke. Several people sneezed.
Prabhu Dayal, Puri and Mewa Ram called out to the women on the rooftops, ‘Stop! Enough! Don’t throw any more bricks!’
The women of Ghasita Ram’s house continued to cry and scream. Ghasita too was yelling, ‘Fire! Fire! My house is on fire! Help me!’
The doors to his house were on fire. Some firewood stacked on the landing had also caught fire. It was impossible to pass through the entrance to the house.
Panna Lal’s house adjoined Ghasita Ram’s. Some men went over to Ghasita Ram’s house from Panna Lal’s roof, and pulled out women and children. Women from all the houses were passing bucketfuls of water to men to douse the flames. Everyone in the gali was doing something to extinguish the fire. Water was being thrown from the windows and the rooftops of the houses situated on the opposite side.
Puri ran towards Rang Mahal to summon the fire engine.
The attackers had retreated towards the bazaar of Mochi Gate, but one man from that mob remained lying on the gali floor. It seemed as if a small bundle of clothes had burst open. A hit from a brick from the rooftop had smashed his head like a melon dashed to the ground. Trickling blood formed a puddle all around.
Doctor Prabhu Dayal pointed to the corpse and said to Mewa Ram, ‘Bhai Mewa, remove this nuisance at once. If the police found this body here, the whole gali would have to bear the consequences. Take him back to his own gali.’
Mewa Ram put down the bucket in his hand and called, ‘Ratan bhappa, come quickly with your musical instrument.’ He said to the doctor, ‘Right now, badshaho, he goes back to his home.’
Ratan put down the water pot he was holding and pulled out a pistol from his waistband. He grabbed one leg of the dead man and Mewa Ram the other. They dragged the corpse like a dead dog past Ghasita Ram’s house up to a gali inside Mochi Gate.
The fire engine reached the gali in about fifteen minutes. The gali people had not let the fire spread. In no time, the firefighters bathed the houses of Ghasita Ram and the others next to it with long-reaching powerful jets of water.
The chaos was over in less than an hour. But it looked as if the gali had been ravaged by a storm. Mud, water and bricks covered the ground. Blood mixed with the mud in front of Harbans’s house.
The men of the gali stood or sat on their chabutaras discussing the damage done to Ghasita Ram’s house. Ghasita Ram and Panna Lal were examining the walls of their houses damaged by the fire and the explosion. Kartaro, Basant Kaur and other women were telling each other about the shock they had felt from the blast.
Khushal Singh patted Ratan on the back, ‘Bravo, you fearless boy!’
Babu Govindram’s chest swelled with pride. He said, ‘No bhai, all the boys fought bravely.’
The doctor corrected him, ‘Mewa, Puri, Harbans, Manohar and Tikaram were equally brave. They were the first ones to face the attackers.’
The women at their windows had a new subject. Pushpa said, showing her hands, ‘Look at these blisters from throwing those khasamkhani bricks.’
‘Death to bachchepitte, these mourners of their own children,’ Kaula cursed. ‘All my bangles have been smashed from hurling bricks.’
Meladei said from her window, ‘Did you all hear what Rampyari said? She was telling her son to stay home. That good soul isn’t the only one with a son. She wants her son to cower at home, and other lads to jump into the fight. Haven’t we all gone through the pain of giving birth!’
Kartaro echoed Meladei’s sentiments in an angry voice, ‘Yeah, she’s the only one to have suffered birth pangs. We just pissed our babies out.’
Rampyari shot back from her window, ‘I didn’t ask any one to go and fight. Those who have a few big strong sons, let them send their sons to fight. I’ve only got one son.’
Bhagwanti was incensed. She looked out of her window and yelled at Rampyari, ‘Watch out, you slut! Don’t count other people’s children!’
Curses were also hurled from other windows at Rampyari.
The men standing around or sitting on chabutaras called to their respective windows, ‘Hey, shut up! Stop this nonsense!’
Dewanchand raised his voice to he heard, ‘Now we must put an iron gate at the mouth of the gali next to Ghasita Ram’s house.’
Puri said, ‘The municipal corporation will object. For ages this has been the route from Machchi Hatta to the bazaar at Mochi Gate.’
Tikaram said, ‘What route? No one comes this way from up there, or takes this road to get up there. Only Muslim families live in the gali on the other side.’
The Woman-of-the-Well had been stunned by the explosion. Nobody had thought of looking after her. She slept very little, and could not stay indoors after the bedlam outside her house. She opened her doors, sat in the doorway and began her rant, ‘Ramji, take me away from this world. I have lived eighty years and seven, but this is the first time I’ve seen such fighting in the gali. You all are responsible for all this. When there are no relationships, no business or bonds between Hindus and Muslims, no consideration for each other, they will fight each other. What else. My days in this world are numbered. Ramji, please take me away. Who knows what’s to come next! Hai Ramji…’
No one paid attention to her. The gali people were busy talking about a new iron gate at the western entrance. Khushal Singh proposed that a watch be kept for the rest of the night, one from the right end, and another from the left.
The nights in Lahore in the middle of April are not all that warm, but Puri had been sleeping on the roof. Ratan followed Puri to the roof. Ratan had been addressing him as ‘Puri bhraji’ in previous days. As he went up with Puri, he again called him ‘bhappa’ or brother.
Ratan said, ‘These Muslims must have had some guts to attack us. Now they’ll rue the day. And that’s not the end of it. Tayaji told me that a large shipment of arms is due soon. There should be some “pieces” in the gali for such situations. Now everyone will be clamouring to buy weapons.’
Puri checked him, ‘Bhappa, this’ll never end if it goes on like this. The Muslims also have ways to get weapons. After all, we all have to live side by side.’
‘Bhappa, if they want Pakistan, how can they live next to us?’ Ratan asked.
‘Those responsible for fanning the flames of communal hatred have done their job. If some gullible people have become their prey, we should tell them that they’re wrong, not shoot them dead.’ Puri wanted to say more, but saw that Ratan was not willing to listen.
Early next morning, children from the gali houses carried back the bricks thrown from the rooftops. The missiles had been taken from the makeshift, single-brick walls of the dry latrines and, therefore, needed in the morning.
The puddle of mud and blood was washed away with bucketfuls of water. There were some tiffs between families over the bricks. The latrine walls on the rooftops of Tikaram and Birumal were a few bricks short. They suspected that Kartaro’s daughter Peeto had carried off some extra bricks.
Jeeva said sarcastically from her window without naming the brick-thieves, ‘May God pity those who covet other people’s bricks and stones.’
Kartaro turned around and said, ‘Tell that to those who took your bricks. Guru Maharaj will punish the false accusers.’
Tara heard the exchange and said without addressing anyone, ‘I wonder whom and how many God will punish! Will He punish those who attack and burn other people’s houses, or will He punish those who tie the hands and feet of other people and throw them in a well to drown?’
No curfew was in force that day. By 10 o’clock in the morning, most men had left for work. Only Puri, the doctor and Babu Govindram knew anything about the workings of the police and law courts. It was decided that if the police came to investigate while these three were away, the women should simply deny knowledge of any incident. The other men should do the same.
After being accused by Babu Ramjwaya of sitting at home twiddling his thumbs the previous night, Puri had decided to go to Ghaus Mohammad first thing in the morning and agree to compile the history book. He hadn’t eaten anything the night before and had to take an active part in the melee. He was weak and hungry in the morning. Masterji and Haridev had had their meal. Usha was across at Pushpa’s. Puri was about to ask his mother for his meal when he remembered Tara who was still lying in the veranda, her face covered with her dupatta. She hadn’t eaten the night before either.
He went to her and spoke in English, ‘What’s the use of shedding tears? I’ll discuss this with father. Mother doesn’t understand any of this. Tayaji shoots his mouth off the way he does; what did he not say to me that day! He taunted me for not having a job. Well, I’m on my way to accept a new assignment. I got only hundred a month at Pairokaar, but this man Ghaus is offering me 550 rupees for something I can do in two or two-and-a-half months. Not bad, eh?’
He tried to take her mind off her grief. ‘I just can’t figure what’s going on in the city.’ He told her about the bomb blast at the mosque, and the murder of the poor cobbler. He also recounted how he saw Ratan, Mewa Ram and Bir Singh running back into the gali from the Mochi Gate bazaar side, and the attacking crowd cursing the bomb-throwers. He said, ‘Did you notice something about last night? A house was set on fire, the fire engine came, but the police and the government remained oblivious. Nothing seems to result from the efforts for peace and order by organizing peace committees. Either the communists should work with all their might—they control the 45,000-strong Railway Union—or let the people face whatever may come. Why should I waste my time? I’ll go to the party office too and discuss this with the comrades.’ Tara was the only one in the gali with whom he could talk about such matters.
At the kind words of her brother, the grief that had been collecting in Tara’s heart flowed out in her tears. She told him, ‘I’m coming,’ and sobbed quietly for a few moments. She thought of finding some excuse to go out with her brother. Maybe she would see Asad at the party office. Her tears flowed again. How could Asad know about what she was going through? But accompanying her brother did not seem possible. She was not feeling well either that day.
When Puri returned home in the evening, he was told the police had come to investigate. No one told them anything, but at the sight of the fire-damaged house of Ghasita Ram and the blast-damaged wall of Panna Lal’s house, both men were taken to the police station. Bir Singh had come home for some reason; he too was taken away. The police had taken a note of names and addresses of the gali families. It being Saturday, Babu Govindram, Tikaram and Birumal had returned early in the afternoon. They had gone to bail out and put up sureties for those in police custody. Everyone had become quiet after the arrest of three men from the gali. The children, too, were not playing.
Chapter 9
THE WALLED CITY OF OLD LAHORE WITH ITS MAZE OF GALIS WAS MORE vulnerable to rioting, knifings and arson than the outlying areas of Mall Road, Anarkali, Nisbet Road and Gwal Mandi. Outside the walled city, the flow of traffic and everyday activities of life went on unabated. The calls of Hindu and Muslim peddlers selling iced sherbet drinks, fruits, chunks of sugar cane, vegetables and mithai were as loud and prolific as before. The people living around this place were, of course, haunted by the spectre of incidents in the Old City. The threat of fresh clashes cast a pall over their lives.
Puri had not come to see Kanak for over five weeks and she pined away thinking of his coldness towards her. For her, the mayhem in the city, the arson, the killings—all seemed to pale beside her own suffering. ‘What’s to fear from death?’ she’d ask herself. For some days she remained in a huff, sulking, stubbornly waiting for him to be the first to make an approach. She rehearsed in her mind how, when he came, she would not say a word, but punish him for his cruelty by just shedding tears silently before him. But when he did not come, she accepted defeat. She was anxious to find him. She was like a dog lost in a crowd in a desperate search for its master.
Kanak had come to know about Puri’s walking out on his job rather than compromise his independence and principles, and about the motion to support him proposed at the union meeting. She found this out from Surendra and Zubeida. She also found out that Puri had put all his work aside in order to take an active part in the peace committees formed by Manzoor, Narendra Singh and other communist workers. Surendra told all this to Kanak in a tone that gave the communists all the credit for Puri’s participation in the peace efforts, and in one which suggested that she was closer to Puri than Kanak.
Kanak had become a bit wary of the communists after her differences with them over the 1942 Quit India movement. It had particularly vexed her that to get news of Puri and to have a chance to meet him, she had to depend on Zubeida and Surendra. She could have asked Tara, but none of the girl students living inside the old walled city had come to college because of the rioting. Tara’s college was closed, anyway, in preparation for the examinations. Kanak would just sigh in desperation at her helplessness. She was not the type to ease her pain and suffering by moping about and weeping quietly. In her admiration for Puri’s noble sacrifice, she was even more eager than before to meet him, but he had managed to avoid her.
Surendra’s garrulous and over-friendly manner often piqued Kanak. Zubeida was different, reserved and matter-of-fact. When Kanak showed interest in meetings and marches in support of communal harmony, both of them began to visit her home. Kanak’s house was on the route Surendra followed every day, and she would drop in every second or third day for a chat. Once she said casually, ‘Puri bhai speaks wonderfully on the issues of Hindu–Muslim unity. He was at our place the other day, talking for a long time about communal tension.’ Kanak felt snubbed by the fact that Puri had passed by her house, but had not even stopped to say namaste. What wrong had she done? She wondered. She too was willing to help in the efforts towards peace and communal harmony, but she wished Puri would speak to her about it, even once.
Surendra told Kanak that Puri would be taking part in the march organized by the Student Federation on 30 March, and would also speak at Bradlaw Hall. She hired a tonga and rode past the crowd that had gathered to march in the procession. She saw Puri twice, but he was surrounded by people, and she could not catch his eye. In her anxiety she thought of writing him a letter. She knew his address at Bhola Pandhe’s Gali, but was not sure who might open the letter. Puri had told her that his parents were quite old-fashioned in this respect.
A doubt niggled at Kanak’s mind that someone had turned Puri against her. She suspected Surendra, after hearing such effusive praise of Puri from her. Surendra had seen her a couple of times in the Gwal Mandi bazaar with the younger brother of Kanta’s husband, and had given her a knowing smile. Rajendra Nayyar sometimes took Kanak to Model Town to meet her sister in his brother’s car. Kanak was not particularly fond of him; Rajendra talked of little other than his hosiery business and bridge games.
Kanak habitually glanced at the daily newspapers. She read in the city news column of Pairokaar: ‘Bomb blast and fire at Bhola Pandhe’s Gali. A bomb was thrown at the gali and houses were set on fire. Some gali residents had been taken into police custody after an investigation of the incident.’
Kanak could not contain herself. Panditji was in his office early that day attending to some work left over from the day before. She read the news to her father and reminded him that Puri’s house too was in Bhola Pandhe’s Gali.
‘Oh, really!’ Her father took off his reading glasses and placed them on the desk. He held his chin as he reflected upon the implication of the news, ‘Yes, we haven’t heard from Puri for quite some time.’ He thought for a few moments, before himself providing the answer, ‘He must be busy. He’s a good boy, very hard working.’
Stung by her father’s indifference, she said, ‘We must enquire how he’s doing, don’t you think?’
‘Enquire?’ Panditji said scratching his head. ‘Yes, of course, although it wont be easy to find someone in those galis. Well, if Vidhichand has some work in the Lohari Gate area, I’ll ask him to pass by Bhola Pandhe’s Gali.’ He put his reading glasses back on and went back to the papers in front of him.
