This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 42
‘How can you say that?’ said Nath. ‘It’s my right. I’m as close to you as Puri.’
Masterji was again moved beyond words. Nath got up, said namaste respectfully to Masterji, and said to Tara in English, ‘The best of luck to you. Have a happy, healthy and long married life. Hope to find you so happy at our next meeting that you don’t recognize me.’ He laughed and went downstairs, chuckling.
Tara stood silently, her head bowed in farewell and gratitude.
Tara’s heart and mind were in turmoil. She wrapped her head in her dupatta and lay down. Behind her closed eyes, words in giant flaming letters appeared against a darkened sky, ‘You like Asad? He’s a good chap… Your father’s elder brother has got you engaged to some stupid boy… My family thinks I’m attracted to you.’
Tara did not want to see those words, but they seemed to have been burned into her mind by a branding iron. She felt anger against herself rising in her heart. What’s the meaning of such thoughts? These were past mistakes. Why did Professor Saheb have to turn up at this moment? She lay for about an hour struggling with her memories.
Six years ago, at the time of the first marriage of Somraj after he passed out of high school, Lala Sukhlal Sahni had hired the famous brass band of Bau, with all its twenty-five musicians in pugarees and colourful uniforms, to lead the bridal procession. He often mentioned the hiring of the band in his conversation. Now the times were different. This time he went, with only eight of his relatives in borrowed motorcars, to Bhola Pandhe’s Gali for the marriage of his son.
Somraj was not wearing mukut, the ceremonial headgear in the shape of a crown with a small plume, and sehra, the wreath of flowers around his head. He had wrapped only a couple of garlands around his pink silk pugaree. The bride’s family had not put up a loudspeaker to play music. Meladei, Sheelo, Pushpa, Usha and Seeta sang a few verses of conventional songs caricaturing the groom, but in voices that could not be heard outside the gali. Somraj’s father took part in the ceremonies that welcomed the groom and his party, had dinner with the other guests, and went back home. Left behind were Somraj with his young nephew, who was acting as sarbala, the best man. Lala Sukhlal was to return in the morning to take the bride home.
The custom of jaimal, the traditional adorning of the groom with garlands as he enters the bride’s home, was performed. Before the phere ceremony, the women of the gali took Somraj upstairs for the ritual of ‘getting to know the groom’. Meladei had given her big room for this purpose. Sheelo was particularly troubled by the low-key activities of Tara’s wedding in comparison to the air of noisy festivity and the large number of guests who had come to her own wedding three years before. Somraj looked stern without his wedding crown and the wreath of flowers covering his face, as if his heart was not in the marriage or some residue of Tara’s reluctance to be married was still at the back of his mind. Sheelo tried to cheer him up and banish his misgivings by being playful and jovial.
On this sacred occasion of a marriage, Masterji had asked that the custom of indecent jokes and the singing of curses and abuse aimed at the groom not be observed. Sheelo still tried to bring in some humour to lighten the mood. She prompted Usha and Seeta to sing chants for Somraj:
‘Jija, jija, lachi dey, nahin to sakki chachi dey (Brother-in-law, give us some cardamom, or else give us your aunt please).’
Somraj put his hand in the pocket of his jacket. Tara’s sister, cousins and other girls, with Sheelo in the lead, held out their hands for the customary gift. Somraj pretended to take something out of his pocket, but when he opened his fist in front of them it was empty.
The sister-in-laws, shouted again with glee, ‘Jija, jija, lachi dey…’ He again put his hand into his pocket, but the girls refused to believe that he had anything in his pocket, and continued to swear and scold him: nahin to sakki chachi dey, nahin to long-supari dey, (if not, give us cloves and betel-nut please), nahin to bhain kunwari dey (if not, give us a maiden sister please).
Somraj again showed them his fist to quieten them.
Sheelo said cautiously, ‘First open your hand, then we’ll believe you.’
He opened his fist and showed cardamom, cloves and betel nut previously put in his pocket for this purpose. When Sheelo held out her hand, he pinched it instead of giving her anything.
The girls yelled with glee, and to pay him back for his trickery, began to chant other curses and abuse. They made him empty his pockets. Their shrieks of joy and laughter filled the whole floor.
Masterji had arranged for the proper ceremony of giving away the bride to be held in the aangan below. A priest chanted vedic mantras as the bride and groom performed havan. At the time, Sheelo and her group of girls were trying to steal and hide Somraj’s shoes, and to sew the hem of his jacket to the cushion he was sitting on. Somraj would stealthily move his hand back and attempt to squeeze their fingers or pinch their hands to foil them.
After the havan was over, Sheelo asked the newlyweds to play some games meant to familiarize them with one another, and to dispel their shyness. A vessel filled with water mixed with milk was placed between the couple, a ring was thrown into it, and the first one to find it was declared the winner. During this and other games, Somraj continued to banter with the girls, making them laugh at his sallies.
All the customs and rituals were over by three in the morning. Meladei had laid out a bed in the big room in her house, and placed a table fan next to it on a bent-wire chair. Somraj was asked to rest there for what was left of the night.
Tara too was exhausted after sitting decorously for so long. Sheelo took her to the roof and both of them lay down together on a charpoy. Sheelo said, putting her arm around Tara’s shoulders, ‘See, how likeable he is. Such a good man! Now it’s up to you.’
Tara, her eyes closed, was thinking, ‘What’s past is past. My future and my life are now with him. I’ll do what I can, and try my best. It may not be that hard if I make the effort.’
Tara was made to have a bath in the morning, wear a new dress, and get ready for her send-off. Trunks with her trousseau were ready too, but only four could be fitted into the motorcars. The auspicious hour for her to depart from her home was at nine-thirty. Lala Sukhlal had said that he’d arrive at nine. He did so, with one of Somraj’s sisters.
As Bhagwanti, Sheelo’s mother, Meladei and others gali women led Tara downstairs, wearing clothes with gold and silver gota and her face veiled by a short ghunghat, all the laughter, teasing and merrymaking of last night turned into sobs and streams of tears. Tara too could not hold back her tears. Sheelo, Pushpa, Seeta and Birumal’s wife began to sing in a hushed, tear-soaked voice:
‘O father, I am still little.
My dolls are still lying in corners and alcoves of the house.
My days of playing with dolls are not yet over.
Why are you throwing me out?
I am being sent away.
My mother’s blouse is soaked with tears, my father is crying rivers, brothers are crying, the whole world is crying.
Only my sisters-in-law are happy.’
The women of the gali, tears running down their faces, went with Tara to the gali gate. Puri, Masterji, Ratan, Babu Govindram, Babu Ramjwaya and Kishori Lal found themselves moist-eyed.
Before she got into the motorcar, all her relatives, some still crying, again embraced Tara and bid her farewell. Tara was trying to overcome her own pain of separation from her family and their bitter tears, in the hope of belonging to a new family. A daughter is born, only to be sent away like this some day.
On 30 July, as on every other day just before dawn, the cries of the newspaper sellers were heard near the gali entrance, ‘Full liberty promised to Muslims in Hindustan, and to Hindus and Sikhs in Pakistan!’ Copies of Pairokaar, Chhatrapati and Siasat were taken in by the gali people. Masterji and Puri went down to the gali.
Ratan read aloud from one newspaper: ‘15 August 1947 has been declared as the day for Hindustan’s independence and for the formation of Pakistan. The executive committees of both the Muslim League and Congress have issued statements that the new governments will guarantee the safety of minority Muslims in Hindustan and minority Hindus and Sikhs in Pakistan. The minorities in both countries will have the same civil rights as the majority, as well as full freedom to practise their culture and religion. It has not yet been decided whether Lord Mountbatten will continue, for a period, as the joint chief administrative officer for both nations, or whether each nation will appoint its own governor general.’
Babu Govindram said contentedly, ‘What, after all, was achieved by the supporters of Pakistan? In place of the Unionist ministry, now it will be a League ministry. If Hindus continue to live in Pakistan, then the Muslims will have to include some Hindu members in the ministry for their own selfish reasons. They used to rule over the whole of Punjab, now they’ll have to be content with only half of it.’
Doctor Prabhu Dayal said, ‘What’s the problem if there is to be religious freedom and equal civil rights for all? If the Muslim League treats Hindus unkindly, won’t it have to think about the millions of Muslims living in UP, Bengal and Bombay?’
Masterji was wearing only a lungi. He had no shirt on. He spoke as he held his janeyu, the sacred thread, taut in both hands, and rubbed it on his back to relieve the itch from a heat rash, ‘Bhai, one should remain steadfast in his religious convictions. When Khilaji, Tugalak and Aurangzeb could not wipe out the religion of the Vedas, what chance can poor Jinnah and his Muslim League have?’
Babu Govindram said, letting out a sigh, ‘Why, then, all this murder and destruction, when after all and in spite of everything, everyone will remain where they were?’ They sat talking for over an hour.
Masterji said to Puri, ‘Kaka, get ready early today. Go to Mulkraj for his motorcar. His car will have to be driven back to him after Tara returns from her in-laws’ house. It’s a great favour from that good fellow. These days, nobody has any consideration for their former tutors. What do you think?’ he looked round the gathering for their approval.
‘I’ll leave soon,’ answered Puri, as he quickly went through the rest of the Pairokaar.
Lala Sukhlal had agreed that the bride would stay at her in-laws’ for a day and night, and then return to the home of her parents for about a week. Puri was to go and bring her to Bhola Pandhe’s Gali.
Babu Govindram had something to add, ‘There was no reason for Lala Sukhlal to hurry. He should have waited for a while, at least until things had quietened down. There was another auspicious period in two month’s time. Tara’s marriage could have been held properly then. Saheb, they have got pure gold. The girl is an incarnation of the goddess Lakshmi.’
All eyes turned towards the entrance to the gali. Babu Ramjwaya and his son Kishorilal could be seen walking in, silent and dishevelled. They were followed by Sheelo, her mother and Kishorilal’s wife, all sobbing. The gali people watched them approach in puzzled silence.
They wiped away their tears as they talked. When they got the news of the incident at Banni Hata, Babu Ramjwaya’s family had left for Bhola Pandhe’s Gali just as they were. After midnight in the Said Mittha neighbourhood, a crowd of Muslims had attacked several houses in Banni Hata lane and set them on fire. Shots were fired by both sides. There was no trace of Tara or the sister of Somraj’s father. The father of Madhodas, a neighbour, had not been able to escape either. Lala Sukhlal had received a bullet wound in the shoulder. Sukhlal’s house, as well as houses on both sides and Madhodas’s house across from his, had been gutted in the fire. The house behind Sukhlal’s house, where the Muslim Khoja lived, had also been burned down.
Sheelo and her mother began to cry loudly as they stepped into the gali. Bhagwanti looked out of her window, and without being told anything, screamed as she slapped her hand to her forehead. Masterji too began crying loudly as he stood in the gali.
There was pandemonium in Bhola Pandhe’s Gali. The family of Lala Sukhlal had moved over to the house of Somraj’s uncle in Mohalla Mohalyan. Babu Ramjwaya, Masterji, Rajrani, Bhagwanti, Puri, Sheelo and Kishorilal, despite their own grief, had to go to offer their condolences to Tara’s in-laws.
In the evening, Puri, Ratan and Mewa Ram went to see the ruins of the burned-out houses in Banni Hata. Masterji’s wish was that if any remains of his daughter could be found, they might be committed to the Ravi River, after performing the havan ceremony so that her soul would rest in peace.
Generations of moneylending families had lived in Banni Hata, carrying on the business of lending money against sureties of jewellery and similar valuables. The houses had old-style heavy carved doors and wooden beams in the ceilings. It was difficult to save anything, once a house caught fire. Armed police had cordoned off the smouldering ruins. Some police personnel seemed to be carrying out an investigation by sifting through the debris. The public was being kept away from the scene. This was done so that the onlookers might not carry off any precious metals that might be found. People whose houses had been destroyed watched helplessly from a distance, as policemen went through the remains of their possessions, cursing the police under their breath, ‘…These are the very people who allowed the fire to be set. How else could the goondas attack during curfewtime? Now they are stealing away our gold and silver before our very eyes.’
As Puri, Ratan and Mewa Ram came out of Banni Hata lane and into the Said Mittha bazaar, they heard a stranger comment sarcastically, ‘…Sukhlal used to boast so much about his power and influence. People say that the Muslims have abducted his daughter-in-law. He’s saying that she died in the fire, just to save his face.’
Puri’s steps faltered as he trembled with anger upon hearing such an insulting remark. Mewa Ram reached out, grabbed the stranger by his collar, and punched him hard in the face.
‘Hey! Stop! What’s going on! Look at these idiots! Fighting their own people. That’s why the Hindus are unable to save themselves.’ Several people intervened and separated the two. Mewa Ram and the unknown accuser continued to hurl abuses at each others’ mothers and sisters, and shouting threats to break heads and spill blood. Puri and Ratan had to drag Mewa Ram away.
Chapter 14
PANDIT GIRDHARILAL HAD THOUGHT IT BEST TO SEND KANAK AWAY FROM Lahore for some time after Puri’s release from the police lock-up. All civil cases at the Lahore High Court had been postponed indefinitely after the latest wave of rioting and killing. Nayyar had not been able to find any accommodation in the Mussourie Hills, and had to settle for a small bungalow-type cottage in the hill station of Nainital. Nayyar, Kanta, along with Nayyar’s mother, Kanak and Kanchan went to Nainital.
Nainital was quite crowded. Although it was further to the east than Mussourie, it was teeming with well-off Punjabis and their families from western Punjab and Lahore. The main topic of conversation on all sides was the atrocities committed against Hindus in Punjab.
Two years previously, Nayyar had spent the high court summer recess in Nainital at the invitation of barrister Haksar of Allahabad, who also practised at Lahore. Nayyar was known in bridge-playing circles and several clubs of Nainital, and had become a member of the New Club soon after his arrival. He was addicted to bridge, and played it with care and skill. Unless his partner was totally incompetent, he mostly won his games. Kanta, Kanak and Kanchan would accompany him to the club as his guest relatives.
That evening, a large number of people wearing hand-spun khadi clothes and white, boat-shaped Gandhi caps had gathered at the club. A reception had been arranged in honour of Krishna Narayan Awasthi, the parliamentary secretary in the province’s Ministry of Industry and Civil Supplies. Nayyar was told that besides being parliamentary secretary, Awasthi was an influential member of the Congress party in the United Provinces, as well as the secretary of the Congress Parliamentary Board.
The male members of the club usually favoured Western-style suits. Those who wore khadi clothes as a matter of principle wore Indian-style suits of fine woollen khadi. Nayyar and Kanak had never seen government officials wearing khadi suits in Lahore, and such a display of national sentiment in UP impressed both of them. Awasthi was wearing a kurta and dhoti of cotton khadi, a woollen Nehru jacket and a Gandhi cap. He also wore ordinary chappals, was of average height, slim built and dark complexion, and trickles of paan juice collected at the corners of his mouth. From the hair greying at his temples, his age appeared to be around forty. Everyone present was eager to speak to him and shake his hand. There were only half a dozen women from UP in the gathering, but among those from Punjab, the number of women equalled that of the men.
Nayyar’s introduction to Awasthi was very brief, but he stepped forward when Kanak was presented to Awasthi, ‘Kanak is the daughter of Punjab’s veteran political leader Pandit Girdharilal. Panditji was an associate of Lala Lajpat Rai, Lala Hardayal and Sardar Ajit Singh. He was jailed during the 1911–14 freedom movement. Kanak is an MA and a very talented and fine writer. Many of her short stories and articles have been published.’
As Awasthi sat down to tea, he gave a special invitation to Kanak, ‘Please join me.’ Nayyar and Kanak sat with him at his table.
Nayyar and his family had been in Nainital for less than a week when his brother Rajendra arrived with their brother-in-law’s mother, his two young children, and his adult sister. They told stories of several Hindu neighbourhoods in the town of Sargodha being ravaged, and of Hindu women kidnapped in broad daylight.
Mahendra and Rajendra searched everywhere in Nainital for a larger bungalow and also in the surrounding hills. Not a single house was vacant so they had to make do with the small bungalow in which no one could have a moment’s solitude or quiet. In the presence of three boisterous children and two old women eager to prove their piety, there was hardly an occasion to sit and reflect, or have peace to read or write.
In the morning Nayyar’s mother would chant from the Japaji Saheb, the holy book of the Sikhs, for a long time. Sometimes she would add Sukhmani Saheb to her intonations. If she was still not satisfied with such a display of devotion, she would recite prayers to Hanuman, the Ganga, or any other prayer that she knew. Not to be outdone, the mother of Nayyar’s brother-in-law would first chant prayers to the figures of the various gods she had brought along in a small rattan box. Then she would don her silver-framed spectacles, and read aloud from a large-print copy of the Bhagawat scripture. Sometimes one old woman would preach the importance of dharma and indifference to worldly things to the other, and sometimes the second would explain a religious tenet sanctimoniously to the first. They both firmly believed that only their form of worship and prayer would save their families from the curse of God that had fallen on them.
