After the Storm (20 page)

There was something potent about the combination of darkness and drink, he decided. It brought to the surface emotions and desires that stay buried at the bottom of one’s heart and never dare surface in broad daylight. He looked again at Mili. Her eyes were glittering in the moonlight and he could not look away. ‘Your eyes,’ he whispered, ‘they’re so hypnotic … so intense … You’re the first woman I’ve met whose eyes speak volumes.’

He looked down at her hands as she looked at him incredulously and said, ‘Sir?’

He pulled her right hand into his and caressed her stubby fingernails. ‘Poor nails,’ he mumbled.

‘Oh no, sir, please don’t start again,’ she groaned.

Raven continued to look down and play with her fingers. ‘I feel so calm, so much at peace with myself when I’m with you,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel the need for words. I can be myself when I’m with you.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. ‘There are very few people in this world who you can actually talk to, and fewer still with whom you can remain silent and yet communicate.’

He emptied his bottle with a glug and called out to the waiter to get him another drink.

‘Sir,’ said Mili in a worried tone, ‘I don’t think you should be drinking any—’

Raven put his fingers on her lips and drawled, ‘Shh! I’m your teacher. You’re not supposed to interrupt me. Now listen …’ He lowered his voice and spoke so softly that he was barely audible. ‘Do you know why I talk to you so much and not to anybody else?’

‘So that I forget my own loss and grief?’

‘Umm … maybe … maybe not …’ He threw the empty whisky bottle into the lake. He watched the rippling waters for a moment, then looked at Mili. Pushing back a tendril of hair that had fallen over her brow, he tucked it behind her ear. Then ever so gently, he cupped her face in his hands. He watched her as she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

‘I think I’m falling in love with you,’ he said. Then he got up abruptly and went indoors.

Mili sat in the library, fiddling with her pigtails and staring at the book in front of her. What happened at the party last night? Did Raven Sir really say he was falling in love with her? Did he mean it? Or was he jesting? Or had he guessed her feelings for him and wanted to see her reaction? She got up and closed her book. She had to know. She went down the stairs and walked to his office.
Oh Lord Kishan, be with me,
she muttered under her breath as she hesitated and looked around. Then gathering her courage, she knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ Raven barked.

Mili walked in. She looked at Raven. He was seated at his desk and did not bother to look up. ‘Good evening, sir,’ she said as she sat down. Was she imagining things, or did he still smell of alcohol?

‘What is it, Malvika?’ he asked brusquely, without looking up. ‘I’m busy. Can it not wait until tomorrow?’

Lowering her eyes, Mili began to chew her thumbnail. Oh Lord Kishan. Someone was in a foul mood today. She cleared her throat. ‘Sir, do you remember what you said last night?’

Raven averted his gaze. ‘I’m afraid I had a little too much to drink. I don’t remember anything.’

‘Sir, but you’re a teacher. How could you get so drunk? Aren’t yo—’

‘Yes,’ Raven cut in sharply. ‘Yes, I’m a teacher. But teachers are also human. I made a mistake … like human beings sometimes do.’ He continued to leaf through his students’ essays.

Mili stared at him. He was behaving as though she had already left the room. Or was invisible. She sat in silence for a long time, then whispered softly, ‘Sir, are you sure you don’t remember anything? Or are you afraid?’

‘Me? Afraid? Of what?’

‘Of what people might say?’

‘Have I ever cared about such things?’

‘Then what is stopping you?’

Looking up from his papers, Raven glanced at her. ‘I’m not selfish. That’s all I can say.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will, with the passage of time. Go home now, it’s getting late. And shut the door behind you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Mili replied quietly and left the room. She dragged her feet to the palanquin waiting for her by the school gate. She got in and sat down. The palanquin swayed uncomfortably as the bearers picked it up and started their descent down the hill.

Mili stared ahead into nothingness as tears rolled
down her cheeks. Why was she crying? She had known all along that Raven Sir had not meant a single word of what he said last night. Then why was she upset now? And what did he mean by saying he was not selfish and she would eventually understand? None of what he had said today or last night made any sense. And yet she had hoped against hope … that he too would love her as much as she loved him. Maybe not as much, just half – not even half; if only he could reciprocate even one-tenth of what she felt for him.

She got off the palanquin hurriedly when they reached home and ran towards her room. But Mausi had seen her and noticed her swollen eyes and red nose.

‘Have you been crying?’ she asked tenderly.

‘No, Mausi.’

‘You’re going to lie to me, Mili?’ she said, lifting her chin with her fingers. ‘Won’t you tell me what’s upsetting you? Am I not like your mother?’

Mili pulled Mausi’s hand away. She sat on the sofa and began taking off her shoes. ‘I was reading a sad poem, Mausi, and couldn’t control my tears.’

‘Then go wash your face and come for your meal,’ said Mausi.

‘I’m not feeling too good. I think I’ll skip supper and go to bed right away.’ With that she went to her room and shut the door.

12th August. 1942. Mili was in Gurpreet’s house. She had gone to collect some books she had left behind at Uncleji’s Tuck Shop the other day, when having lunch with him and Jatin.

She looked at Gurpreet. He had let himself go after Vicky’s death. His hair was long and unruly again, beard unkempt. He almost looked like a fakir, except for the haunted look in his eyes. ‘What happened to the rest of the litter?’ she asked as she stroked Bruzo, Gurpreet’s dog, a brown Lhasa apso with an adorable white patch on its forehead.

‘My aunt sent them to different homes. Couldn’t afford to keep them all. But this one is close to my heart, there was no way I was going to let her give him away,’ said Gurpreet as he caressed Bruzo.

‘He’s the one Vicky wanted to take to Mohanagar?’ Mili asked, as she tried to brush Bruzo’s hair off her clothes and grimaced. She was going to smell like a dog all day today.

‘Yes, the greediest of the lot. When he was a puppy, he used to look so funny when he walked. He’d run two or three paces, then fall flat on his face. I got worried and took him to the hakim, thinking there might be something wrong with his legs. But it turned out he was just a little overweight. Fancy that! An overweight puppy.’ He laughed as Bruzo barked at him, looking offended. ‘You’re an absolute glut, aren’t you?’ he lisped, as he playfully pulled Bruzo’s ears. ‘The time when Vicky saw him as a puppy, he used to drink up an entire saucer of milk, while his brothers and sisters barely managed to finish one between the five of them …’

‘Talking of drinking,’ Mili said, ‘you shouldn’t have worried about Raven Sir objecting to your drinking at the party.’

Gurpreet guffawed. ‘True, he was more drunk than I
was.’ He stopped playing with Bruzo and looked at her. ‘And what’s between you two? He was stuck to you like a leech all evening.’

Mili looked away. ‘Don’t be mad,’ she eventually said. ‘He’s my teacher.’

‘Yes, and don’t you forget that. A teacher
and
an Angrez. That reminds me – on our way here, we passed the collector’s car. Wasn’t he our Vicky’s Uncle George?’

‘Yes,’ Mili replied tersely.

‘He was looking at you in a funny way …’

‘That’s because I spat in his face the last time I bumped into him.’

‘You spat at him?’ said Gurpreet, staring at her incredulously.

‘You would too, if you knew what he did to Vicky.’ Mili bit her lip no sooner the words were out of her mouth. She shouldn’t have said that.

‘What? What did he do to Vicky?’ Gurpreet asked. His Adam’s apple moved. He raised his voice. ‘Mili, what d’you know about Vicky that I don’t?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re trying my patience, Mili. Tell me.’

‘I can’t,’ Mili replied. She gulped and bit her thumbnail. She had never seen Gurpreet so angry before.

He now grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her hard. ‘Don’t play games with me, Mili; tell me.’

‘I can’t,’ Mili sobbed. ‘I have sworn not to tell anyone.’

Walking over to his desk, Gurpreet picked up the holy book of the Sikhs. He put his right hand on the book. ‘I swear on the holy Guru Granth Sahib that I will not breathe a word to a single soul. Now tell me.’

Bruzo padded up to Mili and began licking her hand. Mili looked down at him and stroked his back. ‘He raped her,’ she whispered.

Gurpreet’s eyes blazed as he stared at her. She shrank back, afraid he might strike her. He finally spoke. ‘I’ll destroy that man,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I’ll drink his blood.’

The door flung open and Jatin barged into the room. ‘Preeto,’ he said. ‘All the Congress leaders including Gandhi and Nehru have been arrested.’

‘Why? What happened?’ asked Mili.

‘It was because of their Quit India movement against the British. The Congress, why, all of Hindustan, is enraged. You can’t put people behind bars for carrying out a peaceful demonstration. Trouble has erupted all over the country now.’

Mili looked at Gurpreet. He was facing the window, his back towards them. He was trying to get a hold on himself. His hands were shaking slightly as he lit his cigarette.

‘How do you know all this?’ he asked, taking a puff and turning around to face them.

‘I was at Guruji’s house,’ replied Jatin. ‘He himself said so. And he wants to see all of us urgently tomorrow.’

Gurpreet’s Adam’s apple moved. ‘We’ll fight the bloody goras,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Draw blood for blood.’

Mili noticed his forehead had tautened, his hands were curled into fists and his eyes were incensed. And a numbing fear ran down her spine.

The next day dawned crisp and clear. The monsoon rains had packed and left, promising to be back the following year.

Gurpreet entered Guruji’s house nodding at comrade Jaidev, who had opened the door for him. He looked around the prayer hall. It was packed. There were about seventy-eighty people in there. Maybe even a hundred. It was difficult to say. More than half of them were students from MP College.

Once they were all seated, Guruji proceeded to address them. ‘As you all know, the British Raj has once again acted unjustly. They have put our leaders behind bars for carrying out a peaceful demonstration. Are we going to sit at home and watch them languish in prison?’

A shout went up. ‘No!’

‘Then we must act, and act fast. All of you present here, especially the students – you are the future of this country. It is you who will herald in a free Hindustan …’

A shout of ‘Vande Mataram!’ rent the air.

Guruji raised his right hand to quieten the crowd. Once everyone had stopped shouting, he continued speaking. ‘I’m going to select some of you to aid me in cutting off the British lines of communication. Our aim is not to hurt anyone, but merely to protest against the unfair imprisonment of our leaders.’ He took off his cap, raked his fingers through his hair, then put it back on again and recommenced speaking. ‘We want to make them realise the strength of our power. Simply because we follow the path of ahimsa does not mean we’ll take everything lying down. We have done till now. But not any more. And by blowing up the post office and the
telegraph office, we will be demonstrating to them that we can also rise up in arms if required.’ Guruji raised his voice. ‘It is a warning to the British Raj that if they do not release our leaders, there is more to follow. And we are not afraid.’

The students began cheering and clapping, and shouting, ‘Do or Die!’ Guruji again waited for them to become quiet. ‘The rest of you will join me in carrying out a peaceful demonstration across town this evening,’ he said. ‘Are all the banners and placards for the march ready?’

Jaidev pointed to a heap at the front of the hall.

Walking over to the pile, Guruji read the banner right on top.
FREE OUR COMRADES
, it said. He picked up the next one and read it aloud – ‘
DO OR DIE
’. He put them back on the pile and said, ‘Good.’ Then he walked over to the corner of the room where lots of sticks and wooden torches had been piled up. Turning around to face his audience, he said, ‘These are to be used only for self-defence. You are not to beat or kill anyone. It is against the principles of the Congress … Gurpreet …’

‘Yes, Guruji?’ answered Gurpreet, upon hearing his name.

‘Come here, my son,’ said Guruji.

Gurpreet went up to him and touched his feet.

Guruji gave him his blessings and, turning his attention back to the audience, began calling out twenty-five other names.

The rest of the party members started talking, coughing, shuffling.

Having finished calling out the names, Guruji clapped
his hands to have everyone’s attention. ‘The rest of you, take these sticks, torches, banners and flags and leave quietly two by two. We will collect in the town square at four this evening. And if you have nowhere to hide them, collect them on your way to the town square. Vande Mataram.’

Everyone echoed ‘Vande Mataram’ and began leaving the house gradually.

Gurpreet and the other twenty-five boys now followed Guruji to the anteroom, which smelled strongly of incense and camphor. They watched as Guruji opened a couple of the many boxes that filled the room. Under the incense sticks in one box were revolvers, and in the other, which had a top layer of cotton wool battis, there were bombs.

‘You lot will not take part in the procession,’ said Guruji as he divided the boys into two groups. ‘You will keep low until 9 p.m.’ Touching Gurpreet’s shoulder lightly, he said, ‘You’re going to lead your group and blow up the telegraph office. But mind you, no one should be hurt, unless it’s a must. And the rest of you are to follow Chirag and destroy the post office. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Guruji,’ chorused all of them.

Gurpreet did not say anything but his eyes shone. Yes, this was his chance.

It was pitch dark as it was a moonless night and the street lamp wasn’t working either, which was just as well, thought Gurpreet as he lit another cigarette. He had already smoked twenty since morning and his
clothes reeked of tobacco. But with each puff he took, his anger grew. All he could see in front of him was the collector’s face, his big, pale, grotesque face. That man did not deserve to live.

He walked purposefully to the park in the neighbourhood. Standing before the bushes at the end of the green, he lit a match and held it high above his head. That was the agreed signal. About a dozen boys came out from behind the bushes, just as Jatin and Shivam sprinted towards them, across the park.

‘Jatin, Shivam and Devashish, come with me,’ whispered Gurpreet. ‘The rest of you, proceed to the telegraph office and do exactly as you’ve been instructed.’

‘But what about you fo—’ asked Mukul.

‘Don’t ask questions,’ Gurpreet cut in. ‘Just do as you’ve been told. We don’t have time to waste. Move on, now.’

He then led the others down the hill, towards the Mall. Kishangarh seemed unusually quiet that night. Just a faint shout of ‘Quit India, Jai Hind’ could be heard in the distance, which soon died down.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the look of bewilderment on Jatin’s face. Gurpreet stared at him, his chin set in a firm line. He was not going to let even his dearest friend stop him today. Jatin withered under his incensed glare, mumbled something and began following him up the dirt track.

‘I heard the procession this evening turned violent when some firangis started hurling abuse at them,’ said Jatin. ‘A lot of arrests have been made.’

Gurpreet did not reply but carried on walking.