This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (19 page)

Puri could not hold back, ‘Sure! I don’t want to work at a place where I have to suppress the facts!’

‘Is that so?’ Kashish said sarcastically. ‘You already have some agreement with the League. Get out! We don’t need traitors here!’

Puri got up in anger and shouted back, ‘You’re the traitor!’

Kashish’s eyes became red with rage. He pressed a switch on his desk. A bell outside his office door rang. Puri went on, ‘You’ve betrayed the Congress, the country, your people. I spit on your job!’

In the next room others were inquiring from the peon about the uproar in Kashish’s office. The peon came running at the sound of the bell.

Puri had opened the door; he got out before the peon could enter the office. He heard Kashish yell, ‘Throw this man out! He’s not allowed back in the office.’

THE NEWS OF JAIDEV PURI LEAVING HIS JOB AT
PAIROKAAR
,
OR OF HIS BEING FIRED
from the newspaper, spread quickly among the journalists of Lahore, but not a single report of the incident appeared in the press. The newspapers might have differed in their political affiliations and sectarian beliefs, but there were no disagreements among them about keeping employees in line.

Manzoor, Hira Singh, Asad, Narendra Singh and Mahajan did their best to organize a united show of protest by the journalists of Lahore against the unjust treatment of Puri by his editor. A number of assistant and sub-editors were in sympathy with Puri’s views. These sympathizers were willing to voice their support, but on condition that all the journalists from all the newspapers joined them. Few of Puri’s friends were confident of his getting any kind of general support. A section of the city’s journalists found Puri’s right to express his opinion to be morally justified, but harmful to the commercial interests of the paper. Puri, in their opinion, should have toed the line. There were some others who thought that Puri’s comments amounted to bad political judgement. The communists did not succeed in uniting the journalists in support of Puri.

On the evening of 8 March, curfew was imposed in the Bhati Darwaza, Delhi Gate, Said Mittha and Mazang areas after rioting went out of hand in those neighbourhoods. The communists waited two days before calling a meeting of the city’s Printing Press Workers Union, and had a motion passed in support of Puri’s call for communal harmony and condemning the injustice done to him by
Pairokaar
.

The union meeting was held in the evening outside Chardewari, in a garden near Mori Gate. Several people spoke, and then Asad stood up to praise Puri’s journalistic and literary abilities. Citing his courage, Asad said that this exemplary journalist and writer had empathy for others’ suffering. Asad read Puri’s editorial from
Pairokaar
to the gathering, and asked, ‘You be the judges: is this an appeal for Hindu–Muslin unity or an attempt to besmirch someone’s reputation?’

Asad declared, ‘We intend to send a copy of Puri’s article to Mahatma Gandhi, and ask for his opinion as to whether the writer is guilty of slander.
We hope that the
Pairokaar
management will honour Mahatmaji’s verdict. The newspapers demand freedom of the press from the government. We ask, do they give their journalists the same freedom to express their views? Is freedom of the press and of speech meant only for the owners of the newspapers? What about freedom of expression for those who do not own a newspaper or a printing press? Such one-sided freedom will not be in the public good, and will also serve the interests of the newspaper bosses.’

Asad appealed to the public, ‘The sacrifice made by Comrade Puri for the sake of communal peace should not be in vain. The workers of Lahore should raise their voices in support of his demand that the Congress, the League and the Akalis stop playing into the hands of the British imperialists in the hope of getting ministerial positions, and that they work together to form a common front to take back the administration from the governor.’

Hira Singh and Pradyumna also spoke. The gist of their speeches was that British imperialists, who manipulated the two Hindustani peoples by their ‘divide and rule’ policy, were the enemy in the struggle for independence. But greater and more dangerous enemies were those who were turning the struggle for political autonomy into a sectarian confrontation. The independence and unity of India rested on harmony between Hindus and Muslims. The negative consequences of gaining the political upper hand by inciting communal hatred and rivalry, and of working hand in glove with British civil servants, were obvious to everyone.

‘Friends, terrible news has come of widespread riots in Amritsar earlier today. The commercial hub of Punjab is in flames. The people behind this conflagration are safely ensconced in their palatial houses, leaving you and me to be the victims of this inferno of hatred. Our brother Puri was doing something sacred; he was working, fearlessly and selflessly, to defend the man in the street. We appeal to all journalists of the country to follow Comrade Puri’s example. The struggle for our country’s independence and for uplifting the masses cannot be safe in the hands of leaders who want to incite sectarian hatred for their own devious ends. The working class must strive for the unconditional unity of the people. We, the workers of this country, in one united voice, offer our praises to Comrade Puri for doing his duty. Victory to Comrade Puri!’

Puri was deeply moved by these generous tributes. When he stood up to express his thanks, he had to make an effort to control his emotions and clear the lump in his throat, ‘I am much obliged to you, my friends, for your
recognition of my efforts. For the sake of my conscience, I am willing to walk away from hundreds of jobs if need be. Hindu–Sikh–Muslim unity is the first step towards gaining freedom from slavery under foreign domination. The Congress has always stood, and will always stand, for this ideal. Subhash Bose’s Indian National Army was a living proof of the strength of our unity. I pledge my word here before you all that I’ll never shirk from sacrificing my life for that ideal.’ The audience cheered and clapped.

After news came in of bloody riots, looting and arson in Amritsar, a group of communist workers went there to help with peace efforts. They asked Puri to go with them. Puri was shaken by the enormity of the destruction in the carnage. Their efforts quickly succeeded in restoring peace. Enemies of the previous day embraced their opponents and asked for their forgiveness. Puri felt hopeful.

The communists, some Congress workers who opposed sectarian discord, the socialists and other liberal-minded people, launched a movement for communal and civic harmony in Lahore. They held meetings in various parts of the city and began peace patrols with the help of the Railway Workers Union. Puri was always invited to these meetings, and he too participated with a sense of purpose. Sitting idle at home was intolerable for him. He was always treated like a leader and a hero at these meetings. The recognition of his sacrifice encouraged him, but this feeling alone could not meet the needs of his daily life. The long faces of his mother and Masterji bespoke their regrets about his losing the job. They had become an object of sympathy and pity for the gali people. Puri felt like a limb cut off from a tree, its leaves and shoots gradually withering away.

At the suggestion of Asad and Pradyumna, Puri had sent a copy of his
Pairokaar
articles and a description of the treatment meted out to him to Mahatma Gandhi by registered mail. With Gandhiji’s moral support, he hoped to gain some standing in political circles. But three weeks passed without any answer. His communist friends had asked like-minded staff workers of other newspapers to look for a job for Puri, but that effort too proved fruitless.

Puri was deeply frustrated by the resulting lack of money, more so since he had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle in the past year. He had bought several things on credit on the assurance of getting one hundred rupees at the end of each month. The shame of not being able to settle his debts was as painful as an insect boring into his skull.

Pairokaar
owed Puri his salary for February. But he could not bear the thought of going to the office and demanding it. Bhagat Ram and Indranath had warned him not to expect his outstanding salary to be delivered to his home. Kashish was not even willing to hear the mention of Puri’s name. Puri found it maddening that he could not afford to hire a tonga, have his shirts laundered or even get a haircut. He used to hand over most of his salary to his mother, and the family scraped by on the combined salaries of father and son. How could he ask her for money now, when he was not earning a single rupee? The hot months of summer had begun. The middle-class people of Lahore wore either white shirts and trousers, or white linen suits. Such elegance had now moved beyond Puri’s reach.

In those days of difficulty and anxiety, Puri often thought about Kanak. The memory of her indifferent behaviour in the presence of Nayyar still gnawed at him. He wanted to tell her about his misfortunes, but meeting her would mean telling her about losing his job. This predicament was making him drift like a leaf blown down the street in a windstorm. He thought it better not to go and see her in his impoverished situation, and risk a blow to his self-respect.

Puri had the ability and the inclination to work. In fact, he desperately wanted to work, but the chance to do so was being denied him. And this denial meant a half-empty stomach, a lack of clean clothes and the frustration of being unemployed. There was no hope of finding work with any Lahore newspaper. He often thought of going to another city, but could not muster the courage to try his luck without some assurance of work. Gather your wits, he told himself, you’re better known in the field of literature and journalism now than when you were just a beginner at
Pairokaar
. He decided to become a freelance writer.

He wrote two satirical articles on Kashish and titled them: ‘The Wily Writer’, and ‘Mr Big Editor’. One was published in
Sitara
, the other in
Bhanmati
. Despite widespread praise, all Puri got for them was ten rupees each.

Puri pondered: Is literature and art worth so little? At least 4,000 or 5,000 persons must have read my articles. He reasoned: What more can I expect? I write just to entertain the readers. What more should an entertainer expect? Like other street jugglers and pavement artists, if I stood and read aloud my work in the garden outside Chardewari, maybe people would throw a paisa or two to me. I might be able to earn fifty
rupees a day, but being a white-collar gentleman, I can’t bring myself to do that. He smiled at himself: I am penniless, but I still want respect. That’s the height of my folly. Prestige is measured by one’s means. For my means I must depend on magazines and newspapers.

In his distress he would think: What a miserable profession I have chosen! The fame of an artist or a writer is like a hollow drum: its sound reaches far and wide, but there’s nothing inside. But what else could I have done? Take a job earning forty or fifty rupees a month at some school or as a clerk with the railways? For him that thought was even more humiliating.

Pandit Girdharilal had great regard for Puri’s talent. Pride had not allowed Puri to accept money for tutoring his daughter or to reveal his own modest circumstances. He would have preferred to commit suicide rather than admit his being penniless to Kanak’s family and ask them for a handout.

Seven or eight months earlier, Pandit Girdharilal had asked Puri for the manuscript of his short stories. Again, it would have hurt Puri’s pride to remind him unless Panditji talked about it first. He felt it was beneath him to show any eagerness to have his writings published as a book. He would despair and think: Nothing earns respect like having money; all show of friendliness is mere pretence.

Puri knew the owner of Adayara Munavvar, the Urdu publishing house. He got from him the work of translating an English novel into Urdu, at eight annas per page. Despite the efforts for peace, there were sporadic incidents of rioting, violence, arson and knifing. On days home due to the curfew, Puri would work hard and translate, sometimes more than 20 pages of the novel. He would feel happy that he could earn at least ten rupees at the end of the day; 300 rupees per month!

Puri managed to translate half the novel in a week and took the manuscript to the publisher in the hope of a payment of seventy-five rupees. The owner of Adayara Munavvar, Ghaus Mohammad liked the translation, but he was, as Puri found, in no hurry to publish the book. He had given the job to Puri mainly to help out a promising writer. Puri swallowed that remark for the sake of future business relations with the publisher. Ghaus promised to pay a part of the money in a couple of days. Puri lost interest in finishing the translation. He thought, what’s the value of an art that has no buyer!

Another month passed. No political party, either on its own or in
coalition, succeeded in forming a government. The administration remained in the hands of the governor and his cadre of civil servants.

The League’s demand for Pakistan had become increasingly vociferous and militant. The Anti-Pakistan League, under the leadership of Master Tara Singh, roared to match its stridency. The newspapers were full of reports of terrified Muslims fleeing westward from their ancestral homes in eastern Punjab, and of frightened Hindus on the other side uprooting themselves to settle in eastern Punjab. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the lid to blow. At the time of the Quit India movement in 1942, most people would break out in a cold sweat at the mention of swords, firearms or other weapons. Now Puri frequently heard about Lahorites hoarding swords, spears and guns. Some were having crude flintlocks made out of plumbing pipes. It was widely rumoured that in the name of defending Hindus and for the defeat of Pakistan, one could buy as many guns as one wanted for about Rs 200 each from Lala Madho Shah and Lala Sukhlal.

In spite of the efforts of the communists and the committees for the maintenance of peace, some part of the city would always erupt in riot and flames and a curfew would be imposed. The University and the colleges were closed for preparatory leaves for the examinations. Tara had been warned not to go out because of the possibility of riots breaking out at any time. In desperation she thought, it’s me who has to take the brunt of the stupidity, fanaticism and rivalries of other people. But she was helpless. On those days Puri too was forced to stay home and work on his writing or on his translation. When the curfew was relaxed, the communists would organize a meeting or a march in support of communal harmony. Puri always took part in such demonstrations.

Tara would find some excuse to go out with him to hear him speak. Asad had guessed Tara’s difficulty, and he was always present on such occasions. They got a few minutes to talk together while Puri gave his speech. After the meeting, Asad would walk with them through Shahalami to Bhola Pandhe’s Gali, and continue on his way through Rang Mahal to Delhi Gate.