This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (37 page)

‘How many will you get rid of?’ The doctor asked. ‘Who are Muslims now? Those who were Hindus only a short time ago. And what if more Hindus convert to Islam?’

‘Times have changed. It’s not the reign of Aurangzeb any more,’ Ratan answered.

‘If not Muslims, the untouchables and outcasts will become the problem…’

Puri cut the doctor short. ‘They’re already a problem. If you exploit any people, they’ll revolt as a class, become hostile and turn into your enemy.’

‘Bhappa, you bring communism into everything!’ Ratan said with irritation.

‘This is history. And I’m not a communist.’

Ratan turned his head away in disagreement. Puri gave up.

Puri could not do much work the next day either. The bridal procession was due to arrive that evening for the wedding of Ghasita Ram’s daughter. Puri was expected to lend a hand at their house. Mukund Lal and Khushal Singh were the self-appointed organizers for any such special occasion in the gali. Mukund Lal told Puri to go to Lohe ka Talab to arrange for tents and gas lamps. And to make sure to hire everything from a Hindu and not a Muslim supplier.

Puri found some time in the afternoon to work on his play ‘Doongi Gali’. Around 4 o’clock, Ratan called ‘Puri Bhappa!’ and came in. He said to Puri, ‘The groom’s party will come this evening from Kashmiri Mohalla. There are two mosques on the route, and shops belonging to Muslims, as you know. It’d be a shame on us if anyone in the procession were attacked on the way here. You know that the other day some person going in a bridal procession to Shahi Mohalla was knifed in Hira Mandi. Tell me, bhappe, what should we do?’

‘You tell me,’ Puri put his pen down.

‘I think that three or four of us should accompany the baraat from Kashmiri Mohalla to here. We should get there by five-thirty.’

‘I’ll go with you.’

‘Bhappe, some places on our route are rather unsafe. What if any of us get killed trying to protect the people in the groom’s party? I already have two sets of body armour, I’ll get one more. Listen, you go out often. Why
don’t you buy one instead of having to borrow it each time? Mewa Ram, Bir Singh and Dewanchand have all got one.’

‘What’s a suit of armour? What does it look like? I have never seen any.’

‘Wait, I’ll show you.’ Ratan leaped to his feet, went to his half of the house, and came back with a sleeveless shirt made of galvanized tin. He opened it up—a breastplate and a backplate made from light-gauge sheet metal that could be fastened on the side. Ratan said, ‘The one that Dewanchand got is quite heavy. I got this from Husaini, the tinsmith; the same one who used to sell us those things to squirt coloured water at the time of the Holi festival. He told me that lots of Muslims were buying these. Here, see, how light it is! If we’ve to go out at night, we put this on under our shirt. It would stop a bullet from a small calibre pistol.’

Puri replied with a laugh, ‘No, bhappe, I can’t bear to put on this tin shirt in this heat, nor do I have the money to buy it.’

Ratan said, ‘All right, don’t buy one, but at least wear one when we go to Kashmiri Mohalla.’

‘No, I don’t need all this hassle,’ Puri did not want to pursue the subject. ‘I’ll just go like this.’

‘No, bhappe!’ Ratan objected. ‘Why should a Hindu die for nothing? Before he falls, let him first kill four others.’

To end the argument, Puri agreed to wear one.

IN THE LAST WEEK OF APRIL, WHEN PURI LEFT PANDIT GIRDHARILAL’S HOME
after meeting with him, Kanak had gone out with Puri under the excuse of making a visit to her friend Sarla Sharma near the Shahalami Gate. She had been anxious to speak with Puri, and while talking they walked towards Lawrence Garden, in the direction opposite to the Shahalami Gate. Their conversation lasted a long time and Kanak was uneasy because the gathering darkness indicated that it would be late before she arrived home, but how could she just leave without saying all she wanted and without reassuring Puri? Returning from Lawrence Garden in a tonga, they discussed where and how they would meet in future.

When Kanak saw her sister’s car parked near the entrance to her gali, she bit her lip apprehensively. She had told her father that she would return early. She had remembered, that her sister and brother-in-law were due to visit that evening. But they usually came late in the evening, and stayed for dinner. After receiving Kanta’s telephone call in the morning, Kanak told Kesari the cook to buy and cook some mutton for dinner.

At first, when Kanak and Puri had begun going out together, they used to ask Kanchan to come along. Kanchan too enjoyed those outings of fun and frolic. Soon they began to forget to invite her. Kanchan would not invite herself, but she did resent not being asked. Left behind at home, she would read or sew. On that evening she first picked up a copy of the
Naya Zamana
magazine from the living room and lay on her bed reading it. Then she began to embroider the neckline of her new kameez.

When Kanchan heard the sound of the horn of her sister’s car, she put aside her embroidery and ran down the stairs to be the first to welcome her baby niece. She did not see the child in her brother-in-law’s arms, and exclaimed in disappointment, ‘Hai, you didn’t bring Nano today?’

‘We had some errands to do in the bazaar. Had to leave her at home,’ Kanta replied.

Nayyar asked as he stepped into the living room, ‘Is Kanni back yet?’

Panditji put aside the magazine he was reading, screwed up his eyes and asked in some concern, ‘Why do you ask? Did you meet her?’

‘She was at the far end of the Lower Mall Road. With what’s-his-name, Puri,’ said Nayyar, sitting down. ‘We were passing through. We spent quite some time in the Anarkali bazaar. She should be back by now.’

Panditji began to stroke his chin with his hand. ‘Hmm,’ he said. Then added, ‘She should get here any moment. She’s probably on her way back.’

Kanchan looked at her father and took a deep breath. Panditji had called her about half an hour before to ask, ‘Kanchi, do you girls have this month’s
Naya Zamana
upstairs?’

When Kanchan brought the magazine to him, her father voiced his concern that Kanak hadn’t come back from visiting her friend Sarla Sharma near the Shahalami Gate. He was nervous about any young woman staying out late in these times of unrest and conflict. ‘And now jijaji says that he saw Kanni and Puri on the Mall Road!’ Kanchan remembered that Kanak hadn’t explained the mystery behind the loan that she said she took from Zubeida, and had had a long conversation with Panditji one night. Kanchan could guess the reason for her father’s concern.

Panditji asked Kanta several things about Munni, his little granddaughter. Then he talked with his son-in-law about a court case that Nayyar was contesting for some client from the town of Moga. Kanta then went inside to the aangan to see her mother. Kanchan was sitting next to her brother-in-law. When there was a break in the conversation, she said with a reproachful pout, ‘Jijaji, you’ve forgotten to bring me flowers again. You’re no good! I’ll never visit your place now, I swear.’

Nayyar playfully tried to make up for his oversight by telling her about the wonderful flowers blooming in his garden, and why she should come there to enjoy them. He also promised to perform several little services for her as penance. His younger sister-in-law was about to turn eighteen, but to tease her he spoke to her as if she were still eleven.

Panditji took up an old topic of conversation with Nayyar about buying some land in Model Town, and about his idea of building on it a comfortable and airy small house with a garden. Kanchan also had something to say on that subject.

Kanta returned from talking with her mother. She looked at the clock on the living room wall and asked, ‘Kanni isn’t back yet? What’s holding her up?’ She wanted to get back home to her daughter.

Kanchan held her breath as she tried to catch her elder sister’s eye. Her
father was already fretting over Kanak being late, and she did not wish him to be reminded of it. But Kanta’s gaze was upon Panditji. She had begun to tell about a new, wheeled baby walker that a friend had sent from Bombay. And how her Munni, although still too young to walk, could now roll her way around the room, sitting in that contraption.

After she finished describing the walker, she again said, ‘It’s getting quite late, pitaji. Let’s have dinner. Kanni should arrive any minute now.’

Panditji again grunted in reply. Then he said, ‘Yes, she should. She should be here by now. Yes, let’s begin.’

Nayyar said impatiently, ‘It
is
late. That Puri won’t let her go until he’s finished gabbing. He talks on and on just to hide his nervousness.’

Panditji cut him short, ‘Kanchi, tell Kesari to serve dinner. Don’t know why Kanni’s so late?’

Kanchan got up and went inside. Her sister’s behaviour had upset her too. She had noticed how Kanak had been acting distracted and stressed lately. She knew the reason behind it, but that knowledge had not made her sympathetic to Kanak’s problem. She knew that no one else in their family was fond of Puri. Her father’s anxiety troubled her especially.

By the time Kanchan returned to the living room after seeing to the dinner, Kanak had arrived and was explaining defensively, ‘Jijaji, I got held up. Couldn’t help it. I’m really very, very sorry.’ She went and sat next to Nayyar on the sofa.

Nayyar pointed to his watch and said, ‘A little late? Is this some kind of artsy-fartsy act that your guests wait for you at your home while you discuss highbrow stuff with your friends on the Mall Road?’

Kanak sidled closer to her brother-in-law and laid her head on his shoulder to humour him, ‘You a guest? Isn’t this your home too? You weren’t waiting at the roadside or somewhere out in the sticks.’ She jumped to her feet and sat on the armrest of Kanta’s chair and began to complain about her not bringing her little daughter.

The next day Kanak noticed that her father was rather quiet. She tried to make him laugh when they were having lunch, but he merely forced a smile. His expression remained solemn in the evening too. When his grave attitude continued the next day, Kanak asked Kanchan, ‘Kanchi, what’s the matter? Pitaji seems a little sad.’

Kanchan was waiting for a chance to explain. She replied, ‘I hadn’t said anything because I thought you might think it wasn’t my business. Two days
ago, you told pitaji that you were going to Shahalami to see Sarla Sharma, but jijaji told us that he saw you with Puri bhaisaheb on the Mall Road. Kanta bahin and jijaji kept on asking where you were. Pitaji changed the subject, but he clearly was hurt. You know how he insists on being told the truth.’

‘Where’s the lie in all that?’ Kanak replied. ‘I did say I was going out. What does it matter whether I went to Shahalami or to the Mall Road? The same thing can be said in so many different ways. Pitaji saw me leave with him.’

‘But Kanni,’ Kanchan said, ‘you know pitaji’s not narrow-minded. We should have some consideration of how he feels.’ She wanted to delve deeper into Kanak’s secret.

‘I do care for his feelings,’ said Kanak.

Kanak felt slighted by what she thought was her father’s unjust reaction. ‘Am I not free to talk or meet with whomever I choose?’ A wave of resentment rose in her heart, ‘I’m not a baby any more! Soon I’ll have to decide what to do with my own life. I won’t always live with my family.’ She was annoyed with Nayyar too. ‘Who’s he to spy on me? He’s probably feeling snubbed now that I don’t go out gadding about with him.’

Kanak was ready to fight for her right to personal freedom, but she also had to yield to her father’s right to affection for her. To lessen his anger, she brought his afternoon tea to the living room. She told Kanchan that she had something to discuss with him in private.

As she handed the cup of tea to her father, Kanak began asking for his pardon in an embarrassed voice, ‘Pitaji, I returned quite late in the evening the day before yesterday. As we were going towards Shahalami, I met Nanda Malhotra going the other way. She insisted that I walk with her for some distance. I didn’t want to return alone, so I asked Puriji to come along too. I didn’t know it’d take so long.’

‘It’s all right, beta,’ Panditji said, with cup in hand. ‘You are quite sensible. But, you see, one has to be more responsible as one gets on in life. One has to consider the opinions of others too. Usually, it doesn’t make for a healthy outlook on life to put down rules about which boys and girls you can keep company with, but at your age, when emotions rule the heart, you ought to be more careful and selective. Your going out alone with a young man may appear unusual to some people. Probably it does. My suggestion is that you take Kanchi along, when you go out. You’ll have company, and she too will get a chance to meet some people. Right?’ Her father waited for her response.

Kanak remained silent.

Panditji went on, ‘You’ve been brought up in a free and wholesome atmosphere, but someone who hasn’t had much contact with girls till recently may misinterpret such a friendship. And once you’ve finished your MA, we must begin to think about your marriage too.’ He laughed his whinnying laugh, ‘To find a match for you we’ll have to consider his social position, his personality, his family connections—all those things.’ He switched to English, ‘Puri is a good lad, but you and he belong to completely different classes and backgrounds. You must also consider the build and physique of a partner. So that he doesn’t develop any wrong ideas. I suggest that you stop seeing him altogether for a while.’

Kanak was about to blurt out her secret, but she choked it back. ‘I’ll tell him another time,’ she thought.

Panditji continued to speak gravely in English, ‘Listen to me, beta, I’m thinking of nothing but your best interests and your happiness. I hope you won’t forget what I’ve said.’

Kanak made an effort to suppress what was in her heart, and got up with the resolution to find a way in the long run to tell him what she wanted. Her heart was heavy and it was an even greater torture that she had to hide her true feelings. The following morning she remembered that she was to meet Puri that evening between 6.30 and seven on Nisbet Road. But after yesterday’s talk with Panditji, she dared not to? And she was not willing to take Kanchan along, either. She would, she decided, write a letter to Puri and apologize for not being able to keep the rendezvous.

When Kanak and Kanchan needed envelopes and postage stamps, they would ask Vidhichand for them. He was a relative of Pandit Girdharilal, and had been working for him for over twenty years. Both the girls addressed him as ‘uncle’. Kanak went to him soon after he arrived in the office at nine in the morning, and asked for an envelope and stamps.

Kanak returned to her room and wrote a letter to Puri. It was not easy to write to him. He himself was a writer, who looked for the hidden rather than the obvious meaning. He would have taken her father’s objection to her meeting him as an insult. So Kanak wrote:

‘My own one, something has come up. You know how unexpected things can happen in a family. I won’t be able to get out this evening. You will get this letter tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll get a note from you today or tomorrow. I will meet you wherever you say. If you don’t give me a place
and time before Saturday, we will meet at 2 p.m. on Saturday in the Standard restaurant. I will be dying to see you … Kanni.’

All the family’s mail was delivered to Panditji’s office. When there was something for Kanak or Kanchan, Vidhichand would come into the aangan and call out, ‘Munni!’

Kanak or Kanchan would answer, ‘Yes, chachaji?’

‘There’s a letter,’ Vidhichand would say, and hand it over.

Panditji had gone out on Friday afternoon. Kanak was desperate for a letter from Puri. She went to the office to inquire, ‘Chachaji, any letter for me?’

‘For you? Yes, I gave one two days ago to the junior munni.’

‘I got that one.’ Kanak asked, ‘But since then?’

‘That’s the only one bhaisaheb gave me for you. I put all the mail on his desk. He goes through it first.’

Disaster! The letter must have arrived, Kanak thought, but had not been given to her…. ‘These people are bent on making life impossible for me!’

She waited for a letter on Saturday as if her life hung in the balance, but none arrived. She was finding it impossible to behave normally. She did not want to have lunch, but forced herself to eat something. She said, just for the sake of appearances, ‘This raita is really tasty. Hai, I have a huge appetite these days. That’s why I’ve put on so much weight.’

‘Look at her! She thinks she’s put on weight!’ Panditji said. ‘Your college has closed down. Kanta is going to the hills in June. You both should go with her.’

‘No, pitaji. I don’t like the Mussourie hills. There are hardly any nice walks there. I like Simla better,’ Kanak knew that Panditji could not arrange to send her to Simla.

After lunch, Panditji went to his room to rest. It was only quarter past one. Kanak went to her room and lay down on the bed. She did not want to arrive early, because it was improper for a woman to sit by herself in a restaurant. But the fear of being late would not let her rest either. She forced herself to stay in bed for ten more minutes. Before opening the wardrobe for her outdoor clothes, she glanced at Kanchan to check if she was asleep. Kanchan’s eyes were wide open; she was reading some magazine.

Kanak felt irritated. She knew Kanchan was bound to ask her where she was going. That could not be helped. She got up quietly and opened the
wardrobe. But the rustle of her starched clothes caught Kanchan’s ear and she asked, ‘Hai, where to, in this scorching sun?’