This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (84 page)

The hopes that Kanak had felt at the time of her first meeting with Aseer had begun to wane after her experiences of the last few weeks. Five of her articles now had been published in
Sardar
. Most of her report on Gandhiji’s prayer meeting in Karol Bagh was left intact. The conclusions, however, were completely rewritten. Her articles on the plight of refugees were published unchanged, but instead of her name, under the byline ‘By our Special Correspondent’. She hoped that Aseer would keep his word and pay her for her writing.

She was also increasingly wary of Aseer’s excessive familiarity. His continual offers of cigarettes despite her refusals, his hand on her waist to help her while going up or down a flight of stairs. Kanak found his touch revolting and distasteful, even slimy.

Kanak thought of herself as a bold and daring person. She did not care for convention. But when she went to the Chelmsford Club, she realized how limited her world had been. Since smoking and drinking formed a part of the normal evening’s entertainment, why should there be different norms for their use for women and men? Wasn’t it unsophisticated to shrink from the touch of a male hand and be unable to contort one’s eyes and mouth in conversation? She had been thinking of herself as bold and capable in comparison with women whose world began and ended inside
the boundaries of their houses and galis. She knew little about how those of higher social standing thought and behaved. She now felt inadequate in those circles. And the discussions at the club on the issues of religious tolerance, the right of Muslims to remain in India, and the problems of giving them equal status left her perplexed and undecided.

The tension at the club was almost palpable. The air rang with references to Kashmir, Baramula, Uri, Pattan. Sinha thumped the table with such force in his rage against Gandhiji that the glasses were almost knocked off. He was enraged because by stopping the Muslim evacuation from Delhi and other parts of the country, Gandhiji was only doing grievous harm to the country. He said, ‘If our army hadn’t stopped the Pakistani army’s mechanized units at Baramula, Srinagar would certainly have fallen. Major Soni was saying that British officers were quite openly commanding the Pakistani army’s raiders. What if Muslims in India indulge in sabotage now? The Muslims here are only waiting for the right moment.’

‘Sabotage?’ said Aseer. ‘Not only sabotage. These Muslims had planned to stage a coup to take over Delhi. Stocks of army rifles, machine guns and hand grenades were discovered in their homes. Sardar Patel gave enough evidence to Gandhi, but he refuses to believe it. Patel is absolutely right when he asks how anyone can trust Muslims who have turned pro-India nationalists overnight.’

Mrs Baluja took a pull on her cigarette, and opened her darkly painted lips to show her pearly teeth and to let out the smoke. She raised her pencilled eyebrows, ‘Yes, how dangerous, isn’t it!’ She placed her cigarette in the ashtray, next to Sinha’s sending up a thread of smoke, and drained her glass of sherry.

Aseer called to a passing bearer, ‘One more sherry.’ He then asked the bearer to wait and said to Mrs Baluja, ‘Or a small whiskey?’

‘All right. I’ll have one just to keep you company,’ Mrs Baluja said with a laugh. ‘Gandhi is bent upon getting us all killed. Did you hear about that incident in Connaught Place? Gandhi insisted that the government should rebuild the mosque after throwing the refugees out. It was Patel who took a tough stand, and got the matter hushed up. We can’t depend on Gandhi.’

Sinha reached for his cigarette but picked up in his fingers Mrs Baluja’s cigarette with marks of her red lipstick. Kanak was about to point that out when she saw the eyes of the two meet. A smile flickered over Mrs Baluja’s lips. Kanak said nothing.

Aseer continued to vent his anger, ‘At this moment, thousands of refugees are living in mosques and tombs, even in the ruins of forts swarming with bats and jackals. Some poor destitute had to break up tombs to get bricks to make some kind of a shelter. Gandhi wants to have all of them thrown out. Is it more important to save people’s lives or to protect deserted and desolate mosques? Gandhi is on the side of fanatical Muslims, and doesn’t think about saving Hindu lives.’

Mrs Baluja took a sip of her new drink, and Aseer and Sinha followed suit. She said, ‘Patel saved us Hindus. Gandhi and Nehru would have got us killed.’

Aseer smiled and said sarcastically, ‘His sympathies should all be on their side. After all, he was brought up in that culture.’

Sinha again blew up, ‘The news about the aerial bombing of some eastern Bihar villages, where all the Muslim inhabitants were killed, has been suppressed. Hundreds of Hindus died there. I say,’ Sinha again struck the table with his hand, ‘let Gandhi go to eastern Bihar. I’ll bet he won’t return alive. The faith of a Muslim is such that he can never have nationalistic or patriotic feelings for India.’ I myself have heard Hasrat Mohani declare at a public meeting in Kanpur …’

‘What did their Iqbal say?’ Aseer cut him short, ‘All Muslims are one nation, the world is ours! Do you suppose they’ll ever let India be at peace?’

Their conversation depressed Kanak. How could anti-national feelings be tolerated? If the country is being threatened, national security cannot be compromised. How can anyone criticise the need to be alert to danger?

When they were leaving, Aseer added to what he had begun to say earlier when introducing Kanak, ‘Kanakji wields a powerful pen. She’s the daughter of an old and respected freedom fighter and a political personality of Punjab. Her family suffered great losses; they’ve had to leave their house and a large printing press behind. Her five or six articles, how many Kanakji? …five articles have been published in
Sardar.
All were well received.’

‘Certainly. We’ve got to help her,’ agreed Sinha.

Pandit Girdharilal did not believe in doing anything that went against his principles, for the sake of his politics. For him, politics was a temporary business, principles were everlasting. He approved of the views of Gandhiji and Nehru. He would say, ‘If India is to be a secular state, the policy of not
discriminating between Hindus and Muslims, while not extending tolerance towards Muslims on the whole, is a contradiction in principle. One should not forgive traitors, but to brand someone a traitor on the basis of religion alone is morally wrong. Does history have no record of Hindu traitors? This poison of religious fanaticism will ruin this country. Bhai, the demand for a separate Sikh homeland has already been heard. What the future will bring, who knows? If one’s religion becomes the basis of one’s politics, Sikhs, Arya Samajis, Sanatanis, Jains all will ask for special rights. Bhai, in Punjab I even saw Arya Samajis and Sanatanis smashing each others heads.’

Kanak agreed with her father’s opinion. If Puriji was here now, she thought, he could have written so well on this topic in some newspaper or other. Puri’s memory insistently invaded Kanak’s thinking. She had also received a reply to her letter to Awasthi in Lucknow. It came from Mrs Pant. Only a few lines, but full of optimism:

‘… I replied to your first letter at your Nainital address. Probably you did not get it. If you come here, we’ll do all we can. You can stay with me when you come.’

Kanak was worried: Ramprakash did not redirect any letters from Lucknow. If Puriji wrote, that letter too would not have been forwarded. Puriji must have given an address in his letter. Why would he write again when he didn’t get any reply? In her eagerness, she quickly wrote a letter to the postmaster at Nainital, asking that any letter addressed to Vimal Villa might be forwarded c/o Naya Hind Press, Faiz Bazaar, Delhi.

As Kanak got the feeling that she had little chance to succeed in Delhi as a journalist because of her strong opinions, the letter from Lucknow kindled hope in her heart. She broached the subject of her going to Lucknow with her father. He agreed with her in principle, but still advised her to have patience and try her luck again in Delhi, ‘Beti, what’s a mere six weeks? Others might have to work as an apprentice for a year and a half before they get taken on. Life is a struggle.’

On 5 November 1947, the newspapers carried a statement by the chief minister of UP, ‘Our state has no place for people who believe in the theory of Hindus and Muslims being two separate nations and two races. There is no question of anyone being asked to leave the state just because he or she happens to be Muslim, nor of anyone who refuses to consider himself or herself to be Indian being allowed to remain.’

The chief minister had also quoted a telegram received from the Pakistan government inquiring about the condition of Muslims in UP. The chief minister’s reply was, ‘Only the people of Uttar Pradesh and the Government of India, not any foreign country, has the right to demand an answer about any situation inside the state. Pakistan has attacked Kashmir. We will not entertain any questions from that country in these circumstances.’

A statement by Mister Lari, the deputy leader of the Muslim League, was also reported, ‘The Muslim League under its leader Mister Mohammed Ali Jinnah has no right to legal existence in India.’

Panditji heartily approved of these declarations. He praised the people of UP as serious-minded. Kanak saw this as an opportunity to ask permission to go to Lucknow. Panditji replied, ‘Beti, I have no objection, but we must give this matter a little more thought. Mahendra will arrive here from Jalandhar on Sunday. Let’s ask his opinion too. What’s the hurry?’

A delegation of Muslims from Bihar, UP and Delhi had gone to meet Gandhiji at Birla House, and to plead with him to stop the evacuation of Muslims to Pakistan. They wanted an assurance from the government that Muslims would be able to live in India without feeling threatened.

That evening, Gandhiji made a strong and emotional appeal during the broadcast of his prayer meeting at Birla House, ‘…Those Muslim brothers who have spurned sectarianism and who have pledged allegiance to patriotic Indian principles, who consider themselves to be a part of the Indian nation, and regard this country as their native land, to push them out of the bosom of their motherland would be a terrible crime.’

Disheartened by the restriction on expressing her opinions, and discouraged by the lack of payment for her work, Kanak had not written anything for over a week. But she was very keen to write in support of this appeal by Gandhiji, and to raise her voice against injustice. When her enthusiasm did not fall off after two days, she wrote a small article. If it was an injustice to force us out of our homeland, she reasoned, it is equally unjust to force out those Muslims who do not want to leave India. A policy of an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth will only provoke further injustice. She felt confident that Aseer would publish this article out of respect for humanistic ideals and fair play.

She knew that Aseer kept to his office between three and six o’clock in the afternoon, and called on him. He started off by complaining about her
not coming for so many days, then sent for tea. He made light conversation for a few more minutes before getting down to Kanak’s article.

His face turned serious. ‘Isn’t the fact of people being forced to leave their homelands a result of the demand for the creation of Pakistan?’ he asked.

‘But the Muslims remaining in Delhi or in India were not responsible for throwing us out of Lahore. Those who believed in the Two Nations theory have already left. Why should these people who stayed behind be made to pay for the crimes of others?’ Kanak answered his question with another.

‘It’s the Islamic doctrine that has created these feelings of hostility and prejudice against us. Those who are true believers in Islam have turned into our enemies. Is there another kind of Islam?’ Aseer asked, leaving Kanak without any possible reply.

‘No. The reasons for that enmity were economic,’ Kanak replied.

‘Let’s get off this subject,’ Aseer said, ending the conversation. ‘Let’s go to the club. You didn’t return after that first visit.’

‘I’m not in the mood. It also gets late.’

‘Mister Sinha asked after you twice. He’s the one who decides who’ll write the pamphlets for the Information Department. It pays 200 to 250 rupees. If you want him to help you, you’ll have to meet him.’

‘Can’t do it today,’ she said, unable to contain her anger.

On her way home, as she turned at the corner of Silwali Gali, she saw a crowd of refugees in front of her house. She heard agitated voices and the frightened voice of her father.

Fear gripped her heart. Was their house again being assailed by a mob of the homeless looking for living space? How would she be able to pass through the crowd to get into the house?

As she drew near, she heard her father speak in a hoarse, high-pitched voice, ‘… I’ve a document in his own handwriting.’

Someone from the crowd spoke in Punjabi, ‘Stop worrying! We’ll see who dares to try to throw you out of your house.’

Another voice rose, uttering obscene curses, ‘We’ll cut him to pieces. This Gandhi will do us all in. First he made us lose everything, now he wants them to take over Delhi too. Just stop worrying.’

One of Panditji’s neighbours spoke up, ‘How can the police take any action in this business? They’re siding with the Muslims, only at Gandhi’s insistence. This isn’t a criminal matter, it’s a civil case. Let Syed file a complaint in the law court! We’ll see what Gandhi can do then.’

Kanak felt relieved that people had gathered to help, not to threaten her father. The crowd made way for her.

Panditji was very upset. He explained that Syed had returned from Pakistan. He had come with his family and a police escort to claim back his house. ‘He accuses us of defrauding him, and says that we have no house in Gwal Mandi. When I asked him to show the documents I had given him, he lied through his teeth that I had given him none. But I have those he gave me, in his own handwriting. Bajrang is my witness. That double-crossing Syed said that we broke the locks on his trunks and took out the papers. When I showed him his signature, he said that it was a forgery.’ Panditji kept up his litany of frustration for a long time.