City of Ghosts (2 page)

‘Did the rats try to eat it?'

Bissen had told them a story about the English soldiers. How some of them would be woken during the night by rats licking their hair, attracted by the taste and smell of the creams they used to keep it in place.

‘Not my hair,' he said patiently. ‘I kept mine under my turban.'

‘Did you have to eat the rats?'

‘No,' replied Bissen. ‘We just shot at them.'

As a farmer trundled past on a wooden cart pulled by two huge bullocks, Gurdial wondered whether to tell Bissen Singh what was really on his mind. The problem was that Bissen would react exactly as Jeevan had. Gurdial was in love with a merchant's daughter – a rich girl from a well-to-do family. He spent each night dreaming of her, hoping to find the courage to ask for her hand in marriage. But deep down, he knew that his dreams were hopeless. There was no way her father would consent to the marriage – Gurdial was too poor and from a lower caste. People like him did not marry girls like Sohni. Ever.

‘You look as though the troubles of the world are upon your shoulders,' Bissen told him.

Jeevan smirked. ‘He is in love,
bhai-ji
.'

‘Shut up!' demanded Gurdial, turning red with embarrassment.

‘What's this?' asked Bissen. ‘Have you found yourself a nice young girl?'

Gurdial groaned.

‘Tell him,
bhai
,' urged Jeevan mischievously.

‘It's nothing!' insisted Gurdial. ‘It's just a girl I've seen—'

Jeevan snorted. ‘The daughter of a rich man,
bhai
,' he told Bissen.

‘Oh. Which man is this?'

Gurdial shrugged. ‘It is Gulbaru Singh's daughter.'

Bissen raised an eyebrow. ‘The cloth merchant?'

Gurdial nodded. ‘It doesn't matter anyway. It is nothing – a dream – and it won't ever come true.' His heart broke as the words left his lips.

‘But what's the point of dreaming?' Bissen asked him. ‘What's the point of hope?'

‘I don't understand . . .' said Gurdial.

‘If everyone thought like you, then no one would ever achieve their dreams,' explained Bissen. ‘Dreams do come true – not all of them, I agree, but they do sometimes.'

Jeevan shook his head. ‘But Gulbaru Singh is an evil, nasty man,' he told Bissen. ‘He hates poor people. There is no way he'll allow Sohni to marry a penniless orphan.'

‘Then perhaps Gurdial needs to go and find his fortune,' said Bissen. ‘No one knows what Fate holds in store for them. No one.'

‘I
know
,' Gurdial replied. ‘But Jeevan is right. Sohni is just a dream . . .'

Bissen put his hand on Gurdial's shoulder. ‘Have you spoken to her?'

Gurdial nodded. ‘We meet in secret sometimes, when she can get away. Her mother died when she was young and her father remarried. His new wife does not allow Sohni to do anything. We have to be careful.'

‘And is your love mutual?'

‘Perhaps,' Gurdial replied with a shrug. ‘She tells me it is, but how can she want someone like me? I have nothing and I will never have anything.'

‘We are orphans,' added Jeevan. ‘We are of a lower standing than her.'

Bissen frowned. ‘When I was in Europe fighting for the English I learned a great lesson,' he told them. ‘At the end of the day, when it really matters, there are no higher or lower people. When Death comes to call, he doesn't ask if you have money. He does not care if you wear rags or are dressed in the finest cloth known to man. No one has the right to regard themselves as better just because they have money. The Gurus teach us that we are all equal.'

Gurdial saw a bead of sweat breaking on Bissen's forehead. ‘Are you feeling hot,
bhai-ji
,' he asked him.

Bissen wiped his brow and nodded. ‘Just a little under the weather,' he lied. ‘I need to go and take some medicine.'

‘Oh.' Gurdial was a little disappointed. He loved to listen to the soldier, to learn of new things. Bissen was like an older brother – a wise head to ask for advice.

‘Perhaps you can come and see me tomorrow,' Bissen suggested. ‘We can talk some more.'

Gurdial smiled. ‘I'd like that,' he said.

As Bissen walked away, Jeevan shook his head. He removed the onions from his pocket and noted that the rotten stench was gone.

‘What's the matter,
bhai
?' asked Gurdial. ‘Why are you shaking your head?'

Jeevan grinned. ‘He is lying to us.'

Gurdial looked shocked. ‘About what?'

‘He's not ill, Gurdial,' teased Jeevan. ‘I can't believe you could be so stupid—'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘
Pheme
,' replied Jeevan. ‘He is a drug addict.'

Gurdial frowned. ‘I know we are brothers,' he told his younger friend, ‘but if you ever tell lies about Bissen-ji again, I'll slap the skin from your face!'

‘But—' began Jeevan.

Gurdial didn't wait for him to finish. He slid off the wall and walked away, heading for the crowds in Hall Bazaar.

GULBARU SINGH'S HOUSE
sat in the centre of a walled compound, three storeys high and painted a light, minty green. The pale yellow wall was five feet high, and inside it were thick hedges that grew up half a foot higher than the wall. The front of the house had two verandas that flanked a heavy wooden door. The gardens were mature, with tall plants and well-established evergreen bushes. To the left of the house were eight mango trees and a single peepal with a thick trunk and a high canopy; to the right stood a majestic old banyan tree, its gnarled trunk looking as though it had been twisted by the hand of a giant.

Around the back, the garden had two plots, divided by a well-worn dirt path. On one side was a vegetable patch and on the other, more bushes and plants. A single narrow gate in the back wall led to the dark alleyway beyond. It was at this gate that Gurdial stood patiently,
waiting for Sohni. A single pale blue butterfly fluttered around his head, a rare sight during a Punjabi winter. Gurdial was wondering where it had come from when he saw Sohni coming down the garden path. He smiled and waved, his heart jumping madly inside his chest.

Sohni reached the wooden gate and threw back the bolt. The ancient rusty hinges squeaked, the gate opened and she stepped out into the tree-shrouded alleyway. The sun was high in the sky but the trees did their best to stop the light from penetrating. What little there was created a dappled effect on the dusty ground, as though the earth had caught yellow measles. Caper bushes grew along the edges of the path, their inward-curving spines like claws. The path led off into almost total darkness in one direction and out into the narrow street in the other. The young lovers chose the darkness.

‘I didn't think you'd be able to come,' Gurdial said to Sohni, taking her hand.

‘I was waiting for my stepmother to leave,' she replied.

Gurdial grinned.

‘What's so funny?'

‘You didn't call her a witch for a change,' he replied.

‘She was throwing plates around earlier,' Sohni told him. ‘Screaming at the walls as though they'd eventually answer her.'

‘Where is your father?'

Sohni shrugged. ‘At the shop. He is hardly ever at home, and when he is, all they do is fight.'

Gurdial pulled her to him; the heat from her body sent his senses wild. Her skin was as smooth as a pebble that had been washed in holy water and her light blue eyes were full of life. He leaned forward and kissed her, hoping that she wouldn't pull away. She didn't.

‘I can't believe you are mine,' Gurdial said after their kiss.

‘And why is that?' asked Sohni as they made their way down the path, heading for the privacy of the trees and the fields of tall grasses beyond.

‘Because you are so beautiful, and I am so ordinary.'

Sohni let go of his hand and stroked his cheek. ‘You have such a warm smile,' she told him. ‘And your eyes make me feel safe. No
ordinary
person could make me feel that way.'

They entered a clearing and found a place to sit on the grass. Sohni sat between Gurdial's legs, facing away, his arms wrapped around her. Gurdial took in the smell of her hair, like vanilla and peaches, and closed his eyes, hoping to forget that he was a penniless orphan and Sohni the daughter of a rich man. Their love was secret because it needed to be. Sohni's father would kill both of them if he found out, and Gurdial worried that it was only a matter of time before he did. Someone would see them together or Gulbaru Singh would get suspicious and follow her. And such thoughts stopped him from relaxing fully.

‘Are you still worried?' Sohni asked, knowing that he was.

Gurdial nodded before resting his head on her shoulder.

‘Perhaps we should meet further away,' she suggested.

The clearing, although private, was barely half a mile from her father's house. But no one ever wandered down the dark alleyway and into the trees because the path didn't lead anywhere. That was what made her feel safe.

‘There is a stream,' replied Gurdial, lifting his head. ‘It's in a copse about twenty minutes' walk from the city, to the south past Nawan Kot.'

Sohni giggled. ‘Is it your usual hiding place for all the other girls,' she teased.

‘No, no! There are no other girls.'

‘But you must have seen other beautiful girls in the city,' continued Sohni.

Gurdial held her tighter. ‘I've never looked,' he replied truthfully. ‘Until I saw your face I did not think of girls at all.'

‘So how do you know of this copse?'

‘I used to go and hide there,' Gurdial said. ‘When I feel lonely or upset I go there to talk to my parents.'

Sohni shivered. ‘I'm sorry.' She turned round so that she faced Gurdial. ‘It must be so hard for you.'

He shook his head. ‘It's the same for you.'

‘How can it be? I still have my father, no matter how
badly he treats me. But that's because he wants a son, not a daughter.'

‘But you lost your mother,' said Gurdial.

‘I never really knew her,' Sohni told him. ‘All I have are the memories of other people and they aren't the same. They don't belong to me. Do you remember your parents?'

He nodded. ‘Not very much; just their smiles and some smells. And I can see flowers in a courtyard too. They are blue and pink; beautiful.'

Sohni took his face in her hands; tears were streaming down her cheeks.

‘Why are you crying?' asked Gurdial.

‘Because of you,' she said.

Gurdial felt a wave of love wash over him. His skin prickled with electricity.

‘What do you say when you speak to your parents?' Sohni asked.

‘Just everyday things. I tell them how I'm feeling and what is going through my mind; things I don't tell anyone else.'

‘Can you tell
me
those things?' Sohni wiped away her tears.

Gurdial nodded. ‘I would like to.'

‘Then I want you to. You can tell me anything.'

Gurdial grinned, hoping to make Sohni smile. It worked. ‘Anything?' he asked.

Sohni nodded.

‘What if I commit a crime or do something wicked?'

‘Then I will tell you off.'

‘What if some other girl attempts to lure me away from you?'

‘Then I will lock you in a room.'

‘But what if I starve?'

Sohni shook her head. ‘Don't worry. I'll bring you bread and water.'

‘Like a pet?' Gurdial asked.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘A dog . . .'

Gurdial pulled a face.

‘A very handsome dog,' added Sohni. ‘
Very
handsome.'

‘Do you think about the future?' Gurdial asked, changing the subject.

Yes,' she replied. ‘And it's always with you. I don't care about my father. I would give up anything to be with you.'

Gurdial swallowed hard. He wanted nothing more than to spend his life with Sohni too, but her father was no small barrier. Deep in his heart, he knew that their chances of being together were slim. But he decided to bury that thought.

‘So you'd have me even if we ended up living in the sewers?' he joked.

Sohni looked him in the eye. ‘Even the sewers,' she whispered, pulling him to her and kissing him.

Hidden in the tress that skirted the clearing, the woman smiled as she watched the young lovers before turning away to allow them privacy.

‘Let the young ones have their day,' she said to herself. ‘You can no more deny the young their feelings than you can stop the sun from shining. It is nature's way, and who are we to challenge nature?'

And then, as if to mock her own question, she vanished into the darkness.

GULBARU SINGH WOKE
suddenly, thick, salty beads of perspiration dripping from his brow. For three nights his dreams had been invaded by evil spirits and he had no idea how to get rid of them. The most recent, the one that had left him sitting up in the darkness, drenched in sweat, had been the worst yet.

In the dream he was sitting in his office at the rear of his shop, counting the day's takings, when a sudden gust of wind threw the door wide open. Startled, he jumped out of his seat, the stout club he kept for security gripped tightly in his right hand. He was expecting bandits and ready to break heads, but to his amazement a small male child, no more than two years old, crawled through the door. The child stopped in front of him and sat down, then looked up, holding out his arms. Gulbaru put down his club and knelt, asking him where he'd come from. The boy began to cry.

Unsure of what to do, Gulbaru felt his right hand start to burn. He looked at it and found himself holding a bloody knife. The handle burned into his skin but he could not let it go. He shook his hand, flailing as the searing pain made him feel faint, but still the knife remained stuck to it.