Read This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach Online

Authors: Yashpal

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This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (100 page)

BOOK: This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach
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Tara saw Shivni standing outside near the curtain with a tray in her hand. ‘Its here,’ she said, and got the tray and put it on the serving table.

‘You?’ Mr Agarwal asked Shyama.

‘Give me a sherry, or port, if you have.’

‘Of course.’ Mr Agarwal put a glass of port next to Shyama, and said, ‘Dey sahib, don’t you agree that Latif was so well trained. We had no problem as long as he was with us. He knew how to serve drinks in the proper way, he had been Sir John Shuster’s bearer.’

‘That’s right. Hindus don’t have the trained servility of Muslims,’ said Dey. ‘Leave aside peons from the Thakur caste, even if your servant is a low-caste, he will mind cleaning a tumbler from which you drank water. What to say of a Pathan or a Shaikh, even if your Muslim servant is a Syed, he will double up if he sees dirt on your shoe, use his shirt tail to wipe it, and will thank
you
and salaam into the bargain. That’s why the British preferred Muslims as servants.’

Mr Agarwal agreed, ‘You are absolutely right. These people have black hearts. When the Punjabi refugees were angry, they went and protested against Gandhiji, but when the mullahs had some tough times they were willing to accept Gandhi as their father. These are the very people who until yesterday wanted to turn Delhi into Pakistan … What’ll you have, Miss Tara,’ he asked in the same breath.

‘Ji, nothing.’ Tara rose from the sofa, ‘You please sit. Tell me how I can help?’

‘No, no. It’s perfectly alright,’ Sahib motioned her to remain seated. ‘Have something, it’s very light.’

‘Ji, no. You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve never taken it.’ Her voice was polite, but firm.

‘Leave her alone. She’s fine,’ Shyama said.

‘But let me help you.’

‘All right, you serve us. What do you say, Rawat sahib?’

‘Sure. It’ll be double the pleasure if that’s no trouble to her.’

Tara asked madam, ‘For you?’

‘Give a spot of sherry.’

Tara read the label, and filled a glass as sahib had done.

‘Which whiskey will you prefer?’ Mr Agarwal asked Rawat.

‘Hague, never vague.’

Sahib got the bottle for Tara and pointed to one of the glasses. He began to open a soda bottle.

Tara began to pour whiskey into the glass.

Madam corrected her, ‘Put the glass in front of him and ask “say when”.’

Sahib again looked sharply at madam to silence her.

Tara blushed at her ignorance, and went to Rawat with the bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.

‘May I help?’ Rawat sprang to his feet, and taking the bottle from Tara, poured some liquid into the glass, and said, ‘This is one peg. Don’t give Dey and Surya more than this at one time. They might take advantage of your simplicity. They are real oafs.’

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll be careful,’ Tara tried to hide her awkwardness. She was a little bewildered by what these responsible, mature people were doing. She had heard that alcohol made people fall to the ground in a drunken stupor. Will the same happen here? None of them seemed concerned about that.

The need to attend to the guests made her concentrate to the task at hand. A strange, heady, bitter-sweet smell came from the drinks. She asked Dey, Surya and Mr Agarwal their choice, and served them Hague and Black & White. Sahib filled the glasses with soda water.

Surya smiled and lifted his glass, ‘Sir, who do we toast to? To thank God that Gandhiji ended his fast?’

‘Oh, yes, yes,’ Mr Agarwal said. ‘The situation was really critical. You should have seen Pandit Nehru. It seemed that he too had gone on a fast.’

‘My sense of duty to the government and to my country obliges me to say that in my opinion this fast will have grave and far-reaching repercussions,’ Rawat said with a solemn voice. Everyone too became solemn. ‘But the events were not under our control. It would certainly have been disastrous to let Gandhiji die. Rescinding its decision can have a very detrimental effect on a government’s credibility. But subjugating a nation to an individual’s wishes will definitely have serious consequences.’

Rawat smiled to lighten the mood, ‘Why don’t we drink this toast to welcome the evening’s guest of honour, our new friend Miss Tara?’

‘Oh, fine. Very good.’ The room echoed with approval.

Tara’s face flushed. Instead of feeling uneasy, she felt that she had gone back to her college days, and her friends and classmates were having fun at a picnic at Jahangir’s Tomb or in the Shalimar Gardens. There was no reason to fear or suspect anyone’s actions.

‘And to Tara’s future!’ Shyama said, looking pointedly at Rawat.

‘Yes, of course. Whatever I can do.’

‘Sir, you can do everything,’ said Surya.

‘It’s Agarwal’s responsibility more than mine,’ Rawat looked at sahib.

‘Of course, sir,’ sahib admitted. ‘I have a great regard for Miss Tara.’

Shyama began to praise Punjabi refugees for their efforts for communal harmony inspite of their own problems, and how their resentment of Gandhiji was changed by his fast. Mrs Agarwal also gave several examples of the refugees’ goodwill.

Sahib saw that Rawat’s glass was empty, and got up to go to the cabinet. Tara also rose to her feet, ‘I’ll serve him.’

‘You remember, Hague for Rawat Sahib?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Sahib opened an engraved box and offered cigarettes and cigars to the guests. Madam said to Tara, ‘Offer Rawat Sahib cashew nuts.’

Tara went around with a plateful of nuts.

Rawat took out a pipe and pouch of tobacco, and as he filled his pipe, he replied to Shyama, ‘Yes, no doubt their hearts have been changed, but not their minds. This was Gandhiji’s third fast unto death for the cause of Hindu–Muslim unity. Emotions might overrule rational thought for a while, but it does not remove the cause of enmity. As the secretary of Home Affairs
I know that there’s been little change in people’s attitude and thinking. Some people became even bitterer under this type of moral pressure. There were others who marched in processions and shouted slogans that Gandhi was a traitor, and to let Gandhi die.’

‘Yes, indeed, I saw it with my own eyes,’ said Mrs Agarwal. ‘They were shouting outside Birla House, and we could hear them inside. Gandhi was pained to hear about the protestors. I too felt awful.’

‘Gandhiji heard them?’ Dey was full of curiosity. ‘What did he say?’

‘He asked, “How many are there? What are they saying?”…There were only a handful of them.’

‘What would he have done if there was a large crowd?’ asked Dey.

‘Doesn’t matter how many,’ Shyama said. ‘Do you suppose Gandhi would have been cowed? He only listens to the voice of his conscience.’

‘I admit that Gandhiji would not have broken the vow he made,’ Rawat took charge of the discussion, ‘but did those slogan shouters have a change of heart? Certainly not! They were muzzled by the administration.’

‘Yes, Pandit Nehru really gave it to the people in the procession. I saw it with my own eyes,’ Mrs Agarwal said in support of Rawat.

‘Well, neither Patel had a change of heart. He simply had to cave in. After the government’s statement about paying the arrears was released on the fifteenth, he left for his home town in Kathiawar the very next morning. It is feared that he might resign.’

‘There was rumour about Patel withholding the payment until Pakistan recalled its troops from Kashmir,’ Surya said.

‘That rumour was based on fact,’ Dey said, biting the end of a cigar.

‘Absolutely correct,’ Rawat stopped putting a match to his pipe bowl, and said agitatedly, ‘Not only Patel, but the whole Cabinet was against it, and had made its decision public. But Gandhiji’s fast browbeat Nehru and Rajendra Babu. Then the others too gave in. Patel was all alone in his stand.’

Rawat took a sip of his fresh drink, ‘I say this on the basis of my twenty-four-year experience in administration. The government has suffered a serious blow to its credibility in matters relating to Pakistan and to its ability to administer the country by allowing the Cabinet to rescind its decision.’

‘Yes, sir, that certainly was a blunder,’ Dey agreed. ‘The government’s press release clearly stated that withholding the arrears was lawful and morally justified in view of Pakistan’s invasion of Indian territory. Gandhiji first accepted it as India’s legal and moral right to withhold the payment,
then, strangely and inexplicably, chose to oppose the Cabinet’s decision to assert that right. I am surprised that Gandhiji did not oppose India sending its troops to defend Kashmir. And why did he oppose withholding the payment when its specific purpose was to put pressure on Pakistan to desist from its acts of invasion? Let’s suppose for a moment that he goes on fast to recall Indian troops from Kashmir. What then?’

‘I can tell you the secret behind it,’ Rawat said. ‘Gandhiji asked Mountbatten about this. Mountbatten replied that if India decides to withhold the arrears due to Pakistan, this will be the first dishonourable act on the part of India. Gandhiji went on to declare that the arrears should not be withheld.’

‘But wouldn’t the Hindus and India both suffer because of this decision?’ sahib asked.

‘The Hindus will suffer miserably,’ madam sided with her husband. ‘Those poor Hindus who found shelter in mosques, they will now be driven out in this cold weather and rain. Tara, how many mosques did Gandhiji mention in his list of conditions?’

‘Ji, one hundred and seventeen.’

‘But the result and overall impact of Gandhiji’s fast was laudable,’ Shyama said. ‘At least we got rid of the feelings of enmity and violence.’

‘Gandhiji put more emphasis on magnanimity and compassion than on legal niceties of what was right and moral,’ Surya agreed with Shyama. ‘If disputes can be resolved with goodwill, why bother with legalities. Don’t human considerations reign supreme?’

Rawat again leaned forward to speak, ‘Nobody would have found fault with that approach if it did generate goodwill. Then it certainly would have been a victory for India.’

‘It was indeed a victory for India.’ Shyama waved the cigarette held between two fingers, ‘It had a good influence on all of Pakistan.’

‘What is the proof of that influence?’ Rawat asked.

‘Wah, there were so many statements in West Pakistan’s legislative assembly. Can’t think of the names now…’

‘Ji, Sir Feroze Khan Noon, Nawab Daultana, Raja Gaznafar Ali Khan gave statements,’ Tara named the people, and added, ‘the chief minister, Khan of Mamdot, said that they would leave no stone unturned to save Gandhiji’s life.’

‘Zahid Hussain, the high commissioner for Pakistan, was also present at
Birla House,’ Mr Agarwal said. ‘Whatever you want to know about news reports, you can ask Miss Tara. She reads two newspapers everyday end to end.’

‘Why won’t she read them? She has time, has leisure. She can do what she wants,’ madam could not resist saying.

‘So in your view these statements are ample proof of the impact of Gandhiji’s fast?’ Rawat continued on the same track.

‘Yes, why not? Why should we think otherwise?’ Shyama replied with a question.

‘Well, I too read all those statements very carefully. In my opinion what the Pakistani leaders said had a smug undertone of being vindicated by Gandhiji. You’ll agree that the sum of 550 million rupees is something tangible, more than a statement or mere words. What tangible steps the Pakistan government has taken to create an atmosphere of goodwill, I ask you. Have they made the announcement to recall their troops from Kashmir, or admitted that they will not intervene in the matter of Kashmir? Let me tell you something else. Gandhiji ended his fast at forty-five after twelve. Zahid Hussain was then at Birla House, correct?’ Rawat asked Mr Agarwal.

‘Sure he was. He too joined his hands and asked Gandhiji to end his fast. He also gave his assurance to do his best to maintain communal peace and harmony.’ Mr Agarwal’s voice was tinged with pride at having been present at Birla House.

‘That’s right. Well, Gandhiji has already received a blow to his confidence.’ Rawat took two puffs of his pipe, and continued, ‘At three o’clock, Gandhiji sent Pyarelal to Zahid Hussain’s place to ask if the Pakistan government would now have no objection to Gandhiji visiting to West Pakistan? And would he be welcome there? You know the answer he got?’

‘What, what? Tell us?’ they all wanted to know.

‘The high commissioner for Pakistan replied: “No, not so soon. Let me first consult with Lahore.” Believe me, he won’t get the permission, much less an invitation.’ Rawat drained his glass and continued puffing his pipe, as if nothing more needed to be said.

Sahib signalled Tara to serve another round of drinks. Tara was about to refill Shyama’s glass with sherry when she said, ‘Bhai, I had enough of this sweet stuff.’ She glanced at Rawat and Mr Agarwal, ‘If the men do not see it as a challenge, give me a small whiskey.’

‘Bravo! Bravo! Sure!’ They applauded.

Shayma looked at Rawat and said, ‘But what an example Gandhiji presented before all. Just consider its international implications.’

‘Yes, it’s a great historical event,’ Dey said.

‘This is a historical blunder!’ Rawat sat up straight, and said, ‘The government’s historical weakness. Just examine this event from a pragmatic point of view. Gandhiji is a great man, I admit. Everyone wants to emulate a great man. If people are unhappy with any government decision, they will just go on a fast. Some even might sacrifice their lives doing so.’

‘Wah, keeping a fast is no joke. One needs spiritual strength to be able to sustain such hardship,’ Shyama protested.

Rawat shook his head in disagreement, ‘I do not think that one needs any amount of spiritual strength or resources to keep a fast. This is a matter of firm resolve and willpower. There are those who kept fasts longer than Gandhiji. What was the name of that Irishman yes, Maxwini, was it?’

‘Sir!…I’m so sorry. Excuse me!’ Dey apologized for interrupting his senior official.

‘No, no. Go ahead,’ Rawat said.

‘Sir, you will remember that I was an undersecretary in UP’s Jail Department. I can’t recall the name…but several terrorists or you may say young revolutionaries were in jail at that time. The government refused to accord them the status of political prisoners and B Class facilities. Some of them fasted for fifty, sixty and one for even over one hundred days.’

BOOK: This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach
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