This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (117 page)

Masterji had great regard for his son’s abilities, and thought him as more intelligent and gifted than himself. But he could not keep silent; it was a question of his own self-respect and dignity. He asked in front of
everyone, ‘What do you write in your weekly? Didn’t you write that the government’s money is the public money? And if some people are sent to jail for petty crimes such as thieving, those who steal from the government and the people should be hanged?’

Puri was stung by the force of his father’s accusation. Being chastened in front of the family felt particularly humiliating. The press and the weekly belonged to him, and were the basis for his high standing in the community. He replied brusquely, ‘Stop bothering yourself if you don’t like all this business. Stay out of the office and take it easy at home.’

Her husband’s defiance of Masterji upset Kanak very much. Wrapped up in her work, she sometimes did forget to cover her head in Masterji’s presence, but she always spoke to him respectfully. If Masterji wanted something done, not only did she do it herself, but happily and out of a sense of duty. She thought that Masterji’s criticism was justified. Perhaps he should not have said that in front of everyone, but he was after all the father of the family. Still she kept her own counsel.

At dinner that day Masterji said he did not feel like eating. Puri brought himself to apologize for his harsh words by explaining, ‘I am also sickened by such underhand dealings, but if we don’t go along with the accountant at the Board office, he’d find someone else to do the printing. Or he would niggle over the bill in a way that it’d be over a year before we get paid. I can’t root out every bad thing that has been instilled into our people’s blood over the centuries. If we’re born in an atmosphere of evil, we’ll have to breathe some of it in. We have to root it out gradually. The weekly has hardly any advertising revenue. The income from the press can at least allow us to raise our voice to protest corruption and injustice. If the weekly was making a profit, why would I tolerate such shameful practices? How can I close the press down just like that!’

Kanak filled a thali with food, and took it to Masterji. She sat beside him, bowed her head, and said respectfully, ‘Pitaji, you’re absolutely right. Please forgive what has happened just this once. He won’t allow such things to happen again.’

Masterji gave her an ashirvad of good wishes, and replied, ‘Beti, I’ve worked hard all my life. We were poor but I always tried to be honest and upright. How can I swallow a fly knowingly? God keep you well and give you good sense. Whatever is His wish! Oh God, Thou art our protector.’ His voice choked and he broke off.

As a result of Masterji’s refusal to eat, Kanak’s mother-in-law was also unwilling to have dinner. Puri and Kanak usually ate together from the same thali. Usha arranged a thali for them, and took it to their room. On being told by Usha that dinner was waiting, Kanak muttered, ‘Tell him to go ahead. I don’t feel like having anything.’

Puri called Kanak, and said angrily, ‘Why is everyone ganging up on me and spitting in my face? If I put up with all this only for my own sake, do away with me!’

Her eyes filled with tears, Kanak quietly swallowed some half-chewed food.

Kanak addressed Puri as ‘ji’ when they were in the office or in the presence of the family. She also called him ‘ji’ when they were alone, but in a different tone of voice. When they were lying on their charpoys on the roof at night, she took his hand in hers and said, ‘Ji, I know such incidents upset you. We must do something about it. Other publications have plenty of advertisements.’

Puri replied, ‘Who has the time! The refugees don’t leave me a moment’s peace. Look, you yourself are seldom free before ten or eleven at night. We must have someone else to help us out in the office.’

Nazir
had added to Puri’s status and influence, but it had also made him increasingly busy. He became secretary of the Ward Congress Committee. At the Refugee Association other people were still trying to usurp his authority. In the elections of the association in May of that year, he had been elected as the secretary. In the hope of enlisting the support of
Nazir
and of Puri, the Municipal Primary School Teachers Association elected Masterji as their president.

Masterji had become detached from the affairs of the press after the rebuff he had received. He was finding it difficult to remain idle. Regardless of his son’s high social standing and the respect shown to him because of his son, he wanted to earn his own living. But how could Puri live with the idea of his father doing a job that paid a mere seventy or eighty rupees per month? When Masterji refused to change his mind, Puri had another idea. He invoked Sood’s influence to have a coal depot allotted to Masterji. Now his father could have an income of his own of around three hundred rupees per month.

The plot of land for the coal depot was across the railway tracks in
Basti Nigar Khan, about two miles from the Kamaal Press, and came with a small, two-roomed house. Masterji decided to move into the house on the depot for the sake of convenience. Puri’s mother had another reason for moving. Although Kanak was always polite and courteous towards her, the mother-in-law was increasingly worried about Kanak’s bad influence on her daughter.

The space in which Puri had lived alone or with Urmila for several months now held a large family. He had stoically put up with the inconvenience. Still he and Kanak did not let his parents leave for several days. Eventually one morning Puri’s parents went to their new home, with their younger son Hari, and the two youngest daughters.

As long as Puri’s mother was with them, there was no question of hiring a servant or a cook. But one was needed after she left. Could Kanak now spend time in the
Nazir
office as well as devote herself to the housework? Puri told her that until a servant was found, she should order their meals from the dhaba, and send someone from the press to bring them.

Kanak took a break from work at 11.30 that morning and went upstairs. In the past weeks she had also felt cramped for space, especially when it rained. Now the rooms seemed empty and so much bigger, and the sun streaming in more dazzling. She chopped up whatever vegetables she found in the kitchen, lit the stove, put the vegetables on to cook, and began to knead the dough. Her mother had done the cooking in their home in Lahore, but two servants had always been in attendance. If the daughters were called to the kitchen, it was only to teach them a special recipe. Although she might never have learned or received training in the art of cooking, a woman is always confident about being able to cook in the same way as fish are confident of being able to swim.

When Puri heard her call and went upstairs, the smell of something frying in ghee was coming from the kitchen. He found Kanak sitting in front of the stove in the afternoon heat and making paranthas. Her face was flushed crimson like a tomato and beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead and flowed down her temples onto her cheeks.

She smiled at him, ‘It’s very hot here. I’ll give you lunch in a thali and you can eat it in the room.’

A memory flashed through Puri’s mind. In winter Urmila sometimes called him to the kitchen and served him there as she cooked. He suppressed the memory and chided Kanak tenderly, ‘You overdo things. I asked you to
send someone from the press to the dhaba for food. Why did you trouble yourself by cooking?’

‘Why, don’t you want to eat what I’ve cooked,’ Kanak’s eyes shone with love.

‘Dish out some food for yourself also.’

‘There’s only one more parantha left to make. Let me finish.’

Puri stood mesmerized, his hand on the door frame, looking at her. The last parantha was cooked and transferred to the thali. Kanak doused the stove and began to put away the utensils for kneading and rolling the dough. Puri carried the food-filled thali to the room.

He was back shortly into the kitchen, ‘Come, Kanni. What’re you doing now?’ He could not bear to tear himself away from her even for a few seconds.

‘Hai, look at me! I’m all covered with sweat,’ Kanak said, pointing to her clothes. ‘Let me pour two lota-fulls of water over my head to have a quick wash and change into a fresh dhoti.’

‘You look lovely just as you are!’ He grabbed Kanak as she headed towards the bathroom, her face all flushed and her body drenched in sweat, took her into his arms, and began ardently to kiss her on the lips, forehead, chin and cheeks. Kanak, her heart filled with pride at this show of affection, said in a coaxing voice, ‘
Chhee
, you bad boy! Just look how sweaty I am!’ She put her arms around Puri’s neck.

The empty apartment that had taken on a forlorn look after the departure of the in-laws was now filled with the cooing and moans of fervent lovemaking. Puri and Kanak now had the opportunity to lose themselves in a frenzy of passion.

Kanak did not mind cooking and washing, making beds and doing laundry, and sweeping and dusting the house for Puri. Then, in addition, she edited and proofread the weekly. She had been brought up in luxury and spent the hot summer months in the cool of hill resorts, yet the hot weather of Punjab in the months of July and August did not seem to bother her.

However, one thing did eat away at her and it was Puri’s testiness, especially when basking in the afterglow of their love-making. She had experienced this first just three weeks into their marriage. She felt crushed and depressed by such unkind and offhand behaviour in those moments of languorous ecstasy.

After bringing Kanak home as his bride, Puri had behaved politely and carefully towards her in the presence of his family, as if she deserved more respect than himself. His mother was not pleased with the daughter-in-law being cosseted in this way. But hardly two months had passed before Puri’s behaviour began to worsen, particularly when he was tired, agitated or piqued for some reason. Such lapses hurt Kanak’s feelings badly, but she tried to overlook or forget them. She was ecstatic for some days after Puri’s parents and the rest of the family had moved to Basti Nigar Khan, now that she and Puri could lose themselves in unrestrained passion. She had hoped that by offering herself, heart and soul, to her beloved she would be able to improve the situation. Nevertheless, the result of this freedom from the need for restraint, ample time to give in to their impulses, and of Kanak’s selfless love was not quite as expected. Kanak sensed a fading of Puri’s love and desire for her. What once had driven him to bouts of passionate love-making now seemed to leave him cold. His desire for sex seemed to be dissipating. If sometimes he did give in to a burst of passion, it seemed to fill him with a sense of contrition.

Kanak gave serious thought to the situation and came to the conclusion that her husband was tired and overburdened with the responsibilities he had taken on, and that she was adding to his problems and worries. She felt regretful and ashamed of herself, and resolved to control her feelings. Then, after some time, Puri’s ardour would return. Kanak would feel some satisfaction, but Puri would soon go back to feeling peevish, detached and filled with self-disgust. Kanak would be overcome by shame and curse herself, ‘Are my urges so strong?’ She could not help feeling insulted.

The policy of
Nazir
was to support the ideology of Gandhiji and of the left wing of the Congress party. Except for Puri and Kanak, none of the employees of the weekly or of Kamaal Press had any sympathy for the Congress. Manmohan Siddhu, the weekly’s new manager, had turned his back on the Congress like the majority of Punjabis. He believed that the Congress had surrendered to the demand for the partition of the country, and was responsible for the tragic results and the salughter of Hindus. The ban on the Rashtriya Swayamsewak Sangh as an illegal organization had also angered Siddhu. Rikhiram and the cylinder-machine operator were against the Congress because, in their opinion, it was not sufficiently anti-Muslim. But as they all worked for Puri or for the
Nazir
weekly, they
had to do whatever they were told. Puri also found it tiresome. With like-minded staff, he thought, they could work more smoothly and in a more congenial atmosphere.

Siddhu had been hired at a monthly salary of 125 rupees before Masterji left for his new home. He had worked as the assistant manager at the
Kesari
weekly in Lahore, and had proved his worth by increasing
Nazir
’s circulation and roping in several advertisers. Kanak remained the only person in the editorial department. Puri was spending more time than before in his social engagements. When Kanak began to feel unwell again in November, Puri realized that it would not be possible as before for her to spend ten to twelve hours a day in the office. It would not be advisable.

Bhupendra ‘Raks’ had worked in the editorial department of the
Chhatrapati
newspaper in Lahore. He also wrote short stories and satirical pieces. He had offered to
Nazir
without payment two short stories, and a satirical article on the Communist Party’s new line. In December Puri hired him as the assistant editor, but soon became dissatisfied with his performance. Raks’s attitude was strictly businesslike, and mercenary. He had a good command over Urdu and a thorough knowledge of the workings of a newspaper office, but he was in it for the money and not somebody who could be trusted with major responsibilities.

Kanak continued to work in the office as much as she could until April 1949 and then into May, but she was hardly in a condition to sit in the office. Raks was not prepared to do even half the work that Kanak did in her condition. Puri’s need was for an associate who could replace Kanak and also share some his own burden.

Kanak and Puri had sent the news of their marriage to Gill and copies of
Nazir
were regularly sent to his address. In their letter to Gill they had written: ‘You are an experienced journalist. We both are looking forward to your help by way of advice and suggestion.’ Gill had honoured their request by sending in four articles over the past year to
Nazir
.