This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (12 page)

He showed marks below his ear and on his arms, ‘These are burn marks from my childhood. They tried to finish me off by pouring boiling water on me. As long as I stay a bachelor, they are assured that the property will remain in the family, that after my death the mansion too will go to my brothers or to their offspring. If I marry, my children will be able to claim the half of the whole property.’

Tara had not asked for her previous month’s salary. She would collect for all three months together, she had thought. She wanted to have a winter coat; she was the only student in the college without one. Not having a coat was not her fault, but she still felt the embarrassment of her poor circumstances. Nath handed her a hundred rupee note for her three months’ work. It was ten rupees more than what was owed to her, but she did not know how to tell that to a person as eminent as he was.

Nath looked at her fondly, and said again in English, ‘Don’t get me wrong. Hope we’ll meet again.’

Nath was on Tara’s mind as she walked back to her home, he too is miserable and helpless, he too is constrained by the concern for his family and bound by the mores of society. He can, but will not fight back. She remembered how he had so casually said, ‘I like you.’ He’s really a gentleman.

The thought led to the other things Nath had said about Asad. Nath’s words echoed in her mind and pierced her heart like an arrow. What she felt in her heart made her flush. How deep this secret was buried in her heart! She had never admitted it, not even to herself.

Tara tried to reason: What could Doctor Sahib have seen in her behaviour to guess her secret? Could others suspect the same? But what’s wrong with that? Nothing immoral, like the Sheelo–Ratan affair!

She stopped in her tracks. Lost in thought, she had walked past the entrance to her gali. She turned round, and went back.

When she reached home, her mother was alone and busy in the kitchen. Tara asked, ‘Has Sheelo left? Did you escort her to her home?’

‘No, she’s still here,’ said her mother. ‘It’s hot down here. I told her to sit on the roof, in the open air. You go and drop her at Uchchi Gali. Change your clothes after you return.’

The sun had set. As Tara began to climb the stairs, she was uneasy that Ratan might be there too. She climbed with noisy steps, and cleared her throat near the top. When she came out into the open, Sheelo was lying on a charpai staring into the sky. Usha was there too, with Munni in her lap, showing the child the kites the neighbours were flying.

‘You’re still here,’ she asked Sheelo, and sat beside her on the charpai. Sheelo looked sad. Her eyes were puffed up from wiping away tears. Tara forgot her anger of two hours ago, ‘Hai, what happened?’

Sheelo’s mouth quivered. She bit her lip and covered her eyes with her aanchal. She let out a deep sigh and turned her back.

Tara did not want to question her in front of Usha. She said to Usha, ‘My good sister, take one paisa from mother and get some ice. I’m really thirsty. Sheelo too would like a glass of cold water.’

Usha went down. Tara put her hand on Sheelo’s forehead and asked, ‘Tell me, what happened?’

Tears flowed from Sheelo’s eyes and she dabbed them with her aanchal. ‘He’s angry with me.’

‘Why?’

‘When I told him that the child was his, at first he kept quiet. Then said: If that’s so, let’s go away from here together. I said: I can’t do that! I may be married, but I am still yours. He said: Wah! My child will be someone else’s. I won’t accept that!’

Tara and Usha were returning after dropping Sheelo off at her house
when they came across Ratan on his way to the bazaar. Usha inquired, ‘Bhai, where are you going?’

‘Nowhere, just walking around,’ he said briefly and kept going.

Tara was quiet too. She had felt that Ratan’s face was pale with a shadow of worry and anxiety. After what Sheelo had told her, Ratan did not seem as bad a person as before. He is not so shallow after all, she thought. Asad too came to her mind, but he is totally different, she thought.

THE COLD HAD TURNED BITTER. A FOG DESCENDED SOON AFTER SUNSET, HELD
down the smoke from kitchen fires and covered the city like a canopy. Frost nipped at ears and noses. Puffs of steam rose from the mouths of the pedestrians in the bazaars and on the roads. Breath from the nostrils of horses straining to pull the tongas looked like jets of steam from boiling kettles. Eyes smarted from the smog. But the bright lights of the stores in Anarkali penetrated the smog and lit up the people thronging the bazaar.

Every evening the bazaar also saw people taking part in processions, shouting: ‘Allah-u-akbar! Muslim League zindabad! Down with the Khizr government! Long live Quaid-e-Azam! We want the League government! Hindu–Muslim unity zindabad! We must have Pakistan!’ The processions were thin, some volunteers of the Muslim League, a few Muslim students or a handful of Muslim youths from middle-class families carrying green flags.

Hindus in Lahore were uneasy worrying about what turn the rising League movement might take. Editorials in the Hindu press and in the Congress party newspapers cautioned the administration to keep watch on the situation. Puri had written twice in
Pairokaar
, ‘A storm of sectarian-inspired politics and of sectarian violence and hatred is gathering on the horizon. This storm will end civic peace and security. No one will remember these sermons for Hindu–Muslim unity when the storm breaks.’

Soon the League processions became larger. Railway workers began to appear in the processions, and they chanted slogans of a different sort: ‘Unite Hindus–Muslims! Down with the Khizr government! Down with the establishment! Hindustan zindabad! Pakistan zindabad! Long live Quaid-e-Azam! Install a democratic government! We want the right of self-determination! Workers of the World, Unite!’

Puri wrote in
Pairokaar
, ‘… The change in the mood of the processions will give some comfort to peace-loving citizens. We do not oppose a democratically constituted ministry or even a coalition of two political parties. Nonetheless, we want to warn the political parties involved in the movement that the demand for Pakistan is based on a sectarian division of the country. At the root of such a demand are religious intolerance, enmity
and hatred for other communities. Such tendencies will neither foster unity nor bode well for civic peace.’

Zubeida and Gurtu met Surendra, Krishna, Sneha and Tara at Dayal Singh College and told them, ‘Narendra bhai has sent a message that a procession of Muslim women will march from Lohari Gate at four. If you all join in, it won’t appear just a sectarian show. We won’t let them shout sectarian slogans. Some Federation comrades will come along too.’

Surendra agreed and asked Tara to accompany her. Tara knew how her brother felt about such marches, so she said, ‘I’ll accompany you to the Lohari. We’ll see after that.’

In front of Lohari Gate, where Railway Road intersected Anarkali, Narendra Singh, Asad, Pradyumna, Zuber and Dhanpat were waiting along with several others from the Student Federation. Some communist workers were present too. On one side, encircled by the volunteers of the League, were twelve Muslim women wearing burkas and another five without burkas about to march in the procession. Surendra, Zubeida and Gurtu joined them. Seeing Sneha and Tara hesitate Narendra Sigh invited them, ‘Comrades, you come along too.’

Tara saw that Asad was looking at her. He said, ‘The more Hindu women, the better.’ As Tara walked towards the group, Sneha joined her.

The girls from the Student Federation were at the head of the march. They began to walk, chanting: ‘Reinstate civil liberties! Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs unite! We want democratic government! Long live Congress–League unity! Quaid-e-Azam zindabad! Mahatma Gandhi zindabad!’ The girls shouted the slogans in their high, female voices, and their colleagues and the comrades repeated them in a loud and powerful unison.

The procession had gone only about 100 yards on Ganapat Road when a scream from a woman was heard.

With the scream came shouts of ‘Grab him! Hold him!’ Narendra Singh, Zuber, Pradyumna and some League volunteers ran after and caught a man in a white Gandhi cap, and gave him several punches.

The man in the white cap yelled, ‘Save me! The Muslims are after me!’

Another shout was heard, ‘The Muslims are attacking! Come on! Hit back!’

From one side someone called, ‘Come on! Kill the bloody Hindus!’

In the melee, some rushed forward to fight and most others turned to
run away. Lathis were brandished. On Anarkali Road shops were owned both by Hindus and Muslims. The bazaar rang with the sound of running feet.

Zuber could raise his voice like a megaphone. He shouted, ‘Friends, this is no Hindu–Muslim riot! Some goondas have created this mischief!’

The office of
Pairokaar
was at the junction of Anarkali bazaar and Ganapat Road. Many office workers came out of the building at the sound of the commotion. Puri too climbed down the stairs. He saw that several League volunteers and Student Federation members were holding a man by his arms and shirt collar. The man was trying to wriggle free, saying, ‘Watch out! Don’t you dare touch me! I’ve done nothing! I don’t know anything!’

Puri said with surprise, ‘This man is police constable Waheed! He used to escort me from prison to the court!’

The uproar grew. The burka-clad women began to beat their chests in syapa style and curse, ‘Police dogs hai-hai! Kizr government hai-hai!’

Puri went into the crowd and said to Tara and Gurtu, ‘What’s this nonsense! You’re marching to support the demand for Pakistan?’ He knew Gurtu from the time of the 1942 Quit India movement.

‘Bhaiji, this is…’ Tara began to say when Asad jumped in, ‘We are marching to demand the reinstatement of civil liberties. And for democratic government and Hindu–Muslim unity!’

‘That’s not right!’ Puri shot back in English, ‘In a procession of Muslim women yesterday, there were calls of “We must have Pakistan! Don’t forget the carnage of Muslims in Bihar!” Do you want me to show you the
Siasat
and
Zamindaar
newspapers?’

‘Others were behind what happened yesterday,’ said Asad. ‘We won’t allow any slogans asking for the break-up of the country.’

‘You communists support the creation of Pakistan! Isn’t that breaking up the country? This march is a front for that demand!’ Puri said forcefully.

‘We oppose any partition of the country!’ Asad replied equally forcefully. ‘What does the demand for Pakistan mean? Only that there would be a Congress ministry in one province of Hindustan and of the League in another province. This is a demand for self-determination! The Congress is willing to accept the break-up of the country. We oppose that.’

‘The Congress has been driven into a corner!’ Puri conceded. ‘Otherwise, the League won’t allow an independent government anywhere.’

‘We only want to impress upon the people and the politicians that the Congress and the League should join forces.’

Puri shook his head in disagreement and looked at Tara, ‘I can’t approve of this.’

Asad put his hand on Puri’s shoulder, ‘If they say anything like “We must have Pakistan” or “Don’t forget Bihar”, we won’t march with them.’

“Well, look after Tara. See her home.” Puri said to Asad and returned to his office.

While Puri and Asad were arguing, Pradyumna stood on the extension for seating customers in front of a store and began to address the crowd, ‘Hindu, Sikh and Muslim brothers. You have seen with your own eyes how the British government and its toady dogs conspire to make the two communities fight. Our Hindu and Muslim sisters are marching together in this procession. They are protesting Khizr’s dictatorship and his draconian laws to deny us our civil liberties. Friends, the Congress, the League, the Hindu Mahasabha and the Akali party are all against these draconian laws. Friends, unite to strike down the government of this sycophant Khizr, and support the joint ministry of the Congress, the League, the Mahasabha and the Akalis.’

The crowd packing the Anarkali bazaar made way for the women in the procession. The procession crossed the bazaar and proceeded to Mall Road, went past the high court and the general post office, and reached the assembly hall after about an hour. Once there, the burka-clad women beat their chests for a few minutes, ‘Khizr toady hai-hai! Cruel laws hai-hai! British government hai-hai!’

Zubeida also shouted, ‘Hindu–Muslims are brothers! Congress–League unite!’ The women repeated the slogans.

The League volunteers hired some tongas to take the burka-clad women to their homes. Zubeida, Surendra, Tara and Sneha walked with Narendra Singh, Asad and Zuber towards Lower Mall Road. Pradyumna, pushing his bicycle, went with Gurtu to drop her in the Old Anarkali area. When they reached Nisbet Road, Narendra Singh, Surendra, Zuber and Sneha went through Shabadar Mali Gali to Kele Wali Sarak. Asad had the responsibility of first dropping Zubeida on the road leading to Neela Gumbad, and then escorting Tara up to the Shahalami Gate.

Tara, Asad and Zubeida walked alongside the Medical College and reached Hospital Road, past the road that led to Neela Gumbad. Tara reminded Zubeida, ‘You were so busy talking that you forgot the way home.’

Zubeida pretended not to hear. Tara repeated her warning.

Asad said, ‘It’s all right. We’re not very far.’

They saw Pradyumna coming on his bicycle. He dismounted when he saw them. Pradyumna and Zubeida walked back together towards Nisbet Road. Tara understood. Surendra and Gurtu had told her about their mutual affection.

After they left, Asad said, ‘Don’t talk about them to anyone.’

Tara replied, ‘I heard that Zubeida’s parents are quite liberal. That they didn’t mind.’

‘Yes, they’re decent people. They mind, but not so much as to harass their daughter to death,’ Asad said. ‘Zubeida’s mother was a Christian before marriage. She worked as a nurse. She knows one can be from a different religion, and still have human feelings. There are others, some fanatics of Islam who are not concerned with the girl’s feelings or her happiness. They’re worried that if a Muslim girl weds a Hindu, it’s a victory for the Hindus. Let this Hindu–Muslim conflict cool down, then we’ll get them married with the traditional pomp and ceremony.’

‘Yes,’ Tara said in agreement.

Asad continued, ‘If Hindus and Muslims entered into marriages and relationships despite their religious and communal differences, there’d be little strife. Then the religion or the sense of community would have some meaning. At present, you merely adopt the religion of your family. The difference between two faiths has separated two people. My grandfather was a Hindu. We’re from Gurdaspur and my mother still lives there. My grandfather must have been quite a romantic, he converted for the sake of my grandmother. How about me becoming a Hindu for some Hindu girl?’

‘Sure! Why don’t you!’ Tara looked at him with shining eyes.

‘Do you believe in this Hindu–Muslim distinction?’ Asad asked.

‘Not at all.’

‘Then why bother to convert? To do that or choose another religion would be to give unnecessary importance to the difference. It’s better to ignore it.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘Achcha, let’s go through the garden of the Chardewari.’

They walked towards Shahalami Gate through the garden.

Asad asked, ‘Why are you so quiet?’

‘I was just listening to you.’

‘What do you think?’ Asad asked, ‘Will the decision about whom you marry be yours or your parents’?’

His question shook her body and mind. She could not say anything.

He did not wait long for her answer, and said, ‘Maybe the question has never come up?’

Tara kept silent. What does he know about my problem? she thought. She felt it was unkind of him to speak as he had, but when she replied, it was to ask a question, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Sorry. My question upset you. I’m sorry.”

Tara had felt hurt, but she said nothing.

They walked through the narrow bazaar. Bhola Pandhe’s Gali was only a few steps away. Not to upset Asad with her silence, Tara said, ‘Tell you another time. Namaste.’

She turned into her gali without waiting for his reply.

A fog had come before her eyes in her attempt to answer Asad, and she failed to see a brick that had been left behind by children playing in the gali. She stumbled over it and regained her balance with difficulty. A buffalo that Bajaj Dewanchand kept for milk was still tethered on one side. As she tried to squeeze by, it swung its urine-drenched tail and splattered her shalwar.

Tara climbed the stairs to their one-room house. Her mother welcomed Tara with silence. Since the day she had told her son to ask Tara to stop going to college so as not to displease her future in-laws and her son had refused to side with her, she had kept up a hurt silence. She spoke to Tara when she had to, and that only abruptly.

Tara placed her books on the tin trunks stacked beside the wall, and went up to the roof. There was no one there in the chilly winds of December. She wept for a few minutes and that lightened her heart. Asad’s question had been an invitation to open her heart. ‘I’ll tell him everything,’ she decided.

Seeing the League campaign grow, the Khizr ministry placed several cities of Punjab under Section 144 to curb demonstrations and public meetings. In Lahore the League launched the satyagraha movement against the government’s restraining order. Few expected the League volunteers to remain passive in their demonstrations like those of the Congress, and continue their peaceful protest. It was feared that the League volunteers would resort to violence when provoked, and thus give the administration an excuse to use force to suppress them. Sir Firoze Khan Noon, Iftkharuddin,
Gaznafar Ali Khan and other prominent leaders of the Muslim League had been sent to prison for leading the satyagraha movement, but the League workers continued their peaceful marches against the government ban. The police would intercept their processions and beat them up with lathis, but the volunteers would refuse to turn violent, and court arrest by merely shouting: ‘Allah-u-akbar! Muslim League zindabad! Down with the Khizr ministry! We must have Pakistan! We demand the League ministry! Hindus–Muslims unite!’