This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (125 page)

‘Bhraji, a roomier place would be so much nicer. Who wouldn’t want that, but how would we manage two thousand every year? As is it we just get by every month.’

Puri chimed in with Kanak, ‘We can’t take on the responsibility of paying back such a large sum for the next fifteen years. We should wait until we can really afford the house. There’d hardly be over five thousand rupees in the bank accounts of the press and
Nazir
. I’ve just finished paying back Kriparam his one thousand rupees. I need cash for paper supplies and for hundreds of other expenses. To take a loan of twenty thousand…’ Puri said, arching his eyebrows. Owing to his being raised in underprivileged circumstances, the mere thought of a large debt was making him nervous.

Somraj’s reply to Puri’s hesitations was, ‘Why do you think that way? You do have to take a loan but the house becomes your property in the end.’

‘No, it won’t. Until we’ve paid off the loan the house will belong to the government. Also, what about the interest payments?…’

‘Why think of the interest? Won’t you save the rent? Each house has two identical halves. If you rent out one, half the loan will be paid off by the rental income. Remember, the value of the property will appreciate by 50 per cent after only two or three years.’

‘Namaste, Puri bhappaji,’ said a visitor named Suraj Prakash as he joined them.

When Suraj Prakash learned the topic of conversation, he said, spreading his fleshy palm in front of Somraj’s face, ‘Yaar, who are you trying to explain these details to about money and property! Our friend here is the writer–artist type. What would he know of such worldly affairs? All he wants is a simple meal twice a day. A cup of tea will do if there’s nothing to eat. People like him are driven by their imagination. Every time they put their pens to paper, they create gems. Other people may earn thousands of rupees by publishing what they write, but a man like him does not care. You haven’t yet figured out the true Puri bhappa. He has no attachments, just like a fakir. It’s you who must take care of him.’

Suraj Prakash raised his voice, ‘We’re not telling him to earn the fortune, but one certainly needs a roof over one’s head. He’s married, has a baby daughter.’ He said, edging forward excitedly, ‘Look, I’ve bought a three-kanal, 1,500 square yards plot in Model Town. I’ll have a house of my own
design built on it later, but Puri bhappa should not let slip past him this opportunity of buying a house.’

‘But he doesn’t agree…’ Somraj said.

‘Don’t listen to him! You apply for a B-type bungalow at 10 per cent for him, and leave the rest of the deal to me!’ Suraj Prakash slapped his chest with his hand as he said ‘me’.

‘No, no. I don’t want to buy anything on credit.’ Puri waved his hand to emphasize his point. ‘When I have the money, I’ll buy the house or the land.’

‘How can you say that, Puri bhappa?’ Suraj Prakash said in surprise. ‘You may have the money later, but the house or land may not be available by then. What’s the risk? You won’t lose money because it’ll remain safe in the form of your property, and that’ll soon appreciate by 25 or 50 per cent. Didn’t that happen in the case of Krishna Nagar and Model Town in Lahore? People bought land at fifty rupees a
marla
and resold it at three to four hundred a marla. Genda Shah made a fortune that way.’

‘No, no. That’s not my point. I don’t want anything on credit.’ Puri repeated his objection.

‘Listen!’ Suraj Prakash waived his hand in front of Puri’s face, ‘I’ve bought land so I can’t buy a house as well.’ He looked at Somraj, ‘Let Puri bhappa give you the first down payment of three thousand rupees and you apply on his behalf. I know he’ll be uneasy paying the necessary bribes.’ He slapped his chest again with his hand, ‘And leave the rest to me. If he wants I will lend him the three thousand. Where’s the question of buying on credit? I only stand to profit from this deal. The rent from the house will pay off the interest on the loan.’

Kanak could barely contain her enthusiasm for moving to a bungalow from the congestion of the gali. However Puri wanted to weigh up every aspect of the proposal. He could not agree to Suraj Prakash’s offer just like that. He also was a little wary of Suraj Prakash because of a past experience.

Puri had first met Suraj Prakash in Lahore. This was the time when Ghaus Mohammad, the owner of the Adayara Munavvar Publishing Company, had asked Puri to ghostwrite a history textbook for a professor. Since by the time the textbook was ready, Ghaus Mohammed had become the victim of sectarian riots, Puri had offered the manuscript to Suraj Prakash, who not only had refused to publish the textbook, but treated Puri rather disrespectfully.

Suraj Prakash had taken up his textbook publishing business again in Jalandhar. At the time of the elections for the Refugee Association in 1949 he had come out openly in support of the editor of
Nazir
and Sood’s trusted lieutenant. When Puri had expressed his gratitude for Suraj Prakash’s backing, he had affably waved aside Puri’s thanks, saying that he was only supporting an honest person fighting for a good cause. Although Puri had been greeting Suraj Prakash with a casual namaste on the odd occasion of their meeting, he had never mentioned the subject of their encounter in Lahore.

In November 1949 Sood had had Puri appointed as a member of the committee for the selection of textbooks for the high school curriculum. Suraj Prakash had come to visit Puri one evening in February of the next year, but Puri had not been at home and had suspected the textbook publisher of having some ulterior motive for his visit. Puri knew about the underhand dealings in the selection of textbooks. In his own high-minded view he was opposed against any corrupt practice in the field of education, which he saw as a betrayal and disservice to the country. He was particularly sensitive to the responsibility that had been conferred on him.

When Suraj Prakash had returned the next evening, it turned out that he had come only to give Puri news about the clandestine activities of the Rashtriya Swayamsewak Sangh. The subject of his personal business interest had not arisen. He talked mostly about Puri’s column ‘Haat Bazaar Main’ or some other literary subject. He related several amusing anecdotes and revealed the political shenanigans of Puri’s rivals in the Congress. He appeared to be, for all practical purposes, simply a supporter of Puri’s views and an admirer of his writing. Puri had written several articles in
Nazir
in favour of the demand that Hindi be made one of the official languages of Punjab. Although Suraj Prakash scarcely knew Hindi, he supported the cause.

Under the British Raj, Urdu written in Arabic script had been imposed on Punjab as the official language of the administration and as the medium of education and learning. Knowledge of Urdu thus became essential for finding a government job and necessary for literary pursuits. The Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs of Punjab conversed in many dialects of Punjabi in their homes and in social situations, but used Urdu only in education and official business. Although Urdu had served as the language and the script for their literary creations, neither Hindus nor Sikhs had accepted it as
the first language in their culture. With the newly acquired right of self-determination after Partition, neither group was willing to tolerate the continued dominance of Urdu.

The supporters of Hindi and Punjabi argued intensely in public as to which language should replace Urdu. At the root of their disagreement was the natural preference for one’s own first language as well as the fear of irreversible dominance by the favoured community. Master Tara Singh, who had once pulled out his sword and challenged the Muslim League supporters to make demands for a Pakistan, had voiced along with his coreligionists their claim for a separate homeland for the Sikhs. The Hindus regarded this as an unreasonable demand by a minority group. The Hindus continued to speak Punjabi and argue in Punjabi against what they regarded as the unwarranted imposition of Punjabi. A compromise proposal to grant equal official status to both Hindi and Punjabi was opposed by both factions as each saw it as the victory for the opposite side. Suraj Prakash like Puri was against giving equal status to both languages. He would say, ‘I stand to profit if the prescribed textbooks are published in both languages, but one should not always think of only making money. One must also consider what is good for the country and the people.’ Puri felt relieved that Suraj Prakash had no selfish axe to grind, but was simply being friendly.

Behind Puri’s reluctance to invest in a house in Model Town was the desire in his heart to be able to live in a place befitting his new position and status. His objections were defeated by Kanak’s enthusiasm for a bigger and more spacious residence and in March 1951 they moved into their new house in Model Town. Although the house had two identical halves, with a kitchen and bathroom in each section, Puri felt that renting out the other half would be neither convenient nor appropriate to his advanced social position. A separate room was needed to receive visitors, another for Puri’s office. Kanak wanted a room of her own. She put a bed for Puri in his office, and took the room next to the bathroom for herself and for Jaya’s cot. Usha was sitting for her BA exam that year. As there was no electricity yet in the Basti Nigar Khan house, she pleaded with her mother to let her stay at Puri’s house. Kanak used the second kitchen as a bedroom for Heeran, Jaya’s ayah.

Puri had been apprehensive that the move to Model Town would make it difficult for them to live within their budget. In the first place there was the cost of commuting to the city and to their office. Kanak could
not come home for lunch as before. They also had to go to a bazaar in the city for the simplest of needs. As Heeran alone could not look after the baby and the house, they had to employ another servant. Puri had been drawing 250 rupees every month for himself from the press account, now he added to it another 125 as salary for Kanak. With the thought of the yearly payment of 2500 rupees for the house constantly niggling at his mind, any extra money spent became a sore point with him. Puri thought that Kanak was to blame for the extra expenses, ‘…She was the one who so much wanted to live in Model Town! Isn’t it a wife’s responsibility to manage the household expenses?’

At Basti Nigar Khan, even with Puri’s mother keeping a dairy buffalo, the household expenses had been less than 250 rupees per month for a family of five. Masterji and Bhagwanti had been more than content with their situation. The mother-in-law would occasionally remark in Kanak’s hearing, ‘If the wife spends her time sitting in a chair in the office, who would take care of the household?’ Irked by such taunts and Puri’s persistent irritability, Kanak would sometimes burst out, ‘All right. I’m not clever enough. You can manage the house yourself.’ She would remember how Gill was living on his 150 rupees per month, and envy him his tranquil life. What was the point of having creature comforts and a good salary if the chase after the mirage of an easy life was making them so unhappy? There was no longer any semblance of the dreams they had dreamt together of devoting themselves to art and literature. Puri had written not even one short story in the past three years. Kanak had begun one, but had not had the time to finish it. When she tried to discuss this case of writer’s block with Puri, he just shrugged it off, ‘Let’s first get settled down. There’ll be time for writing later.’ If Kanak wanted to read something out aloud to Puri or to suggest to him that he should see a particularly fine piece of writing, she would find him preoccupied and unable to clear his mind of other problems.

Suraj Prakash confided in Puri that he had to get his textbooks printed in Delhi, Allahabad and Aligarh because of a problem with the printing presses in Jalandhar. Nine of his publications had been prescribed as texts for courses taught in the middle school, Matric, Intermediate and BA levels. He also published booklets of notes and guides to textbooks. Hem Raj of Vidya Sadan was his long-time business rival. Whenever Suraj Prakash engaged a press to print his textbooks, Hem Raj offered higher rates of
payments to have his own books printed by the same press. Consequently, the textbooks ordered by Suraj Prakash would be delayed and reached the market after those issued by his competitors.

Suraj Prakash had a business proposition for Puri: Puri could install a letterpress cylinder and print all textbooks for Suraj Prakash. Otherwise Suraj Prakash would have to invest in his own press. Printing the textbooks would have been worth about 15,000 rupees every year, more than sufficient to buy a second-hand letterpress. Suraj Prakash was even willing to advance that sum to Puri against the cost of having his textbooks printed in the future.

Puri had in any case been thinking of adding a letterpress machine to his establishment. With Hindi and Gurumukhi replacing Urdu as the official state languages, there was less and less work for the litho cylinder. Not to move ahead with the times, Puri realized, would be suicidal, and accepted the offer of Suraj Prakash.

By the beginning of 1951, the chief minister of Punjab had found himself powerless to administer the state because of the factions of moderates and hardliners battling in the Punjab Legislative Assembly and the disagreements within the Cabinet. The next state elections were not due for another ten months. The governor of Punjab, following directives from the Central government, postponed the formation of a new Cabinet and took charge of the administration himself.

In Punjab, as everywhere else in the country, people were feeling embittered and disillusioned by the blatant nepotism, high-handedness and widespread corruption in the post-independence state governments. Those who had been given the title of ‘Rai Bahadur’ under the Raj for toadying to the British and former civil servants and hangers-on of the British government now sported crisp white Gandhi caps as members of the Congress party. Funds for the party were no longer raised in the form of the membership fee of a quarter of a rupee or by issuing receipts for one rupee donation to the party coffers. Now the contributions came from industrialists and big companies as cheques for thousands and hundreds of thousands of rupees. Congress party members, who had held jobs with salaries of a 100 or 125 rupees per month only four years before, had now begun to draw ten times more as members of some government committee or by virtue of being related to some government minister.
The sons of ministers, who had failed to pass even the easy high school exam, were dissatisfied with their salaries of over one thousand rupees as heads of nondescript government departments. Any position below that of managing director of a company was deemed unthinkable for the son-in-law of a minister.