This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (154 page)

Kanak remembered that in her own childhood she also used to listen to her father tell stories. She heard Jaya who was completely engrossed in the story ask Panditji, ‘Both boys died? Then what happened?’

Panditji replied, ‘Beta, children who practise their dharma and do good deeds, who are not afraid to tell the truth, they are brave children. Such children never die.’

Jaya again asked, ‘They don’t die even when their throats are cut?’

Kanak found her daughter’s simple question very endearing. Jaya asked one question after another. She remembered that her father used to say, ‘Kanni, you used to ask so many questions when you were young. Always liked to split hairs.’

Kanak pricked up her ears to hear her father’s reply.

Panditji said, ‘Yes, beta. Those who are not afraid to do good deeds, they never die.’

Kanak looked at her daughter. Jaya was holding her foot with her hands. She asked again, ‘They never die? Even when all others are dead?’

Panditji replied, ‘Yes, beta. They never die. Others see the example of their good actions and bravery, and become brave themselves. They learn to practise dharma and do good deeds.’

Jaya asked, ‘What’s dharma?’

Panditji elucidated the concept of dharma, ‘A child who is fearless, who obeys his elders, doesn’t grab things that doesn’t belong to him, who’s not greedy, who doesn’t eat unhealthy food, who keeps himself clean and doesn’t hurt others, that child is brave and one who practises dharma. You’ll also practise your dharma and become brave.’

‘Is mummy also brave?’ Jaya asked.

Her daughter’s question gave Kanak a thrill. She held her lower lip between her teeth as she waited for her father to answer.

Panditji said ardently, ‘Your mummy is very brave. She practises her dharma. She’s not afraid to do a good deed. She doesn’t deceive anybody. My beti, you’ll also be like her.’

Kanak let out a sigh, and thought, ‘I hardly did any good deeds. I wish
my daughter does.’ But her mood was lightened; her father was not angry with her. ‘If pitaji feels I haven’t shamed him, I don’t care what anyone else feels.’

Panditji liked to have dinner by eight o’clock. He had been following the regimen of walking a mile after dinner. Since he had trouble in walking through the galis after dark, he had calculated that making seventy rounds of the aangan added up to 1 mile 36 yards. After dinner, Kanak would walk round the aangan with him. During the walk father and daughter discussed a lot of subjects: argument in favour of Kashmir becoming a part of India, achievements and failures of the present government, the ethics of India not joining any military treaty, India’s contribution to international peace, Jaya’s studies and her health, letters from Kanchan and Narottam, Second Five Year Plan’s chances of success, and other social, moral and sometimes philosophical topics. Some of the subjects had been discussed over and over again and Kanak had come to know her father’s views and opinions on those subjects well.

A month after Kanta’s return to Jalandhar, Kanak had discerned a change in Panditji’s views and in his way of thinking—the like of which would have befitted him three or four decades ago. There were some precepts that he kept repeating:

It is important that someone should have the courage to believe that moral judgements are a matter of common sense and reason rather than of tradition and convention. Instead of putting blind trust in traditions and conventions, we should rely upon common sense and reason when making a moral judgement.

For the fulfilment of one’s life, a right action is the one which is appropriate according to the circumstances. Actions done in accordance with the circumstances give the sense of fulfilment that makes life worthwhile. No definition of social and moral behaviour is correct for all times. There is no eternal definition of correct social and moral behaviour.

A person gets what is in his karma. This does not mean that our fate is decided by our deeds of past life about which we know nothing, but that our lives are determined by the way we change our existing circumstances.

It’s always the right time to make an effort for the betterment of one’s life.

The notions of right and wrong depend on our knowledge and experience. Our conscience should be the grounds for correcting our mistakes.

Good or bad deeds are transitory, therefore, should not control our lives. Knowledge gained through experience is important for life. It is the life force that engenders subsequent actions and karma.

A person can make amends for his or her past mistakes if it is done conscientiously and with proper guiding principles and intention.

Our knowledge and understanding of the world changes with time.

If our present knowledge and ideas are to form the basis of studying the society of fifty years ago, we must also realize that the present society is the outcome of lessons learned in the past and the misconceptions dispelled since then about scientific ideas—laws, medical science, agriculture and technology, and social and individual responsibilities.

Such discussions for the sake of it bored Kanak. At times she would think that her father was perhaps nostalgic about the comfortable life he had led, or maybe senility was creeping in as he grew older and weaker? She would listen quietly, thinking ‘whatever it might be, it has taken some load off his mind’.

One evening while they were going round the aangan, Panditji said something rather nonchalantly. Giving a simple reply to him made Kanak break out into a sweat even in the mild cold of February. She found it difficult to continue their walk after she had replied to him. She went and lay on her bed.

Next morning, Kanak was desperate to tell Gill what her father had said, but decided to exercise self-restraint. It was not possible not to tell him, but what would be the result if she did? Would she be able to handle the situation? Her head seemed to fly off her shoulders. At work she found it hard to concentrate. Three times she reached for the telephone to ask Gill to meet her in the evening, but pulled her hand back each time. She was uncertain about what might happen when they meet. Would she be able to dam the flood of emotions? That year the Yamuna had inundated vast areas. She saw the scenes of flood in her mind’s eye. The thought of
what might happen kept her in the throes of self-restraint and did not let her fall asleep. Finally, she thought of a way out of her dilemma, ‘I’ll first ask him to give his word that he’d respect my wish.’ Then she fell asleep.

Kanak’s feelings of concern and anxiety were not without reason. Gill had showed great self-restraint during his four years at Jalandhar, and had behaved as if there had been no attraction or secret between them. He had behaved like Kanak’s elder ‘brother’, who knew all the weaknesses and secrets of his ‘sister’ or friend, and had her welfare at his heart. He always took Puri’s side if he got into an argument with Kanak, because it was in Kanak’s interest for Gill not to antagonize Puri. He did not shirk from telling the truth if he thought it to be in Kanak’s interest. Kanak too was aware of her responsibility to do what was good for Gill; who else was there but Kanak to look after him? In her attempt to care for Gill, Kanak had once upset Gill.

When Nayyar used to live in Mandi Bazaar, the house across the gali from his had been bought by Dr Bedi. Nayyar and Bedi had recognized each other the moment they had come face to face, even though they were meeting again after more than ten years. They both had been fond of tennis in their student days, and had played on rival teams a couple of times in the Wrangley tennis tournament. In Lahore Bedi was a student in the medical college and Nayyar at the law college. They hugged each other warmly on meeting again in Jalandhar.

Only the width of the gali separated the families of Nayyar and Anoop Singh Bedi. The families very often visited each other. Even Nayyar, who rarely paid a visit to anyone, went and socialized once in a while at Bedi’s house. If Nano or Dheeru so much as sneezed, Kanta would consult Bedi bhraji. Bedi’s wife Basant Kaur was very welcoming. But Kanta was really enamoured with Basant Kaur’s sister Amaro, Amar Kaur.

Amar Kaur was extraordinarily beautiful, like a character born out of some artist’s imagination. Below her jaw line was a birthmark, as if a talisman had been painted there to ward off the evil eye. She had an equally genial nature. She spoke very little, and when she did, it was in a voice that was sweet and shy at the same time. Kanak had been fascinated by Amar Kaur after meeting her only twice at Bedi’s house. When she had heard Amaro’s tragic story, she had been stunned.

Anoop Singh Bedi’s brother Ishar Singh Bedi was also a doctor. He
had begun his practice, like his brother, in Montgomery in south-eastern Punjab. He married Amar Kaur just a year before the Partition. He had bought a shop in Chaura Bazaar to use for his practice. Six months before the Partition, he and Amar Kaur had moved into the rooms above the shop which was at the gali’s corner. The neighbourhood was predominantly Muslim, except a few Hindu families.

When tension began to grow in their city, Anoop Singh asked his brother to move in with him in Sai ki Gali. Since all houses belonged to Hindus and Sikhs, it was safer for everyone in Anoop Singh’s gali. However, Ishar Singh said that if even one family moved out of his own gali, all other Hindu families will lose confidence and the Muslims will gain the upper hand. He borrowed a shotgun and some cartridges from his brother.

When Ishar Singh brought the gun, Amar Kaur took an interest in it. Ishar Singh asked, ‘What’d you know about a gun? Have you ever seen one before?’ Amar Kaur replied that her grandfather, a retired subedar, owned a shotgun and was very fond of hunting. There were several ponds that skirted around their farmland where ducks used to land. Whenever her grandfather went for a walk in the morning or the evening, he took his gun along. If any of his granddaughters or grandsons were around, he took them along too. Amar Kaur’s grandfather had made her shoot at ducks several times. Her shoulder would hurt for a couple of days every time she fired the gun.

In the evening of 19 August, news reached Sai ki Gali that Hindu families living in Chaura Bazaar had been attacked. The Muslim police could not be trusted to rescue them. About fifty men from Sai ki Gali, carrying arms, went to help the beleaguered Hindus. The carnage was nearly over when they arrived. The Muslim mob ran away when they saw the armed Hindus. Amar Kaur was found lying unconscious near a second-floor window, a shotgun in hand and clothes drenched with blood. Her baby daughter had been killed by a bullet. Her husband had been shot several times.

Anoop Singh said, ‘How many times could the poor girl fire? She probably fired three or four times before the recoil from the gun dislocated her shoulder. A shotgun pellet had struck her on the upper arm, another had wounded her jaw. They carried her in an unconscious state to Anoop Singh’s house. She and Anoop Singh’s family lived for a month in a refugee camp, and then came to Jalandhar. Amar Kaur’s life was saved only because she was with a doctor.

Basant Kaur said, ‘Amaro was fit as a fiddle and good-natured, but
after the death of her husband and baby daughter and the wounds she had received, she remained shell-shocked for about two years. Then she must have thought that she could not spend the rest of her life in a vegetative state. She had already passed the matric exam. She asked her jeth, to enrol her into some training course. Dr Anoop Singh agreed; he thought that this might give Amaro a new lease of life.’

Amar Kaur completed the training course at the Health School. When Dheeru was born in 1951, she stayed with Kanta for a while and cared for her. Kanta and Kanak took her to their heart and began to call her Amaro. Nayyar, Puri and Gill also sympathized with her. ‘A character born out of an artist’s imagination’ was what Puri had said about her. When Kanak extolled Amaro’s beauty before Gill, he agreed that one should feel fortunate in being able to see a young woman like her.

Amaro tried not to be a burden on her relations, and they on their part did not think of her as one. They felt compassion for her, and thought: Let bygones be bygones. Why should a girl on the threshold of becoming a woman spend her life cursed with loneliness? If she agrees, we’ll marry her off. They did not express their intention in so many words, but often dropped hints about it. Doctor Bedi invited Gill over every now and again. Others had also noticed that Amaro liked Gill. Kanak and Kanta had sensed that Puri was jealous of Gill on that account.

Basant Kaur whispered in Kanta’s ear. Kanta consulted Nayyar, then discussed ‘the secret’ with Kanak and Puri. Kanak was confident that she could get Gill to agree.

Kanak wanted Gill to be married, from the bottom of her heart. She thought that by helping to arrange his marriage she would be able to make up for the injustice she had meted out to him. And once he was married, she would stop feeling self-conscious in his company.

Gill replied, ‘Don’t talk nonsense. I’ve no intention of getting married.’

Every time Kanak found the opportunity, she tried to convince Gill, ‘You yourself said that one should feel fortunate in being able to see a young woman like her. Who can be a better match for you than she? Once she’s with you, her personality would blossom out. She has such a lovely nature.’

‘Does that mean I should marry her just because she’s a fine girl? What an odd thing to say. I’ve never thought about her in that way.’

Kanak pressed him, ‘I can’t imagine a better couple. It’d be a sight for sore eyes.’

Kanak’s repeated insistence annoyed Gill, ‘Why are you matching me up with her? Am I some kind of stud? If so, I’ll never go to Bedi’s house.’

That episode was forgotten. In Jalandhar, Gill had spoken to Kanak umpteenth times when they were alone, but he never even once had made any attempt to touch her or to allude to the secret between them. Kanak had realized that Gill was not particularly enamoured of Puri, and if it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t have stayed behind in Jalandhar. She felt a stab of sadness. She had received a number of letters from Gill telling her that Delhi was full of opportunities, which had given her a sense of gratitude and a glow of pride. She knew that he was her friend and a man of his word, that he had great self-restraint and a will of iron, and her heart was filled with tender feelings for him.