This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (36 page)

Whenever he thought of Tara’s misdemeanours, his thoughts would invariably turn to Kanak, whom he had begun to see as a reflection of Tara. Kanak’s heart-warming smile, her passionate eyes looking into his own, her letting him take her into his arms and assuring him that she was his … that her father had called him a ‘jewel’, that someday he might have to take over Panditji’s assets. How treacherously deceptive was the maddening scent of Kanak’s hair! Her doing an about-face under her father’s influence! Kanak seemed to him to be even more devious than Tara. He had really been taken for a ride … she was playing little games! She needs someone, anyone, to flirt with. Perhaps, even now, she’s gadding about in the car with her brother-in-law, or his younger brother! How can women be trusted?

The newspapers carried grim reports of growing tensions and confrontations between Hindus and Muslims, and of the dimming of prospects for any rapprochement between the Congress and the League. In the third week of May, a forty-eight-hour curfew was imposed again after clashes in the neighbourhoods of Bagwanpura, Kele Wali Sarak and Bhati Gate. In its wake came the news that due to the disturbances in Lahore and throughout the province, the BA and MA examinations were being postponed until further notice.

Usha placed three textbooks before Puri and said, ‘Tara says, who knows when the examinations will be held, that there is no point in keeping these borrowed books.’

It was announced in the first week of June that the western half of Punjab would be included in Pakistan. Most people imagined that the dividing line would be somewhere near Lahore. The hot topic of discussion and of speculation now was whether the city itself would go to Pakistan, or remain in India. The declaration rekindled the smouldering fire of riots in the province. Several Muslim neighbourhoods in Rajgarh, near Krishna Nagar and Dev Nagar, were attacked during the night. A hundred or so persons were killed, and scores of Muslim homes were reduced to ashes. Great numbers of Muslims began to flee Lahore for safer havens in the west.

Puri had borrowed the textbooks for Tara from Kalicharan. In the
aftermath of the conflagration in Rajgarh and the curfew, he could not go to return the books. He waited for things to calm down before going to Kalicharan’s place in Doongi Gali, past Sareen Mohalla. Most of the galis and neighbourhoods on his route belonged to Hindus. In the Doongi Gali, almost all the houses that had once belonged to Muslims had now been sold to Hindus. Only a handful of the remaining dilapidated houses were occupied by Muslims.

A tonga stood at the entrance of the Doongi Gali. On it lay a roll of worn-out bedding tied with rough
moonj
cord, a gunny sack filled with various household articles, and two oblong cans—that once had held kerosene but were now fitted with lids—to be used as storage boxes. Puri had to squeeze past the tonga to enter the gali. He saw that Kalicharan and his neighbour Comrade Rajbans Mahajan, whom Puri knew, were barring the way of a poor Muslim family ready to move out of the gali. Mahajan had his hand on the shoulder of an old woman and was holding her back. She was wearing an old, faded, torn burka, with its veil pulled back over her head. Kalicharan held an old man by his arm and was speaking as if explaining something to him. The old man’s beard was dyed with henna, and he was carrying a cheap clay hookah in his hand. Two other burka-clad women stood with their backs against the wall. The outlines of their figures suggested they were young. A boy, about seventeen, a flower-painted tin trunk in his hand, stood watching.

Over the threshold of the nearby house hung a sacking curtain. An old man, with a clipped beard and long, untrimmed moustaches sat on the doorsill. A woman stood looking from behind the curtain, her dupatta covering all her face except her eyes. In front of the next house, a Muslim youth, in a vest and multicoloured lungi, watched the scene with curiosity and apprehension. Behind him stood an old woman in a soiled and patched shalwar, her henna-dyed white hair covered with a torn dupatta, her hands supporting her bent back.

The old woman on her way to the tonga was saying, with her hand raised in emphasis, ‘Bansi, my son, we’ve no reason to fear you, but when most people of our community and religion have left, how can we remain behind? Tell me, how long will you be able to tell others in the gali not to leave? Yesterday evening, Shadi Lal—may Rabba give him good sense—warned my husband, your taya, in the bazaar that we should leave the gali within twenty-four hours. Don’t you know, it was I who brought the wretched
boy out of his mother into the world and cut his umbilical cord. When he got sick from a sore throat, his mother Guro would ask me to apply the
chutki
to soothe his throat. That little devil used to call me bua. Nisso used to go to his home everyday to ask for buttermilk…’

Mahajan pleaded in a loud voice, ‘Tayi, are you trying to bring shame on us! If you wish,’ he lowered his head before her, ‘hit me on the head with your slipper. Before anyone dares to harm you, they’ll have to cut our heads off. For us, what’s the difference between our Vimla and your Nisso!’

Mahajan looked at one of the young women, ‘Look at her, all ready to move out of the gali in her burka! Don’t you remember how you used to steal the strings of my spinning tops to use as the waist cord of your shalwar! Look at this,’ he showed the others a scar on his elbow, ‘the mark where she bit and clawed me like a cat.’ The young woman bent her head and lifted her hand under the veil to wipe away her tears.

Mahajan went on, ‘Have we forgotten that any woman living in the gali was to be regarded also as our mother or sister! If Nisso leaves this gali, it’ll be only when she’s carried off in a
doli
palanquin after her wedding.’

Grasping his beard, the old man sitting on the doorsill of his house said, ‘Mama Imambuksh, we’re still here. If we can’t trust our longtime neighbours, whom can we trust?’

Kalicharan took the old man’s hand into his own, and said in a calming tone, ‘Taya, all this madness won’t last more than a couple of days. Those who have fled will return soon too. What if there’s a Pakistan or there’s a Hindustan? We’re Lahorites, neighbours of Doongi Gali. Go back to your house. If your shop was burnt down, Rabba willing, there’ll soon be another one. Put your trust in Allah.’

Mahajan hurled curses for all to hear, ‘Only these sister-loving sons of a monkey Britishers can get us to exist side by side? Why can’t we live together on our own?’

Mahajan’s mother was looking down from a window above. She said to the old woman, ‘Bebe, you yourself are sensible enough. Just think, where would you go wandering around in a strange country with young daughters?’ She pointed at old Imambuksh, ‘Brother gets fits of asthma. Could he risk travelling? Think again. What’s gone wrong with your mind?’

She said to the old woman who stood with her hands supporting her back, ‘Fatan bhabhi, why don’t you put some sense into bebe?’

Fatan replied in a shrill but frayed voice, ‘Bansi’s mother, you can ask
Shadan yourself. She asked us to go with them. I said, I came into this gali after my wedding in a doli carried on four shoulders; I’ll leave this gali only when I’m dead, on a bier resting on four shoulders. Whoever wants to leave, can leave. I’m staying put.’

Mahajan said to Imambuksh’s grandson who was watching all this in puzzlement, ‘Hey Samadaya, go back home with your sisters, and take back your
trunky
too.’ He called out to the youth in lungi standing silently on one side, ‘Hey Dulley, stop staring like an owl! Carry taya’s stuff back from the tonga to his house.’

The tongawallah cried in protest, ‘Badshaho, have some mercy on me! Is this God’s curse on me, or what? People are so scared these days that hardly anyone goes out of the house. This was my first fare since this morning; I had to crawl half a mile through the galis to get here. I’ve been waiting for over half an hour, and now you’re sending me away.’

Kalicharan shut up the tongawallah, ‘Shut up, mian. Keep your shirt on! You will be paid your twelve annas, you don’t have to kidnap our gali people for that!’ He called to someone inside his house, ‘Hey Mattu, bring me twelve annas from the pocket of my jacket.’

‘
Shava, putro, shava
!’ Fatan raised her hand in blessing. ‘May you have long lives! May your children be like you!’

Kalicharan had signalled to Puri to wait for him. He took Puri to his living room. Mahajan too went with them. He began to describe how other terrorized Muslims were fleeing the neighbourhood. His tone was sad, ‘Yesterday, another man, Gokul, was telling these people, “Better become a Hindu if you want to remain here.” Do you know what answer Fatan bua gave him? She said, “I’ve lived here as a Muslim for four-and-sixty years; why can’t I do that now? Your father never dared to speak to me like this! Whose son are you?”’ He added dejectedly, ‘Who knows if any Hindustan–Pakistan gets created? I see Punjab remaining forever in the grip of the British.’

‘Why, is there a separate policy for Punjab? Attlee’s statement of 16 February was for all of India.’ Puri tried to guess what Mahajan meant to say.

‘That very statement by Attlee is good reason to worry,’ Kalicharan said.

Puri considered Kalicharan to be a serious-minded and thoughtful person. Unlike Mahajan, he was not a member of the Communist Party.
Wanting to know his opinion, Puri asked, ‘How come?’

‘Attlee had announced that no matter which political party is in the majority in any province in June 1948, the government would be handed over to that party. The governor of Punjab is scheming to make sure that no political party can form the ministry in the province until then. If that’s the case, then according to Attlee’s statement, the administration of the Punjab will remain in the hands of the British.’

‘Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?’ Puri expressed his doubt.

‘How far ahead?’ Mahajan began with his habitual swearword. ‘March is over, April and May too, it’s June now. The governor has so far been successful in not allowing the formation of any ministry.

‘Bhai, my view is that whoever is in the majority, let them form the ministry. Give them a chance, then wait and see what happens. What right does the governor have to impose his will on who should and shouldn’t be in the ministry? To hell with them, if they can’t govern India any more. Who’re they to decide to partition it? Leave it to the Indians; they’ll carve it up as, and if, they want to. Why was Khizr asked to resign? You say that the Unionist ministry couldn’t guarantee civic peace? Well, the situation has deteriorated in the three months since its downfall, and is getting worse by the day. It was army explosives that were used to blow up the railway workshop. A very large number of homes now have some kind of a firearm. You call what we’ve got peace? Why can’t the administration restore peace and order with such a large police force and army at their disposal? If Kidwai could put down the Khaksar movement in the United Provinces, why can’t that be done here?

‘The truth is,’ Mahajan continued in a conspiratorial tone, ‘The Punjab governor belongs to Churchill’s Conservative Party. He has his own policy for Punjab. He thinks, even if Attlee and Mountbatten agree to hand over India to the Congress and the League, he still might be able to hold on to Punjab, especially the western Punjab. You know, Punjab has a strategic and important position in international politics. The British want to keep an eye on the Soviets, my friend!’ Mahajan grabbed Puri’s hand to emphasize his point.

‘Arre yaar, you see Soviets under every bed,’ Puri refused to believe him. ‘You are talking as if you were a personal friend of the governor!’

‘Hey, how can you say that?’ Mahajan seemed surprised at Puri’s
ignorance. ‘That’s how Professor Nath sees it. Didn’t you know? What do you say, Kali bhai?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Kalicharan said in agreement. ‘After the official statement of 4 June about partition and what provinces might go to Pakistan, I went with Asad and Pradyumna to the professor’s place. You know, he meets and talks with all kinds of people. The British bureaucrats, it seems, are not too pleased with the plan of Attlee and Mountbatten. They still somehow hope to prove that it would be foolish to hand over self-rule to Indians. The British know that after partition, both parts of the country will be unable to function. Up till now India has been developed as a single country. Now Pakistan will lack the ability to produce industrial goods, and the rest of the country will be short of raw materials. It’s a clever move. Where will the cotton crop and other produce from western Punjab, and the jute grown in East Bengal go? To Britain! It’ll revive their dying industries.

‘Western Punjab and East Bengal would face even more problems,’ Kali continued. ‘The military secretary of the governor remarked jokingly that until now there was one North-West Frontier, which cost millions of rupees to guard. After partition, India would have two frontiers, and Pakistan would have four!’

‘But the partition of India has been accepted in principle,’ Puri said with some concern.

‘Professor Nath said that if both the halves became autonomous but formed a federation, it wouldn’t be all that harmful. But Attlee’s policies are encouraging the League to separate. The British are interested in dividing up India in a way that will serve their own interests.’

After he returned from Doongi Gali, Puri could not get back to work on the history book. He desperately wanted to talk with Tara about what he had heard from Kalicharan and Mahajan on the future of Punjab. But brother and sister had not spoken to one other, except in monosyllables, since the day Tara had injured her head, and that only so that others might not suspect that they had quarrelled. So, Puri began to write a play based on what he had witnessed at the Doongi Gali. He kept at it until after sunset, when he heard Prabhu Dayal’s voice indicating that the doctor had returned home. Puri went to the doctor’s place taking Ratan along, and recounted to them what he had heard about the British Civil Service conspiring to keep both Hindus and Muslims from forming a ministry in Punjab.

Ratan listened patiently, then shook his head in disagreement, ‘Both of them are our enemies. We’ve got to get rid of both of them.’