A Beautiful Lie (13 page)
Authors: Irfan Master
‘What’s the point of that?’
‘It would make me feel better,’ I said quietly.
‘Only for a while, until you realise the truth,’ Doctorji said grimly.
‘But by then it wouldn’t matter.’
‘It would matter to me,’ said Doctorji, grimacing in pain as he tried to sit comfortably. ‘There are a few more hours until dawn. It’s no use worrying now. Let’s sit and see what comes.’
Staring at the smudged figure of eight on the dusty floor, my legs felt like they were still moving. A thousand thoughts tried to break free from my head.
I have to get home. I need to be near Bapuji
. Desperation crept into my mind and the sight of Doctorji sitting opposite me with his shoulders slumped, holding his head in his hands, was almost too much to bear.
‘Doctorji?’
‘Yes, Bilal,’ replied Doctorji without looking up.
‘I need to tell you something . . . about what I’ve been doing recently . . .’
After I’d told Doctorji about the lie, I didn’t feel better or worse. His face stayed passive but I knew he was weighing up what I’d said.
Doctorji didn’t have time to tell me what he thought because there was a scratching sound at the door. I closed my eyes and listened carefully in case my ears were playing tricks on me. There it was again! But Doctorji hadn’t stirred from his thoughtful pose. I quickly moved towards the door and put my ear to it. Doctorji noticed and stood up.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I heard a scratching at the door. I think there’s somebody on the other side.’
We both put our ears against the door and listened. The scratching sound continued.
‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ I whispered.
‘Hello,’ a little voice whispered from the other side.
‘Hello! Can you tell us what’s happening? What are they going to do to us?’
More silence. I could hear Doctorji’s heartbeat drumming steadily next to me.
‘They think you’re spies. They think that if you’re allowed to leave you’ll go and tell whoever it is to attack us and steal all our women. They think . . .?’
This time the silence was deafening. Now I could hear my own heartbeat thumping inside my chest.
‘They think what?’ I whispered.
‘They think it best if you’re not allowed to leave.’
‘Do you think you can help us?’ Doctorji asked quietly.
‘How can I help you?’ the voice whispered.
‘Can you open this door and let us out?’
There was a shuffling sound outside which stopped suddenly.
Please, don’t leave us here.
‘I’m not tall enough to reach the bar. It’s just out of my reach.’
‘There must be something you can stand on – a barrel or something?’
‘It’s all too heavy for me to move,’ said the voice.
‘And it would make too much noise anyway,’ I added.
‘There
must
be something you can use,’ said Doctorji. Sensing desperation in his voice, I leant close to the door.
‘It’s OK, take your time. We’re not going anywhere,’ I tried to joke.
Nobody laughed. The light in the hut was changing and dawn was not far away. If we didn’t escape now we might never leave. As we pressed our ears to the door, we heard some more shuffling and then little footsteps running away. I looked at Doctorji in horror at the realisation that we were alone again. He stepped away and, setting his jaw, walked slowly back to his sack of rice. I turned my back on the door and slid down to the floor, head resting in my hands. We were far from home and surrounded by strangers. This was not how I’d thought it would be. I had only ever known the market town. It was where I thought I would live and die. I had been so sure of it that the possibility of anything else was like a slap across my face.
Abruptly, I heard returning footsteps and more shuffling outside the door. Grunting sounds followed and, with a grinding noise that sounded as if it would wake the whole village, the bar was lifted from its resting place. The door was slowly nudged open and there before us was the little girl, standing on the thick, heavy book I’d given her. Smiling, she stepped off the book and very carefully picked it up, blowing the dust off its surface. Doctorji was at my side looking curiously at the girl with my book, then he quickly went to our donkey cart.
‘Why did you come for us?’ I asked.
‘I wanted to give your book back to you like I said I would.’
Doctorji returned hurriedly. ‘We have to go now, before the village wakes.’ He smiled at the girl and went back to the cart.
Kneeling down, I grinned at her. ‘We have to leave now.
Thank you so much for your help.’
‘That’s OK. I didn’t want them to hurt you,’ she replied.
‘Thanks to you they won’t. But you mustn’t tell anybody about this and you must go back home and pretend this never happened.’
‘OK.’ And she held the book out in front of me.
‘No, this book is now yours. I give it to you for your help.
Just tell them that I forgot it or something. I hope it brings you great pleasure.’
The little girl’s eyes widened in surprise and she held the book close to her chest. I kissed her forehead and ran to the cart. Waving goodbye, we quickly made our way out of the village.
We approached the town weary and stiff from the ride and a weight settled on me as soon as we entered it. My limbs felt like lead and my head drooped to my chest. But I lifted my head. I was home and Bapuji needed me. It was no time to feel weak. Doctorji sat upright as ever and led the cart straight to his house. Stepping off the cart, he grimaced slightly at the stiffness or pain he must have felt.
‘Bilal, we mustn’t tell anyone about this. Certain members of the committee might use this to tip things over the edge. Leave it with me. If we don’t say anything, technically we’re not lying.’
Looking at Doctorji’s haggard face, I nodded.
So it’s not technically a lie until you open your mouth. Right. It seems the rules of lying are more subtle than I thought
.
‘I’ll keep it to myself.’
I can do that
.
‘Check on your bapuji and see if he’s OK. I visited him before we left and the medicine seemed to be giving him some relief. Make sure he drinks a lot of water and give him some fresh fruit. I’ll come to check on him soon.’
‘Yes, Doctorji. I’ll see you later.’
Jumping off the cart, I made to move past Doctorji but he stopped me and squeezed my shoulder.
‘About the other thing . . . about your bapuji . . .’ he started.
The weight of my confession hit me squarely between my shoulders, almost bearing me down to the ground.
‘We need to talk about that too,’ Doctorji said quietly and turned away.
I trudged my way into town then went to our vantage point and hailed Chota. His head appeared at the top of the old house and he waved me up.
‘What’s the news, Chota? Where’s Saleem?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure where he is – some problem at home, I think.’
‘What kind of problem?’
‘He didn’t say but he promised he’d be back shortly. Oh, and he said to tell you that your bapuji woke up yesterday and wondered where you were. He also asked Saleem if there were any newspapers about as he wanted to catch up with what was going on. Saleem made some excuse and left but your bapuji asked him to get a paper by tomorrow.’
‘He can’t read a newspaper! He’ll know in an instant what’s going on! All the papers have news about the partition plan and it will break his heart.’
I knew that he’d want to see a newspaper eventually
.
‘But he wanted to read one and you know what he’s like when he gets an idea in his head,’ Chota replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘He’s a bit like you. Once the idea’s there, there’s no getting rid of it.’
I rubbed my eyes and sighed deeply. Chota was shaking his head.
‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ I asked.
‘What are you looking so miserable for?’ Chota replied. ‘Just think it through. There is always an answer if you think hard enough.’
I rubbed my forehead.
Chota always thinks everything is so simple!
But I thought it best to humour him.
‘And what’s that then?’ I asked tiredly.
‘Well, you’ll just have to print your own newspaper, won’t you? Simple.’
Chota went back to paring a piece of wood, entirely satisfied with himself. I closed my eyes in irritation. Suddenly, it hit me. Chota
was
right! I needed to print my own paper with my own version of events. I patted Chota on the back, thanked him and said goodbye.
I arrived home in time for the midday meal. Bapuji was dozing when I returned and I set about cooking rice and making some daal to eat with it. As the rice was cooking, I sat down on the bed at Bapuji’s feet. He was breathing evenly and coughing less but he was still so thin; apart from his head propped up against a pillow, it would be difficult to tell if there was anybody under the thick blanket. Bapuji had always been slight but his skin now hung off him, stretched taut over his frame as if somebody had laced him up too tight from behind, like toughened, tan leather shoes. His cheeks had sunken inwards, as had his eyes, so that when he looked at you, only two shiny glints appeared, like two lone stars in a dark sky.
I began to gently massage his legs, waking them back to life.
‘Wake up, Bapuji,’ I said quietly.
Bapuji opened his eyes with a smile as if waking from a distant dream.
‘Ah, you’re back. It felt like you were gone for weeks. How was it?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know, the usual. We did our bit, they did theirs,’ I replied as calmly as I could.
That answer seemed to satisfy Bapuji and he slowly tried to sit up.
‘We’re going to have lunch,’ I said, and brought the rice and daal through.
‘I’m not very hungry,’ Bapuji sighed.
‘You have to eat.
You can’t do all that dreaming and not eat,’ I replied.
‘That’s true, dreaming is a tiring business. Who knows how long you travel for when you’re dreaming – maybe days, years, centuries, even.’
Grabbing my stool, I handed Bapuji his plate and sat down with my own. I was hungry and set about eating heartily.
‘The funny thing about dreaming is how real it all seems sometimes,’ Bapuji continued. ‘You can almost taste it and then you wake up and it slips through your fingers like a handful of soil before you can hold on to it and mould it into shape.
The only dreams I remember are about you and your ma.’
Still wolfing down my food, I nodded my head. Bapuji hadn’t started his yet. I pointed to his plate and made a face. He held up his hand in submission and began to eat.
‘Maybe they’re not dreams that you have about Ma and me. Maybe they’re imaginings or just memories,’ I said.
‘Hmm, that’s an interesting way of looking at it. What do you dream about, Bilal?’
‘
About you not dying, Bapuji
,’ I wanted to say. ‘
About Ma still being here with us
.’
‘I don’t dream much, Bapuji. I daydream a lot, though,’ I replied.
‘About what?’
‘Oh, you know, being better at cricket, soaring through the sky like an eagle, organising the market town, things like that.’
‘All good dreams, dear heart,’ said Bapuji. Looking down at his plate, he held up his hand again. ‘I think this is all I can manage, my boy. Please don’t be angry with me – I don’t seem to have much of an appetite nowadays.’
The food had barely been touched but merely moved around the plate. I took it from him.
‘OK, but Doctorji said that I should feed you fresh fruit, so I brought you a pomegranate. It’s a ripe one. You can cut it in your special way for both of us to eat.’
Bapuji took the pomegranate and small knife from me. He held the pomegranate in the palm of his hand and slipped the knife in at an angle. He proceeded to make cuts right the way around. Just before he made the final cut he looked at me and smiled. Making a little circular cut at the top, he removed the knife and the fruit opened up like a flower. Red stones glistened like little rubies in the palm of his hand.
Morning sunlight filtered through the cracks of our home and flecked the room with little spots of yellow. Opening one sleep-filled eye, I noticed how the shafts of light peppered the wall of books and I propped myself up on one elbow to see which books had attracted the sunrays. Despite the sun there was a chill in the room.
Hearing Bapuji stir, I went to make some tea. As I was stirring the pot, Saleem came bounding through the door and squatted down next to me.
‘Tea for three?’ he asked.
‘No choice now that you’re here breathing hot air down my neck!’ I said and nudged Saleem, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawling. Growing serious, he sat up and looked at me as I poured the tea into cups.
