This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (104 page)

Babu Ramjwaya felt his lower back and said, ‘Beta, can I lie down for an hour on this bench? My train is at eight. My back is really hurting. I caught a chill, and it’s been bothering me ever since. None of us have enough warm clothes. Back home there were stacks of blankets and quilts, but now we have to shiver in the cold.’

‘I’ll get a charpoy for you,’ Puri called Raldu to bring his charpoy.

Puri moved the furniture back to make room for the charpoy. He noticed the surprise on Raldu’s face. Rikhiram too had noticed the charpoy as he put on his jacket before leaving. Puri just averted his gaze. He thought that he would explain later that he did not want to invite a casual acquaintance to stay at his home.

Seeing Babu Ramjwaya in that miserable condition filled Puri’s heart with remorse. As much as he wanted to lavish his uncle with hospitality, who had always thought of him as good-for-nothing, he had to suppress the urge to take his taya upstairs and show how well he had done for himself. For, how could he explain Urmila living alone with him?

Babu Ramjwaya rubbed his back as he lay on the charpoy describing the losses he had suffered and his present financial worries. Puri’s taya had never acknowledged having so much wealth. Puri told his own life story of past few months, ‘In the beginning I was worried about finding work. Now I spend my time worrying about a place to live. One can’t find even a house in ruins unoccupied in this city. As soon as I find something, I’ll come to Hoshairapur and bring you and the rest of the family here. You all can live with me for some time. Whatever my resources and means may be, we’ll manage somehow.’ As he sat talking with his taya, the thought of Urmila coming downstairs unannounced was making his heart pound.

At seven, he took his taya to the railway station to see him off.

On his way back, Puri hung his head in shame for not letting his taya stay with him. He was disgusted with himself for having to hide his behaviour from others. The realization that he had stooped so low was in itself an admission of his poorness of spirit.

Puri had become well known in the city and had built up a large circle of friends in the past five months, but he did not dare to invite anyone to his home. Soon he was going to be the respected chief editor of a weekly paper. How shameful was the hollow reality of his life! He would have to change this situation; he must make Urmila his wife and a respectable woman. But he would first have to explain the situation to Urmila, and ask her not to
worry and to have patience. Tender feelings for her filled his heart.

Puri had to stop at the Congress party office for about an hour on his way home. He found Urmila knitting a second sweater for him, as she waited for him with the dinner ready. She complained, ‘Hai, where did you go? Why didn’t you come upstairs for a cup of tea or milk? What kept you so long?’

‘What can I tell you. An acquaintance turned up at the office at the last moment. I walked with him up to the railway station discussing some matter. I also had something to attend to at the Congress office.’

They both ate from the same thali. Urmila had not been out for several days, and wanted to go out for a while after the dinner. Puri took her on an outing every second or third day. He felt proud when she accompanied him dressed in her showy, colourful clothes. He had begun to avoid going out with her, feeling guilty. He made the excuse of being tired, and lay down.

Urmila smiled affectionately and said, ‘Sadake, may all your troubles be mine, what am I here for?’ Lovingly she began to massage Puri’s legs and feet.

A thought crossed Puri’s mind: Would Kanak have done the same? Would her nature permit her to do so?

Urmila began to tease and flirt with him. Several times she asked him, ‘You are very quiet. Hai, are you really that tired? Tell me the truth, is anything bothering you?’

Puri could not tell her what was in his heart. To put her mind at rest, he began to make love to her, and then fell asleep.

A refugee next door to Puri’s had got some buffaloes and begun a milk-selling business. He delivered milk at six in the morning by jangling the chain lock outside the front entrance. Urmila would remain under the quilt because of the cold and because she was not fully dressed. Puri would get up and take the delivery. He was used to getting up early. He would switch on the light, get back into the bed and work on the first issues of
Nazir
. As no housework needed to be done that early in the morning, Urmila would snuggle up to Puri, and stay in bed until 7.30.

That day too Puri had got the milk. He closed the door without bolting it, but did not turn on the light to begin work, and got back into bed. He put his arm around Urmila, and spoke into her ear, ‘Listen!’

Urmila hugged him back, ‘Go back to sleep. It’s so cold.’

‘I want to tell you something.’

‘What.’

‘Let’s get married.’

‘What more has to be done for us to be married?’ Urmila clung to him.

‘Not that. I mean, let’s tell everyone. Let’s have a civil marriage in the court, or at the Arya Samaj office.’ Puri explained to her what a civil marriage was. ‘A court marriage means that the husband is punished if he desserts or deceives his wife.’

Urmila hugged him even tighter to show her love, ‘Be quiet, what’s more important than love and trust. May I drop down dead if I ever doubt you.’

‘It’s not a question of doubt, but we must be careful of what others say. Why not make it public, and live together openly without fear.’

‘What’s the fear now? I live openly with you, go out with you. Don’t people see that?’

‘But that doesn’t mean we are married. They’ll want to know when the marriage took place and who was there?’

‘Who doesn’t know that it was my parents who left me here with you as their son-in-law.’

‘I don’t mean that. There’s Soodji, and others who know me from Lahore. When I came here first, I told them that I wasn’t married. They’d expect me to get married properly. What’s the harm if we do? I want you to be able to be seen with me in public.’

‘Hai, you want me to be a laughing stock.’ She leaned against his chest, and thrust her face closer to his as she explained, ‘The bridal procession will start from this house, which is the same house as the bride’s house. You will take me away as a bride from here, and bring me to my new home back here? That’s stupid! Had you ever been married, you’d have known how these things are done. All you had to do was to sweet-talk a simple girl like me into it.’ Urmila lightly slapped his cheek playfully, and kissed him.

Puri said, ‘It won’t be like that. I’ll make arrangement for you to stay for a while with someone else. Once we are married, I’ll bring you back here.’

‘You don’t know anything about anything. You are good at only one thing,’ she said nuzzling his nose, her eyes shinning with laughter. ‘You want to marry me six weeks from now. What will I say to people when they begin to laugh at me after six months? I won’t do any such stupid thing.’ She broke into laughter.

‘Laugh at you… why?’

‘You’re crazy! As I said, all you know is how do one thing, and talk sweet.’

‘Is that so? How late are you?’ Puri asked anxiously as he caught her meaning.

‘I’ll know for sure in five or six days. But why rake up the past? We can say we got married in Lahore, that’s all. Actually, it was two-and-a-half years ago.’ She said, looking into his eyes. ‘Didn’t we have something going at Murree, when you slapped me? You’re really bad. Then too it was me you got a thrashing. You always cause me trouble, and are doing the same again. I won’t talk to you.’ She buried her face in his chest.

There was the sound of knocking at the front door. Someone called out.

‘Who the hell has come at this hour?’ Urmila asked irritably.

The door creaked open and a woman came into the outer room. She then peered into the bedroom.

Urmila dived under the quilt. Puri had to straighten his clothes and quickly get out of the bed.

He looked at the visitor, recognized the face, and caught his breath in surprise.

A FEW MONTHS EARLIER, IN THE SECOND WEEK OF NOVEMBER 1947, KANAK GOT
out at Lucknow railway station, feeling both nervous and cautious in a new and unfamiliar city. She immediately noticed a difference in the behaviour and the manner of speech of the people. The scene outside the station was as she had seen before, with refugees crowding every space in between the flower beds in front of the building. The tide of the dispossessed had reached as far as 300 miles from Delhi. In a sense she too was one of them, searching for a new life for herself. She had Mrs Pant’s address. She hired a tonga outside the station building to go to the Councillors’ Residence.

Mrs Pant welcomed her warmly. She said, ‘You must be tired after the night-long journey. Rest for a while if you want. Or have a wash and a bite to eat, and be ready by half past ten. Come with me to the Council House. You can meet Awasthiji there. I’ll also show you the Assembly in session.’

Kanak sat in the visitor’s gallery overlooking the imposing, circular hall of the Legislative Assembly, with a roomy upholstered chair and a desk for every member. The Council of Ministers and the Speaker of the House were seated in the centre. Most members wore immaculate white clothes and Gandhi caps. For about twenty minutes Kanak sat overwhelmed by the sobre, serious and awe-inspiring ambience of the hall. She tried to listen to the proceedings. A member spoke standing behind his desk, ‘A newspaper report says that a building material that could replace cement has been invented in Kanpur. What is the government doing to encourage this development?’

Someone from those seated in the centre replied to the member’s question.

Maybe Mrs Pant will also speak, thought Kanak. How would she look, addressing the House? She looks so ordinary and simple, but if she can speak here, she must be very competent.

Her eyes searched and found Mrs Pant, who was sitting on a bench meant for two members, with another woman of about her own age. They both leaned towards each other and seemed engrossed in some private conversation rather than the proceedings of the House. The head of the
member behind them nodded as he dozed off. The feeling of awe in Kanak’s mind began to wear off.

She again tried to pay attention to the House proceedings. She knew nothing about the subject under discussion. A man standing beside the ministerial bench was reading something in English from a sheaf of foolscap. Similar papers lay on the desks of all the members. Some members were themselves reading the sheets. Others leant forward or sat with their elbows on the desk or looking away with head resting on one hand, apparently listening attentively to the speaker; or perhaps thinking about something else. Many members left the hall one by one. Mrs Pant and the other woman also got up and left. The proceedings continued as before.

Mrs Pant beckoned to Kanak from the entrance to the gallery. As Kanak went to her, she said, ‘Let’s go and meet Awasthiji.’

The door to Awasthi’s office was closed. A fat peon sitting outside got up and respectfully opened the door for Mrs Pant.

In that spacious office, behind a large and heavy desk sat Awasthi, with his knees drawn up, talking with a portly man dressed in an achkan and Gandhi cap. Awasthi invited Mrs Pant, ‘Come in, come in.’

Seeing Kanak behind Mrs Pant, he repeated his welcome in a heartier voice, ‘Come in, Kanakji, when did you arrive?’ nodding to them to take chairs at the desk. After inquiring from Kanak about Delhi, he said, ‘There was a lot of disturbance in Delhi. Overcrowding by refugees created so much disorder. It must have quieted down now that Gandhiji’s there.’

‘Yes, it has quieted down. It was worse before we arrived in Delhi.’

Awasthi gave a glowing introduction to Kanak about the man in the achkan, ‘He’s from your region of Punjab. He owns several businesses in Kanpur.’

The door to the office opened again and two khadi-clad men came in, were given an effusive welcome by Awasthi and invited to join the group.

As the men were taking chairs, Awasthi said, ‘So Sharmaji, didn’t Lari say that day that they would create another Pakistan here?’

The man with Sharma spoke up, ‘Arey bhai, that leader of the League party made such an idiotic demand. He hits the roof whenever the proceedings of the Assembly are in Hindi. Arey bhai, you speak a little more Farsi and we speak a little more Sanskrit, but we both use the language of the man in the street. His stupidity has been made plain. If you claim to believe in democracy, you should be ready to accept the majority opinion.’

Sharma said, ‘They hate any mention of Hindi because they’re Muslims. They say, a Muslim’s language is Urdu. Let them bloody well show me one bloody Muslim who can speak or read Urdu in my village or the five villages of Kurbjawar. Arey, if you have changed your religion this doesn’t mean that you’ve disowned your ancestors and their language. Everyone speaks Awadhi, Bundeli and Bhojpuri in the countryside. The whole problem is confined to cities. All because of the insistence on being regarded as distinct from the Hindus. When things go against them, they go and cry to Gandhiji that they are Indians, that India is their motherland. But the language of India is not theirs.’

‘Well,’ said Awasthi, ‘this fellow is threatening to create Pakistan here. We must keep an eye on him.’

Sharma agreed, ‘Not only that. Before they left, they threatened to return like the invader Mohammed Ghouri, and take over our province.’

Awasthi’s paan-stained lips widened in a smile, ‘Sharmaji, the paans you sent this time were really good. Excellent.’ He searched under the files piled up on the desk, and took out his paan box. He opened it and offered it to Mrs Pant, ‘Help yourself and ask Kanakji too.’

Awasthi looked at Sharma and his companion, ‘Mrs Pant’s guest Kanakji is from Punjab. She’s the daughter of Pandit Girdharilal, the veteran Congress leader and a comrade of Lala Lajpat Rai. She has her MA and is very talented.’

Kanak did a silent namaste to Sharma and his friend.

Mrs Pant deposited two paans in her cheek, and said appreciatively, ‘Very nice. Very evenly made.’ Awasthi motioned to her to offer the box to Sharma.

Sharma accepted the box, raised it to his forehead to express his thanks, and placing it on the desk, said, ‘Bhaiyyaji, get us some chai-wai. Paan-wan can come later. I’m not used to having paan. Can’t have more than five or six in a day.’

Awasthi rang the bell to summon the peon.

‘Listen,’ Awasthi looked around to count those present, and said, ‘Ask them to send six cups of tea and samosas.’

Awasthi picked up the paan box and offered it to the Punjabi businessman, ‘You have some, Chawla sahib.’

Chawla was extracting one paan from the box when Awasthi commented, ‘Sahib, you must have two, we take two at a time. Actually, Punjabis can’t
appreciate paan. What do you say, Kanakji?’ He turned towards her, ‘How many do you have in a day? You must like paan.’

Kanak remembered that it was not considered proper for unmarried women in Punjab to have paan except on special or ceremonial occasions. She answered, ‘Ji, I’m not used to paan. I have it only once in a while.’

‘Once in a while?’ Awasthi broke into loud laughter. ‘My daily ration is fifty paans.’

Kanak looked at him with amazement.

Sharma’s friend spoke up as Awasthi paused to have his dose of paan, ‘Bhaiyyaji, the lorry permit for Thakur Giridhar Singh…’

Paan in cheek, Awasthi said as if he had remembered something, ‘Arey, I completely forgot.’ Rummaging through the files, he came up with a small silver box, opened it and offered it to Mrs Pant, ‘Here, have some chewing tobacco.’

‘I was about to ask you for some,’ Mrs Pant said over her mouthful of paan.

‘Munavvar sent it. Just try it. Be careful about how much you take, it’s strong.’

Mrs Pant took out a pinch on her palm, put it into her mouth and held out the silver box to Kanak. Kanak politely joined her hands, thanked her and said no.

Sharma’s friend took the box, tilted it over his palm to take as many grains as he wanted, and passed the box to Chawla.

Chawla also excused himself.

‘You don’t have tobacco with your paan?’ Awasthi said with a mixture of surprise and sympathy at this lack of sophistication, ‘How can one enjoy paan without tobacco? You chew paan or just chew the cud like cattle? Paan without tobacco is like doing it to woman with no tits.’

Sharma and his friend slapped each other’s hand and responded with a loud guffaw, ‘Wah, wah! Well said, bhaiyyaji! A million rupee remark!’ Sharma’s friend laughed so much that he forgot all about the lorry permit.

Kanak lowered her gaze, opened her purse and began searching for something as if she hadn’t heard.

‘You sometimes say such embarrassing things!’ Mrs Pant said with a strained laugh. The remark made Kanak feel uncomfortable and insulted, but she suppressed her anger. ‘Is this what I came here for? But pitaji and
jijaji had said: Be careful. Lucknow people are very polite and observe the rules of etiquette.’

Sharma animatedly began to describe how Khalikuzzman left Lucknow and his property had been confiscated by the deputy commissioner.

The peon returned with a man in tow carrying tea and samosas on a large tray. The peon pulled out a small table for the tray. Mrs Pant served samosas on plates to everyone and poured tea.

Sharma’s friend found the opportunity to make his pitch, ‘Yes, bhaiyyaji, did anything happen to that poor Thakur Giridhar Singh’s application for a permit for a lorry? If he’s put out it’ll cause us problem in the District Board election. The file has been held up for the past two months. You get it approved by Guptaji, and I’ll see to the rest.’

Kanak did not feel like having tea or samosa, but to avoid having to speak in such company, she just forced the tea and a samosa down. Awasthi and the others were loudly discussing some matter.

There was another round of paan after tea.

The sound of a bell ringing came from outside.

‘Is a division for a vote taking place in the Assembly, or is there a lack of quorum?’ Awasthi, paan in hand, asked Sharma and his friend. His expression became serious. ‘This is not right. Some people should remain in the chamber. Let’s go.’

The awe that Kanak had felt in being at the legislature and the centre of government was all but over.

‘Achcha, you all go to the Assembly, I’ve to go somewhere else,’ said Mrs Pant.

Kanak said namaste to everybody and left with Mrs Pant.

When they reached the main road outside the Council House, Mrs Pant pointed to the left and said, ‘We came from this direction? You know the way back. Here’s the key. Go and have some rest.’

‘Is there a post office close by? I want to inform my father that I reached Lucknow.’

‘There is the General Post Office, on our right. The Burlington Hotel across from our house also has postal and telegraph facilities. You can ask Chhedilal, the guard, to get postage stamps, or send a telegram for you.’

Sitting alone in Mrs Pant’s room in the Residence, Kanak was thinking, ‘Was it wise to come here? What Puriji had said about these people was
quite correct. I could go back today to Delhi, but that would mean losing face with pitaji because of my insistence on coming here. What vulgar and contemptible attitudes these people have! Those who take women as only sexual objects, how could they have any respect for them. Mrs Pant should have objected to that remark rather than laugh at it, what kind of a person can she be!’ Kanak remembered hearing obscene remarks and name calling by the riff-raff on the streets of Lahore, but these were the elite of Lucknow, respected and well regarded.

Gloomy thoughts about being alone in this unfamiliar city were on her mind, ‘Puriji went back from here feeling disappointed and insulted. Why did I ever trust these people and come here? But what could have I achieved by staying in Delhi? Aseer and Sinha were no better than these people.’

She took a deep breath and thought, ‘A woman is truly helpless without a man to protect her. Puriji is my only support, the bedrock of my existence, but how do I find him? And what have I done so far except wait to hear from him? I dithered over contacting him only because of my respect for pitaji. I can have a message broadcast for him on the radio, but what contact address will I give? Nothing is certain here. Will we ever be together again? I am not able to earn a living in spite of all the education I’ve had.’ Kanak remembered the young woman selling newspapers in Delhi, who was younger than herself.

It was necessary to inform Panditji that she had reached her destination safely. ‘What should I write to him? Nothing that would increase his worry for me. It’s better to send a telegram, saying only that I had arrived. Now that I’m here, I should have patience and see what comes next.’

Kanak nodded off to sleep in the armchair. The sun had set when she woke up. Mrs Pant was not back. Kanak freshened up. What to do now, she thought. She looked around the room for something to read, but there were neither any newspapers nor books. Some foolscap sheets lay on a small table. She picked them up and saw that they were about the assembly proceedings. She read a few of them idly. Finding those dull, she took out
Path of Success
from several books that she had brought with her. Panditji had given it to her for advice and guidance.

She began to read the chapter ‘Why Should People Help You?’ The author’s advice was: You will meet some like-minded and friendly people in your everyday life, and others whom you may find unhelpful. It would be wiser to be pleasant and agreeable to those you do not like. It would be
useful to have the goodwill of people rather than their ill will and hostility. Showing your eagerness will make you appear weak. People usually prefer to help those who appear resourceful and become their friends than to help someone who appears helpless.

Kanak used her finger to mark the page, closed the book and thought: Is it wise to behave in a devious and dishonest way?

Mrs Pant returned at eight. She and Kanak had dinner at the Residence’s cafeteria. After dinner, Mrs Pant again went to visit someone. Kanak resumed her reading. Mrs Pant came back at ten.