This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (109 page)

Kanak listened quietly, her side pressed to his.

‘You come to the door and call for Kartaro or rattle the chain lock.’

Gill showed Kanak the way to his gali in Udayganj, and then hired another rickshaw to drop her near her home. Noticing that Kanak had not said a word, he asked, ‘Kee, tell me the truth, you’re not cross?’

‘Get away, you idiot,’ she replied, smiling warmly.

They squeezed each other’s hand before getting out of the rickshaw. Kanak agreed to be at his house between 10.30 and eleven.

Gill had been waiting anxiously, since ten in the morning for a call at the outside door or for the lock chain to rattle. He had left the door unlatched. He paced around the small aangan restlessly, unmindful of the cold. The chain rattled and he rushed to the door, and opening it, said, ‘Come in.’

‘No,’ said Kanak, and paused to catch her breath.

Gill was shocked to see Kanak’s eyes blood-shot, and her face thin and bloodless. A part of her shawl covered her unkempt hair. The rickshaw that brought her waited nearby.

‘I came so that you shouldn’t hang on waiting for me. Please forgive me. We’ll talk when you come in the evening.’ She paused for breath after each sentence, then turned back to leave.

Overwrought and at a loss, Gill went in the evening to Cantonment Road to meet Kanak. She came out when she saw him from her window, dressed in her usual style and seemed outwardly composed, although her face looked pale and haggard.

As they turned on to Abbot Road, Gill asked, ‘You don’t look well. Do you want to walk? Shall we go and sit somewhere or take a rickshaw?’

‘I’ll walk. I’m fine,’ Kanak replied, her head bent. ‘Forgive me for my behaviour.’ She spoke haltingly, ‘I deceived you. Not only do I love Puriji, but we’ve been like husband and wife. I don’t know what came over me yesterday. I was swept away by my feelings for you, and in one moment of delirium I tried to make you mine too. That would have meant deceiving you both. I did something dreadful, but at least I saved myself from actually doing something wrong. I blame myself and I’m so ashamed. I didn’t sleep all night. I just cried by myself. I’m so sorry.’

A feeling of self-loathing and shame overwhelmed Gill. He said in a guilty tone, ‘I’m the one to blame. I thought that the nightmare of Partition had wiped out the past and that I had found you in place of Saraswati and we could be husband and wife. It was me who caused you to act that way.’

‘No, no. It didn’t happen that way. It was my fault. I perhaps made too much of my feelings for you, and in the end we both had to pay for it. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, but I was drawn to it unconsciously.’

Both were trying to analyse their motives and behaviour in an attempt to take on the blame of this uncomfortable episode. They tried to examine it objectively and as something that had happened in the past. Kanak said, ‘The truth is that I encouraged it. I tried to hide and hold back my feelings so as not to give in to them. You’ve made me face up to that. The memory of Puriji helped me. It’s different for you. You don’t have to answer to anyone. It was me who hid from the truth.’

Kanak’s voice was strained with pain, ‘I won’t be able to stop loving you. What had to happen did happen. I’ve caused you much pain. Forgive me if you can, give me your support as you have done up to now. Otherwise I’ll have to accept that I lost you because of my recklessness. I’ll never forget you. Your love for me was so selfless. I can’t stop loving you, nor can I leave him. I’ll accept the consequences of my mistake.’

She felt so drained that she had to take a rickshaw to get back home.

Kanak’s behaviour now took on a seriousness that reflected the heaviness of her heart. Confused by the turmoil of her feelings and thoughts, she was drowned in a numb listlessness. Days and events slid by. Her face showed her worry and distress. Munshiji, his wife and their daughter advised her to consult a homeopath that they knew. They would wonder: Was the young woman affected so much by Gandhiji’s death? Or had she got some bad
news of her family? Her office colleagues were puzzled that someone who had been so spontaneous, outgoing and sociable had become so withdrawn. Now when she smiled, it looked forced and a pale imitation of her former good humour.

After a week she seemed to recover and return to her old self. She and Gill met only three times in the next two weeks. There was a forced seriousness to their conversation, as if each was guilty and ashamed in the presence of the other. There was no mention of the unpleasant affair.

Kanak got a letter from her father every Friday. Nayyar was too busy to write. When she wrote to Kanta, her sister wrote back rather briefly and that too after a week or so. She had no hired help, and seemed to be strained out from looking after her house even if it was small. She would ask Kanak to keep writing even if she did not always reply. When Kanak returned from her office in the second week of February, Munshiji’s wife handed her a thick envelope that had come in the mail. The weight of the envelope made Kanak look at the handwriting—it was from her brother-in-law.

She opened the door to her room, sat on the bed and eagerly ripped open the envelope. Nayyar’s letter was in English. There was also a large sheet of paper that had been folded several times. Kanak read the letter first.

After a few lines of news of the family, Nayyar had written, ‘Perhaps you have already received Puri’s letter. If not, I am giving you some unexpected news. I ran into him at the law court about a week ago.’

Every fibre in Kanak’s body became tense with excitement. She gripped the letter tightly and devoured its contents, ‘It was good to see Puri! I had no idea that he was in Jalandhar too. I was excited to meet him, but I can’t say why he showed no joy or enthusiasm at meeting me after such a long time. When I told him that I had settled in Jalandhar, he expressed no desire to meet me again. He asked about Panditji. I told him that he was in Delhi, and gave him the address. Maybe he meant to inquire after you. He didn’t mention you, so I didn’t bring it up either. It’s possible that you might have got his letter care of pitaji, otherwise this poster will explain everything. It could be that he was so abrupt because he has so much on his mind. That’s all for now. I’m up to my neck in the struggle to make a living. Hope the work you’re doing is to your taste. Nano remembers you and can now say in complete but broken sentences that her aunt has gone to Lucknow. Tell me all about yourself in detail. Love from Nano and your sister.’

She raced through the letter, read it again from beginning to end, and
then unfolded the poster. It announced the publication of
Nazir
with Puri as the editor. The first issue was to be published on 1 March. The address was: Jai Puri, Chief Editor
Nazir
, Kamaal Press, Mohalla Bahadurgarh, Mai Heeran Gate, Jalandhar.

Kanak read the advertisement over and the letter once again with particular care. She did not like what Nayyar had written, ‘Jijaji is so prejudiced and sees something wrong or cynical in everything about Puriji.’ She again went over the poster and the part of the letter about Puri, and decided, ‘Jijaji can think what he wants.’ She repeated to herself several times, ‘Jai Puri, Chief Editor.’ The echo of those words was so satisfying to her.

A sense of impatience overcame her: What should she do? Her thoughts seemed inadequate and the room too small to contain her feelings. She lay down on the bed to compose herself, and closed her eyes. In her imagination she saw Puri in various situations. The office of the periodical, a printing press… a very busy Puri.

Luckily Munshiji’s granddaughter called and distracted her, ‘Aunty, come and have your meal.’ Dinner time in Munshiji’s home was around six. Going in to dinner helped Kanak to collect herself. The thought crossed her mind that she might have told Gill if they were meeting later that evening, but he was on the night shift. She lay down on her bed again to reflect. She spent the night waking up and falling back to sleep, and thinking things over.

By morning she had made up her mind. It was Sunday. At eight o’clock she took a rickshaw and went to Gill’s house. He was surprised to see her so early. She asked him to step out into the gali, and showed him the poster that Nayyar had sent, but not the letter with the negative comments about Puri. She simply gave a summary of what Nayyar had written.

Gill congratulated her, and said he too was happy to get the news.

‘It turned out well because of your good nature and support,’ she said, moved by his kindness.

Kanak wanted to leave that very day for Jalandhar by the Punjab Mail that left Lucknow in the early afternoon. Her father had apparently withdrawn his objection, but how could she ask his permission to go to see Puri before they were married? Her father himself would have written to Puri after getting the news, but the business of writing letters and then Puri’s coming to Lucknow could have easily taken up a couple of weeks. Puri also had the burden of launching the weekly. Waiting that long while counting every second would tax her patience to the limit, Kanak felt. The thought
of surprising Puri by arriving at his home unannounced gave her a thrill of excitement. If she could just for once satisfy her longing and talk to him about their future together, she would have all the patience in the world. Let the agony of six months’ separation come to an end.

Gill agreed with her after a few moments’ thought, ‘I’ll see you off. On Monday morning I’ll also hand in your application for leave. You’ve been working only for two months. Don’t ask for a long leave of absence. Send me a telegram from there about your plans.’

The Punjab Mail, crossing hundreds of miles of fog-blanketed plains of the United Provinces and Punjab overnight, reached Jalandhar at dawn. Mist swirled about the city roads in the freezing cold. Kanak had wrapped a shawl over her long coat. She had only hand luggage. She hired a tonga and after inquiring the way several times, found the gali in Mohalla Bahadurgarh with the house that had the signboard of Kamaal Press.

The door below the signboard was closed. Acrid, oily smoke smelling of burning paper and cloth seeped out from between the cracks of the door. Kanak knocked. A growl came from inside, ‘Who’s there?’ The door opened and a man, hunched up because of the cold, peered out. The servant fell silent on seeing a lady standing by the tonga.

Raldu did not know whether the woman bundled up in a coat and shawl was Urmila’s mother or someone else. A well-dressed lady had come in a tonga and was asking for his master. Must be someone from the family, he thought. Without any question he opened the door that led to the inner courtyard and took Kanak’s luggage from the tonga.

Raldu climbed the stairs carrying Kanak’s blanket and bag ahead of her, but moved aside upon reaching the landing to let her go first. The door was shut, and Kanak called, ‘Please open the door.’ She kept her voice low, not to show her excitement. Her heart rejoiced at the thought that her words would reach Puri’s ears.

She had climbed up the stairs without pausing and now leaned against the door to catch her breath.

‘Who’s there?’ She heard Puri reply as the unlatched door opened from the pressure of her hand.

She went into the room. It was light enough for her to see. The door to a room on her left was open and she saw Puri pushing the quilt aside and getting out of the bed.

A flash of excitement ran through her body like an electric current. She wanted to jump into Puri’s arms when behind him the light-complexioned face of a girl peeped out from under the covers—eyes wide with surprise, hair tousled and the bindi on her forehead smudged.

The face disappeared again shyly under the quilt.

Puri did not respond with any eagerness, he was far too surprised.

Raldu put down the bag and the folded blanket on top of it, and went back downstairs.

The electric feeling suddenly drained out of Kanak’s body. She felt limp and her knees gave way.

‘You?’ Puri exclaimed in amazement, taking a step forward. The words seemed to be forced from his lips. He looked at her aghast.

Kanak’s head swam and she covered her eyes with her hands.

Puri collected himself. He held her arm and moving her away out of sight of the bed, asked, ‘Have you just arrived? You’ve come from Delhi?’

Kanak squatted down on her haunches as her knees buckled under her. Such an end to her long search for Puri and this reward for all her struggles left her completely at a loss. Her head was reeling, her breath short.

Puri closed the door between the rooms. He helped her to her feet and led her to the doorway where he unrolled a chatai and helped her sit on it. Taking her into his arms, he murmured into her ear, ‘Kanni!’

Kanak began to weep.

Puri said quietly, ‘Kanni! Listen, Kanni! Listen to me.’

Her face buried in her hands on her knees, she broke into loud sobs. The intensity of her crying prevented her from hearing what Puri said or uttering a word of her own. Through her tears she could still see the girl’s pretty face, her dishevelled hair, her smudged bindi, and another wave of tears would sweep over her.

Holding Kanak in his arms, Puri pleaded and even begged her by touching her feet to be heard. It took a while for Kanak to calm down enough to listen to him.

She took her hands from her face. Her eyes were swollen and red, and still filled with tears. ‘What does all this mean?’ she asked.

‘I’ll explain everything. I never hid anything from you. Give me a chance. You began to cry the moment you walked in, without even asking for an explanation.’ His voice trembled and his lips quivered. To hold back his tears, he turned away his head.

Taking his hand in hers, she asked, ‘What is it, tell me.’

Biting his lip to show his effort to hide his agitation, Puri asked, ‘Why should you start crying without even asking me for an explanation?’

‘After what I saw for myself?’

‘You should have at least heard me out,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘You don’t realize what I’ve been through.’

‘Tell me,’ Kanak’s tone was softer.

Puri fell silent for a few moments, then making an effort to swallow the lump in his throat, replied, ‘There’s more to it than you saw at first glance. You’ve no idea of the life-and-death situations I’ve been thorough. You simply can’t imagine the nightmarish feeling of being at the mercy of chance. You don’t know how many times I’ve stared in the face of death, how helpless I was and I still am.’