This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (114 page)

Tara’s office was given several additional projects: allotment of plots of land to the refugees for building houses, incentives and funding for starting small businesses. In order to remain within the ministerial requirements to cut expenses, no new employees were hired and the work load was redistributed among the existing staff. On the recommendation of the office superintendent, the assistant director sahib deputed Tara to dispose off the applications for loans and grants for self-help schemes for women. She was given a separate office and a peon in attendance.

She was deep in studying a file one day when she heard ‘huzoor’ and raised her eyes. The peon of Sitole, the assistant director, salaamed and said, ‘The sahib has sent this old woman to see you.’ He moved aside to let the woman enter.

The old woman stood with her palms joined, wrapped in a dirty old dupatta. The sight of her ragged salwar-kameez, her gaunt deeply lined face and tear-filled eyes pierced Tara’s heart. She recognized the face and gasped, ‘Biddo’s grandma!’

The refugee woman from Sangaroor, her daughter-in-law and grandchildren had been in Tara’s hut at the Kashmiri Gate camp. The poor soul was nothing but skin and bones. Tara pushed back her chair, went round and put her hand on the old woman’s arm.

Recognizing Tara’s voice, the old woman knelt and put her forehead on Tara’s feet and began to cry. Tears came to Tara’s eyes. She raised the old woman and guided her to a chair.

The old woman resisted, pleading, ‘No, no,
dhiye
, daughter! I’ve never sat on such a thing.’ On being pushed into the chair, she sat with her knees drawn up. Tara listened to her story perched on the desk, with her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

The refugee camp at Kashmiri Gate was closed in December. Since then the old woman had been living, with her daughter-in-law and grandchildren, in one room of a crumbling house in a lane next to the outer wall of Mori Gate. Several other families lived there too, one to each room. Both women earned a small living by grinding spices or cleaning lentils at a bania’s shop. Their joint income would be fourteen annas, sometimes even eighteen annas a day. On some days they earned nothing. All their gold ornaments had been sold off.

She had applied for a sewing machine, she told Tara, on the eighth day of the third month of the year. On the twenty-second day of the fourth month, she had paid five rupees to an inspector. Now Sumitra, her neighbour, says that she would receive the machine after paying ten more.

The old woman swore by Maharaj-ji that she had no more money. If she was not given the machine, at least her five rupees should be returned. Her granddaughter was sick. The doctor’s advice was to feed her milk and oranges. As long as she had some gold to sell, she bought medicine and food. Where could she get all that now? Sumitra had been allotted another sewing machine, and a grant of 200 rupees. Her husband made and sold
vilayati
-style ink for fountainpens. Nobody paid any attention to poor people like herself, Khemi mai.

Tara bit her lip and sighed. She had been in charge of the distribution of sewing machines for the past two months. Seventy-two machines had been distributed so far. Someone living in Daryaganj had also complained to her about irregularities in distribution. She thought for a minute. Since she knew the correct procedure for dealing with complaints, she summoned Padam Singh, a clerk, and ordered, ‘Thakur Sahib, write down this poor woman’s statement and take her thumb print as signature. Get two other clerks to sign as witnesses.’ She told Khemi mai to come back after her statement was recorded.

Khemi mai returned and bending to touch Tara’s feet again, pleaded, ‘Please get me my sewing machine. My daughter-in-law knows how to work it. I swear by Maharaj-ji that we’ll pay back every month as much as we can. I’ll also pay interest,’

Pushing two folded ten-rupee notes into her palm, Tara said, ‘First get your granddaughter treated. Get her everything that the doctor has ordered. Come back if you need any help. I hope you’ll have your machine by the first week of next month.’

Khemi mai put her arms around Tara and broke into sobs, ‘Beti, why has Maharaj-ji done this to me so that I have to depend on charity. In His mercy He will rid us of this shame. I won’t die before I pay back your loan. I’ve suffered enough in this life, but let me free myself for the next.’

Tara prepared a case file with Khemi mai’s complaint against inspector Bhanu Dutt and forwarded it to the office superintendent, who launched an inquiry and asked for a list of those given sewing machines. He told Tara to go in the office jeep, with senior inspector Indranath, to investigate whether the people on the list had actually received machines, and to verify their addresses.

Tara and the inspector visited eleven people. At three places they were told about Bhanu Dutt demanding a bribe of twenty rupees. The names of two recipients were fictitious.

The assistant director ordered that Bhanu Dutt be suspended from his position, and recommended to the director that he be dismissed.

This caused a great hullabaloo in the office. Bhanu Dutt was a khadi-wearing member of the Congress party and had been jailed for taking part in the satyagraha movement. He pleaded against this so-called injustice in the cabals of influential Congress leaders. He tried to persuade the clerks of upper and lower grades to go on strike. But many in the office knew the facts, and the strike fizzled out.

Bhanu Dutt announced that he would go on a fast to protest against such unfairness. He spread out a black blanket in a veranda of the office, and clad in white khadi kurta-pajama and Gandhi cap, lay down on it. He wrote out a statement, and showed the paper to people who came by to ask questions. The gist of his statement was:

Assistant Superintendent Miss Tara Puri had fabricated an accusation of accepting bribe against him. The basis for her charge was that contrary to her wishes, he had failed to recommend the allotment of a sewing machine to her aunt Khemi. Miss Tara Puri was paid a salary of three hundred rupees per month. Why did she not help her aunt? Miss Tara Puri had close relations with the senior officers of the department. She drank alcohol in the club
with the officers, and danced with them. All her behaviour, whether proper or improper, was condoned.

In her report on Bhanu Dutt’s case, Tara had already mentioned, with proof from the register of the receiving clerk, the fact that Khemi mai’s application had been submitted before her appointment to the department. She had nothing more to add in her defence.

Mr Mittal, the director of the Department of Rehabilitation, received several calls from influential Congress party leaders to settle the matter quietly. Sensing the direction the wind was blowing, he just expressed his inability, ‘The case file has gone to the secretary of the ministry. I’ll have to abide by his decision.’

It was the fourth day of Bhanu Dutt’s fast. Tara received a telephone call from the director asking her to come to his office immediately for a few minutes. In the director’s room she saw somebody who looked like a young Pathan, beardless and with shoulder length hair. The visitor wore a khadi kurta with a neatly folded dupatta slung on the shoulder. Mittal sahib made a polite introduction, ‘Miss Tara Puri. She works in the section for the resettlement of refugee women. She will explain the situation to you.’ Nodding towards the visitor, he said, ‘You know Miss Manjula Sewabhai, of course? She’s an advisor and consultant to our department. Please have a seat, Miss Puri.’

Turning to Miss Sewabhai, he said, ‘Miss Tara Puri herself conducted the inquiry with a senior inspector.’

‘What inquiry!’ Miss Sewabhai cut short the director and said to Tara in English, ‘I know everything. If the administration applies pressure, these poor people can be made to confess to anything. Many people have told me about the incident. Bhanu Dutt is a veteran Congresswalah, he went to jail for Congress. He’s now being called dishonest. Why are you after that poor man? Isn’t your own salary enough for you that you want to get your hands on the sewing machines!’

The director was taken aback by Miss Sewabhai’s unexpected outburst. What could he say to such an influential, well-regarded woman?

Miss Sewabhai again threatened Tara, ‘Who’re you to get him dismissed? I’ll telephone the Prime Minster and get you fired! You’ll have to apologize to Bhanu Dutt.’

Tara straightened her back and rose to her feet, ‘Madam, I’m an employee of this department. Whatever you have to say to me, say it through the
director of the department.’ She turned towards the director, ‘Sir, may I leave?’

Mr Mittal said, ‘I’m sorry. Miss Puri. You may go, for the moment.’

The director telephoned her again ten minutes later, ‘I’m really sorry for the unpleasantness, Miss Puri. Your reaction was perfectly justified. Would you please come to my office for a minute?’

He asked her to sit beside him as he explained, ‘I’d called you because I thought that two women could discuss the problem amicably. But this woman is out of her mind. She’s a favourite with the Prime Minister and pokes her nose into everything. I’ll report to the secretary of the ministry, but you should also drop a word in Mr Rawat’s ear.’

Tara was burning with anger. Seeing her sulk, Mercy asked, ‘What’s the matter?’

Tara told the whole story, and said, ‘I feel like resigning from my job.’

Mercy calmed her down, ‘Don’t do that. These Congress party people behave irresponsibly in everything. They’re always turning up at the hospital with chits from some minister or member of Parliament. They get themselves admitted even when they only have a cold, so that they don’t have to pay anything for the treatment. And poor sick people can’t find a place. When the doctors see their superiors breaking rules, they too look for ways to make money on the side.’

At 7.30 Tara telephoned Narottam that it was urgent for her to see Rawat. She thought it prudent to meet Rawat with Narottam present.

Narottam came over around 9 p.m. He said, ‘Rawat’s gone to Simla. He’ll return on Monday.’ He agreed with Tara after hearing about the incident, ‘Your self-respect comes first. What did that tiresome woman mean by showing up at your office? And even if she did, the director himself should have dealt with her. The director probably wanted to shift the responsibility to you.’

Tara said, ‘The director admitted that the PM indulges her. Everyone’s scared of her. Who knows what she might tell him.’

Bhanu Dutt ended his fast on the persuasion of Miss Sewabhai. The office was buzzing with the rumour that Miss Sewabhai had reported Tara’s unjust and rude behaviour to the PM. Since Tara was still on probation, everyone expected her to be dismissed in punishment.

The news of the Bhanu Dutt incident had reached Dr Shyama, who telephoned Tara, ‘Miss Sewabhai is a bit hot-tempered, but good at heart. I’ll speak to her. You also go and meet her, everything will be all right.’

Tara did not agree to that. She had made up her mind to quit the job. With enough savings she was confident of finding a job at some school or college and was not willing to put up with such humiliation.

Narottam came on Tuesday evening to escort Tara to the club. When they saw Rawat standing surrounded by a circle of people, they stood to one side waiting for an opportunity to speak to him.

Rawat saw them and came over. Putting his arm around Tara’s shoulder as if she was his daughter or a younger sister, he exclaimed, ‘Well done, you brave girl! You rightly shut up that obnoxious woman! I heard the whole story. Mittal had nothing but praise for you. That woman went straight to the Prime Minister as if she intended to eat you alive! And just look at the Prime Minister’s lack of sense. He had his PA telephone Saxena sahib.

‘The call from the Prime Minister’s office infuriated Saxena. The poor minister had been waiting for a week to discuss policy with the PM. But the PM had time for Miss Sewabhai, and not for the minister. He wrote a private memo to the PM saying that “It was improper for Miss Sewabhai to interfere in the working of my department. If there was any need, she should have spoken to me. Inspector Bhanu Dutt’s case was dealt following correct and fair procedure. The matter will be explained to the PM whenever he has time.’

Narottam said jokingly, ‘And she was all set to quit her job.’

‘Silly girl!’ Rawat chided Tara. ‘Girls will always be girls. Why did you feel insulted? The real insult was to the government. If you want to be a civil servant, remember to leave your ego at home. You’re a representative of the President of India. If the minister had reinstated that dishonest inspector for some policy reasons, you still would have got a commendation from the director in your service record for your diligence and capability. We wouldn’t have thrown you to the dogs.’

The section assistant had filed an unfavourable report on Sita’s work performance saying that she was not carrying out the responsibilities of the assistant dispatcher properly. And she was often late for work. And, therefore, she should be dismissed after one month’s notice. There had been reports of her flirtatious behaviour, and two clerks had had a scuffle over her.

Superintendent Misra did not want a refugee girl to lose her livelihood; if she had to work, her family must be facing hard times. Four other refugee girls employed in the office were good, conscientious workers, who did not while away the time smoking and gossiping like their male colleagues. Misra thought that Sita could do better if only she paid a little more attention to her work, but did not know how to tell this to the girl. He explained to Tara that if she could get Sita to mend her ways, the girl might avoid being fired. He telephoned the section assistant to ask Sita to meet Tara.

Tara was very busy when Sita came to see her. Thinking of their past acquaintance Tara chided her her in Punjabi, ‘
Muree
, why don’t you visit me at home. Well, today I don’t have a moment free. You know where Daryaganj is? Come to my place. We’ll have dinner together.’ Tara gave her the directions, then jotted the address down on a slip of paper.

Sita accepted, but failed to turn up. She came the next evening at 8 p.m., wearing an expensive-looking long coat. Tara complained lightly, ‘Why didn’t you come yesterday?’