‘What are you saying?’ Shyama said in amazement. ‘Fasting for fifty, sixty and one hundred days? Who can survive that long?’
‘Sure. This was reported by the jail authorities, not their supporters. They were remarkable people. I was in charge of their case. Confidential reports were sent from the jail. They would survive only on water for three to four weeks, without any food. Just on water, without any added salt or soda or lemon juice. No admirers surrounded them, or people who encouraged them or who sympathized with their cause. They were physically and mentally tortured to make them break their fast. They were weighed regularly. Some lost thirty, forty even fifty pounds. Some would refuse to drink even water so as to lose more weight and cause trouble for the government. The government of course could not let them die. They were fed forcibly. That process is very dangerous and painful. They were tied down and fed by a rubber tube pushed through their noses…’
Mrs Agarwal shivered visibly.
Dey continued, ‘Just think, how weak someone would be after fasting for twenty or thirty days. If the tube was inserted through their mouths, they tried to bite it off. So the tube was pushed through their noses, and they were fed milk and vitamins that way. One of them died because milk was accidentally pumped into his lungs. After feeding them milk they were left to starve so that they would feel hungry and ask for food themselves. But they did not give up their fast. Those who refused to drink water were given water forcibly. Amazing people. They relented only after their conditions were met.’
The room seemed muted and hushed after Dey ended his horrifying tale. Shyama had put her cigarette on the ashtray. She was so shocked that she forgot to pick it up. She said to Dey, ‘Those revolutionaries also had a spiritual strength. We all have a profound respect for Bhagat Singh. When did I say that he lacked such strengths or resources, but it is beyond common people.’
‘Listen,’ Rawat raised his hand, ‘Gandhiji called those revolutionaries as people who believed in violence. According to Gandhiji, such people did not have any spiritual strength. Which means that there would be no difference between theirs and Gandhiji’s fast if they did have the spiritual strength. In view of what just happened, the government decided to concede to Gandhiji’s terms. Let’s suppose for a moment that instead of silencing the refugees, someone provoked them and one thousand refugees went and surrounded Birla House and declared that they were going on a fast against any payments to Pakistan? Or what happens if Gandhiji, in pursuance of his creed of non-violence, decided to go on a fast to recall Indian troops from Kashmir?’
‘Please, don’t say any such thing,’ Shyama joined her hands and begged.
Tara was also carried away by the logic behind some of the arguments. She looked at Rawat and said hesitantly, ‘Excuse me, but may I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘In your view the success of Gandhiji’s fast against a decision of the government can encourage others to follow his example to similarly protest other decisions of the government. And that would create problems for the administration.’
‘Definitely. That’s what I think,’ Rawat conceded. ‘The working classes,
peasants, students, employees—any of them can begin a fast in support of their demands.’
‘Ji, that is possible,’ Tara said. ‘But is it not better for the government itself that such protests are by peaceful means of fasting, than by bombs, guns, swords and rioting? The fasting method at least won’t involve violence and strife, and will have the possibility for exchange of views and for reason to prevail.’
‘Yes, that is true,’ Shyama said enthusiastically.
Rawat looked at Tara for a moment, then said, ‘Miss Tara, it’s a waste of your talent to ask you to be just a children’s governess. You should either become Gandhiji’s private secretary, or join the editorial department of some newspaper.’
‘Sir, I hardly know anything. I’m good for nothing.’ Tara said modestly.
‘But I shall give you an answer.’ Rawat said, ‘Tell me, can you call fasting a logical argument? Gandhiji is truly a mahatma, but a lot of charlatans hide behind the guise of mahatmas. One mahatma begets one thousand fraudulent clones. But revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh cannot be emulated by sham and hypocrisy; one must be prepared to risk their lives.’
‘Sir, you’re perfectly right,’ Dey said enthusiastically.
Mr Agarwal got up to offer another drink to Rawat, but he covered his glass with his hand in a gesture of ‘no’.
‘We have dinner, then?’ Sahib asked.
‘I’ll have it served in one minute,’ Mrs Agarwal said, getting up. ‘Tara, come with me.’
Madam was having the table laid in the dinning room with the help of Tara, Shivni and Jugal. She did not want to touch anything that had meat in it, and asked Tara to arrange it on the table. Tara too found the smell of meat unpleasant. She tried to avoid touching the meat courses.
At the table, both Rawat and Dey asked about Narottam.
Jugal said that chotey sahib had his dinner, and went to see a movie. Tara also had to join them at the insistence of Rawat and Shyama. Rawat and Dey brought up the topic of Narottam.
Mr Agarwal said that Narottam was more interested in taking up a job than joining the family business.
Dey said, ‘If he wants to do a job, the Tatas pay quite well. But he seems more interested in doing some meaningful work than just a good salary. The boy is somewhat of an idealist.’
Mr Agarwal said, ‘Yes, that’s true.’
Tara was intrigued. Shyama, Mrs Surya and others were eating with obvious relish the food that had smelled so disagreeable to her. Only she and madam were not eating those dishes.
After dinner, sahib and madam were walking the guests to their cars waiting in the portico to see them off. Shayma trailed behind, holding Tara’s arm and telling her, ‘I’d like to see you more often, okay. Mrs Agarwal was saying that you have plenty of spare time. Take some interest in social work. Who else will do it if not you…’
‘Miss Tara!’
Tara turned her head. The rear door to Rawat’s car was open, and he stood beside it, his hand extended. He shook hands with her, and said, ‘Goodnight. You must come along with Mr and Mrs Agarwal.’
After shaking hands with him, Tara also joined her hands and said namaste in her habitual manner.
Tara was usually free after putting the children to bed at nine. She would read a magazine or a book in her room until 10.30 or eleven before going to bed. It was past eleven thirty, but she was not sleepy. She lay on her bed, and opened a magazine, but her thoughts were on the behaviour and manners of the respectable people she had met, people who had done all that without any feeling of guilt, shame or fear that was considered so evil by the common folk. Neither were they ashamed to drink, nor did they talk nonsense or fall down in a drunken stupor. These were of a different type; they discussed politics and social problems. Maybe those acts were not so evil for them, that it was a crime only when one was poor and without means.
‘Mrs Agarwal did not like my sitting with them upstairs. But what could I do; I was trapped. She was not happy with my taking part in the discussion. I just couldn’t hold my tongue.’
It was 19 January. Things were getting back to normal after the disarray and chaos of the past six days. Tara had sent the children off to their schools, and was on her way to get the newspapers. She was feeling a bit piqued. Madam had made some nasty comments earlier in the morning. One of Lalli’s exercise books could not be found. Tara and Shivni searched for it, but in the end Lalli had to go to school without it. Madam, when she found out, said, ‘She has no time to care for the children. If one can get by with wagging her tongue, why should one work. All she knows is to talk with people.’
Tara was hurt. She always prepared the school bags before putting the children to bed, but she got no time to do that the previous evening. They got her involved in all sorts of things, she thought irritably. ‘All that is not part of my duties. Now I have to listen to taunts. I am her employee, she pays me, so why won’t she want the satisfaction of belittling me.’ She was not at fault, Tara decided. It was a cold morning. She stood in the rays of sun near the stairs, and began looking at the newspapers.
‘Good morning!’
She recognized Narottam’s voice and looked up. Still perturbed by madam’s comment, she could not smile, just returned his greeting.
Narottam dug his hands in the pockets of his woolen dressing gown and asked, ‘How are you?’
‘Okay.’
‘Did these people bother you last evening?’
‘What do you mean?’ Tara asked, her brow furrowed.
‘They made you sit with them against your wish and maybe forced you to have a drink.’ Narottam’s voice was full of anger against his father.
‘Who says so?’ Tara said to protest the allegation of her harassment, ‘They invited me to join them, sahib also asked me, so I stayed back. There was no question of any force.’
‘They did not force you?’ Anger dissipated from Narottam’s voice.
‘What do you mean by forcing me? To do what? They asked me to sit with them, especially Dr Shyama and sahib, and I did. They had drinks, I did not. That’s all to it.’
‘Hmm. I misunderstood the whole thing, that’s why I felt bad. Grandmother was saying that you did not seem to be that kind of person, they must have forced a drink on her. Forgive me, don’t mind my asking.’
Tara had a good feeling because of Narottam’s anger for her concern. She said, ‘What you heard was rubbish. They did have drinks, but talked very sensibly. Why didn’t you show up? Rawat Sahib told many interesting facts about Gandhiji’s fast. He asked about you at dinner.’
‘Yes, I returned at nine. Didn’t want to intrude upon them. I had already made a plan to see a movie with a friend. Why was mummy shooting her mouth this morning?’
‘Let that go. She’s always has some comment to make.’
‘This work and this family’s atmosphere is not suited for you.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Rawat can get you a good government job if he wants. He’s the home secretary. He has guts. Do not misunderstand me, but he’s supposed to have a roving eye.’
‘How can I ask him? What’d sahib and madam think?’
‘Wait for the chance. Daddy also sucks up to him and Surya for his own work. Tell Dr Shyama to put in a word. Was Mr Dey there?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘He has to be there if Dr Shyama had come.’
‘You’re naughty.’
‘Everything goes. Daddy had told me that Rawat wanted to see me. I’ll have to go to meet him. I might talk about you if I get the chance.’
‘You’re so good.’
‘Good and naughty at the same time?’ Narottam said, raising his eyebrows.
‘As the occasion calls.’
‘Why don’t you explain?’
‘What’s the fun if I have to explain?’
Rawat had asked Narottam to come on Tuesday, 20 January at 5.30. Narottam played billiards quite well. They will have a couple of games at the Chelmsford Club, Rawat had said. Narottam telephoned Rawat’s bungalow exactly at 5.30 to inquire if sahib had come home. His orderly informed him that sahib has just arrived.
As Narottam was leaving, Tara also came out with Lalli and Puttan to take them to India Gate for a walk. Seeing her, Narottam said, ‘I’m going to meet Rawat. Will see if I can remind him about your job. Today is a good day, because he seldom comes back from the secretariat before seven or 7.30. When the ministers are working all night, how can the secretaries rest? Maybe he got off early for some reason. I’ll be back by eight.’
When Tara brought the children back at seven, Mrs Agarwal was talking with some one on the telephone. Madam said the moment she hung up, ‘These Punjabis may go to hell. What do these evil people want? Someone threw a hand grenade at Gandhiji.’
Tara just stared at her. Madam said angrily, ‘Some Punjabi threw a hand grenade at Mahatmaji’s prayer meeting. The explosion blew apart a wall, but not a hair was damaged on Gandhiji’s body. Who can harm him when God is protecting him?’
Narottam returned at 8.30. He told sahib the whole story as they sat on the dinning table. Tara listened from behind an open door. Narottam said that when he reached Rawat’s bungalow, he was told that Rawat had gone back to his office soon after his arrival at home. Narottam went on to the club, and it was there he learned that the explosion took place at the time of the evening prayer meeting. The grenade fell about 75 feet away from where Gandhiji was sitting. The damage was mainly to a section of a wall with some latticework. There were reportedly three culprits; two managed to escape but one was caught. His name was Madanlal Pahwa, a Punjabi from the North-West Frontier region. Gandhiji was not at all perturbed, he only laughed at people running around frenetically.
The next day’s newspaper carried extensive reports and photographs: Madanlal Pahwa had been evicted from a mosque in Delhi where he had been living. The police suspected a wide-ranging conspiracy behind the act, but was not ready to disclose the facts.
That evening’s conversation at AA had a different tone: the refugees have indeed been treated unfairly.
The whirlwind of peace efforts gradually quieted once their objective, to get the Mahatma to end his fast, was accomplished. People went back to their daily grind of life. A stream of hawkers came to the AA throughout the day. They carried on their shoulders and backs bolts of cloth, and dhurries, blankets and bedspreads; women with an assortment of baskets made of reeds and palm leaves, young boys with sewing paraphernalia, lace and hair ribbons, books, magazines and fountain pen ink; others bearing face powders and creams, and shoes and chappals. They were mostly Punjabi refugees.
Mrs Agarwal, out of idle curiosity, would glance through their wares, then say, ‘Arrey, this is all counterfeit stuff. I was taken in two times. They’re all frauds.’
Tara would look at the refugees and think of her family. Considering evrything, she had never lived so well as she was doing now. On 22 January, madam again gave her seventy-five rupees as salary. She still had thirty-five left over from the last month. She said hesitatingly, ‘Bahinji, I don’t need more at the moment. Deduct the price of coat from this if you want.’