‘Bahinji, I went to a movie yesterday.’
Tara looked at her quietly, and said after a brief pause, ‘You spend so much on your clothes and go to movies, how can you afford all this?’
‘I’m not so concerned with saving money as you are. You get a good salary, but just look at your clothes. You dress like an old maid,’ Sita said jokingly.
Tara also replied affectionately, ‘Even if you don’t save, how do you get along on a hundred rupees a month? Is your mother still working?’
Sita bowed her head and nodded, ‘I’ve told mother so many times there is the need, but she doesn’t listen.’
‘You have so many salwar-kameez suits! Hai, what lovely earrings! How much did they cost?’
‘It’s a present,’ Sita said with affected nonchalance, and smiled slyly.
‘So where does the money come from?’
‘Everything’s possible,’ Sita said offhandedly. ‘When God wants you to have money, you find it in every nook and cranny.’
‘Did you come across some gold buried in your house that the Muslims had left behind? You’re really lucky,’ Tara ventured. There had been rumours of refugees finding hidden money and jewellery. People would say: It’s all His doing. Some loose everything, others find treasures.
‘No such luck! There’s no shortage of money in Delhi. Whoever wants
money, gets money. It’s not like Lahore!’ Sita said with the same boastful self-confidence.
Tara kept quiet for a few moments, then took Sita’s hand and made her sit beside her on the sofa. Tara asked, ‘Doesn’t your mother object to your spending money?’
‘You think I ask mother for money?’
Tara was shocked: How rude and disrespectful Sita had become! She felt like telling her to go away. But Misra had asked her to put some sense into Sita’s head. Tara remembered that Sita used to flirt slyly with Bir Singh and Mewa Ram, her neighbours in the gali back in Lahore. Now she had no fear of losing her good name. ‘What’ll become of this girl!’ she thought.
Concealing her dislike, Tara said, ‘You know that there’s a complaint against you? Misraji said to me that perhaps you don’t want the job anymore.’
‘That damned good-for-nothing is after my life.’
‘But why is he against you?’
‘He thinks I’m his slave.’
‘What do you mean by “his slave”? He received a complaint that you don’t do your office work properly.’
‘I do the best I can, as well as I can.’
‘What’ll you do if you are sacked?’
‘Wah, what do I care? I’ll find another job. I’ve had offers of one hundred fifty per month. I’ll also be able to learn typing.’
‘Why would someone pay a hundred and fifty?’
‘Why not? The offer was made.’
‘If that’s so, why don’t you find a job for Vedi and Satya?’
‘Like hell. Have they ever looked at themselves in a mirror?’
Tara said in an earnest voice, ‘Sita, such attitude isn’t right. What have you got yourself into! Have you no shame?’
‘What have I done? Can’t I have a little fun?’
‘You call that having fun?’ Tara scolded her as if such was her right. ‘Accepting presents from others, having fun at their expense?’
‘What’s that to you?’ Sita shot back. ‘Why are you jealous if I have some fun. Did I ask you for anything?’
Tara was incensed, but controlled herself in order to pacify Sita, ‘Why would I be jealous, sister. Whatever I said was because I consider you my young sister, like Usha. You have the right to come to me if you need anything, but who are these people willing to lavish presents on you?’
Sita stood up angrily, ‘What about those who got you the job with three hundred rupees salary? First look under your own bed before finding fault with others. Why did you run away from your in-laws? We are not in your office where you can bully me. We all get what’s in our fate. I’ve no shortage of job offers,’ she shouted as she stormed out.
Tara was appalled. All she had in return for showing concern was rudeness. Offering advice could have created problems for herself, she realized, ‘Let that stupid girl learn her lesson. What should I care! She made accusations against me. Other people probably must be gossiping about me too. But whatever Sita did, isn’t it true that a woman is always judged by absolute moral standards? Some women tremble with fear at any approach by men, when others lead them on or lure them into their snares!’
To dispel her annoyance, she picked up the half-finished sweater she had been knitting for Mercy, but could not continue. Had Mercy been home, she would have chatted with her. But she was on a night shift. Tara had her dinner, slipped under her quilt and tried to sleep to forget the incident. Sleep came after a long time. When she woke the next morning, and for several days, the words of Sita were on her mind.
Tara had built up a reputation in the office for her efficiency and sound judgement. She also liked her work. Mercy was increasingly fond of her. Sometimes she would loosen Tara’s hair tied in a simple bun, and rearrange it in some new style. When they went out together to the bazaar, Mercy would ignore Tara’s resistance and put lipstick on her mouth. Tara would wipe her lips clean, but some colour would remain and Mercy would be even more pleased, ‘Hai, it looks so natural.’ She bought a light shade of lipstick for Tara.
Tara would laugh and say, ‘What’s the use of all this silliness?’ But bittersweet memories filled her heart. The women living in the gali had begun to praise her for her good looks before she was even fifteen. For this reason her mother and taayi had built hopes of finding her a rich husband; for this reason also Somraj had agreed to marry her after laying eyes on her only once. Asad used to say that when she smiled and looked at someone shyly, her face reflected the goodness of her heart. And she would look at him, beaming with pride and happiness. But she did not want to remember all that now. What was the point?
February 1949 had begun. The winds of spring were stripping off the old leaves from the trees to make way for new buds. Whirling eddies of dried leaves rose and settled back on the wide clean streets of Delhi. On its way out, the dying winter made its presence felt by an occasional nip in the air. Exclaiming ‘It’s no longer cold’, young women discarded the heavy, loose coats that hid the curves of their bodies, and stored them away until the next cold season. The chilly air gave them gooseflesh, but they seemed not to care.
Those working as temporary employees in the Department of Rehabilitation were getting goose pimples for another reason. The minister had decided to implement his decision to close down Kingsway Camp with its 40,000 occupants and all other camps in the country with their one million residents on 31 March. The minister again gave assurances to those in the camps that the administration would provide help for those seeking employment, offer plots of land or dwellings for them to resettle, and loans for starting new businesses. He confirmed that no one would be entitled to free rations and that all inhabitants should make living arrangements outside the camps before the closing date.
Refugees who had found employment with the Department of Rehabilitation feared that the closure of the camps implied the end for their department. Where would they go, what would they do? Soon the one million camp inhabitants in the country were united with other refugees in a show of public protest against the minister’s decision. The individual state governments were apprehensive that they would have to assume the burden of looking after the refugees living in camps in their states once the Central government gave up its responsibility. They feared that these destitute, hungry and desperate people might create law and order problems. The state governments also came out in favour of postponing the decision to abolish the camps.
Several delegations met with the Prime Minister to appeal against the camp closures. The office of the Department of Rehabilitation was abuzz with discussions and rumours about how the situation would turn out
Tara had also heard people debating on the same topic at the club. A businessman–contractor was arguing with Rawat, who was against the suggestion to continue spending one million rupees each day to feed and house the refugees. Rawat said, ‘Where’s this million coming from? This is undermining our government’s schemes for improving irrigation, education
and health services. Is it wise to spend a million each day to feed those who do nothing but twiddle their thumbs? I’m for spending two hundred million to train unemployed refugees and make them productive. That will benefit the country in the future. It was a mistake to give out free rations even for this long. Some of the refugees have been in the camps for over a year. What do they do all day? I’ve heard that some spend their whole day at the movies, others gamble. Some operate small businesses, but live in the camp because they’ve become used to getting free meals. Isn’t it ridiculous that our peasants and farmers who grow food have to exist on three or four annas a day, and we continue to spend one rupee every day on these freeloaders.’
Rawat’s reasoning made sense to Tara. She was willing to work to carry out the minister’s orders, even if it meant losing her 300 rupees per month. This outlook had displeased several temporary employees at her office. In spite of being warned six months before about the forthcoming closure of the camps, few people had paid heed in hopes that the date for closing would be postponed. Many Congress leaders supported the refugees and Miss Sewabhai was also working to have the minister’s decision overturned. Large numbers of camp inhabitants staged protest marches in the first week of March, but the minister refused to reverse his decision.
A woman social worker at one of the camps, who was also a Congress veteran, went on hunger strike to protest the minister’s decision. Her demands were that the hundreds of people employed as camp staff and those who worked at the Department of Rehabilitation should be reemployed before the shutting down. Her hunger strike gave new impetus to the agitation against the minister. Street marches were organized and demonstratuons were held at refugee camps and all over the capital. Slogans calling for the minister’s dismissal were voiced.
It was rumoured throughout the department that the prime minister was unhappy with the minister’s intransigence, and had asked him to reconsider his decision on humanitarian grounds. The minister suspected involvement of camp employees in instigating the hunger strike and the protest demonstrations. He ordered the director of the department to serve notice on the camp commandant that unless an end was put to the strike and the demonstrations in seven days’ time, all employees would be dismissed and the camp administration would be handed over to the army. The long-term plan of action would be announced in due course.
A group of office clerks suggested that a petition supporting the fasting woman’s demands signed by all temporary and refugee employees of the department should be presented to the minister. They came to Tara to ask for her signature, but when she refused, an argument ensued.
Tara said, ‘Since this department and the camp had been created only to deal with the problem of refugees, these arrangements could not be expected to be permanent. If the creation of the camps and the department has not been a solution to the problem, it is only fair that the administration finds another answer. I certainly can’t oppose the demand for closing down the department only to save my skin. I also disagree with someone else going on a hunger strike to save my job.’
Tara’s logic encouraged several clerks already uneasy about putting their names on the appeal to refuse to sign the petition. This angered others who accused her of sowing disunity among the employees. One of them, Haveli Ram, threatened to denounce Tara in slogans that she was a puppet of the director and senior officers. Narendra Chawla, another clerk, had a hard time restraining him. Narendra believed that if the employees reasoned with Tara she might be persuaded to change her mind.
Three days later, Narendra showed Tara a copy of
Nazir
that had an article with forceful and stirring arguments against the closure of the camps. Tara had not studied Urdu in school, but had learnt it from her father and could read the script only in print form. She found the style of writing very impressive and there was something familiar about it. Even though she did not agree with the views expressed, she read the whole article. A chill went down her spine when she saw the writer’s name at the end: Jai Puri.
Tara sat stunned for a few moments. She remembered Hira Singh telling her that Puri was publishing some newspaper from Jalandhar. She turned to the last page to see the name of the publisher. It was ‘Managing Editor: Jai Puri, Editor: Kanak Puri, Mai Heeran Gate, Jalandhar.’
She felt faint with memories crowding into her mind. The incident of going to Kanak’s house in Gwal Mandi with her brother’s message came back to her. How her brother had exploded with anger when he saw her and Asad coming out of the restaurant. The argument between them in the tonga and her knocking her head on the charpoy after he accused her, all that flashed before her eyes on the page of the weekly. Then she remembered, her brother had planned to go to Nainital just after her wedding.
She thought that the news that she had been burnt to death at the Banni
Hata house must have taken a weight off her brother’s mind. He then probably went to Nainital and married Kanak. The family would not have objected to that. How upset her mother had been at hearing that Kanak was a Brahmin. But brother had progressive ideas; he would not have cared for such disagreements. She folded the pages of the weekly and put it aside.
With bitter memories tearing at her heart, Tara found it hard to concentrate on her work. It was nearing four o’clock. Sitting with her elbows on the desk, she idly drew circles on a sheet of paper with a blue pencil and scored them over. She raised her head on hearing a noise, and saw that Narendra had come in with a file in his hand.
Tara held out
Nazir
to him.
A strange smile flickered on his lips as he spoke, ‘Bahinji, it’s good that we did not send our petition. The camp commandant has had the fast ended unconditionally.’