He had gone to Kanak’s house two days before, on Sunday evening. Her brother-in-law Nayyar was there, and sat in the living room with them. Nayyar had come to ask Panditji’s advice about buying some land to build a house. What could Puri add to that conversation? He asked Kanak indirectly if they could go out, but she did not catch the hint. Puri did not feel comfortable in Nayyar’s presence; he always looked at Puri unseeingly. Puri realized that it would be difficult to talk alone with Kanak that evening, and had excused himself after a while.
Today, Puri wanted to go back home, wash his face and change his clothes, and go to Kanak’s house. When he reached the gali, he saw Masterji sitting on the chabutara below their house. The schools were closed for preparatory leave before the examinations. He looked sad. Since everyone in the gali was in mourning for Dauloo mama, Puri found that natural.
‘Son, I have very bad news,’ he said as Puri came by. ‘The son-in-law of Badhawa Mull Narang was murdered last night.’
‘How did you find out?’ Puri blurted out in shock and disbelief.
Masterji told him the source of the news, and said, ‘Son, people don’t mind if one doesn’t send good wishes on a happy occasion, but it wouldn’t be proper to fail to visit them at the time of a bereavement. Have some water or tea if you want, but let’s go to their house as soon as possible.’
Urmila had been married to a wholesaler of stationery goods, Kewal
Krishna, the son of Daulat Ram Chaddha of Bhati Gate. As the tutor of Narang’s daughter Urmila and son Jagdish, Masterji had received mithai in invitation to attend her wedding. Masterji had gone to give his blessings to Urmila. Puri had found an excuse not to go, but an excuse now would be improper. There was no chance of visiting Kanak.
The month spent at Murree came alive in Puri’s memory. Brash and irrepressible Urmila, with flirtation in her eyes. Married yesterday, today a widow; such were the consequences of this Hindu–Muslim conflict. That pinkish glaze of passion in her eyes, with those lovely tears… those eyes would now be shedding tears of grief. The song of love that the cheerful girl wanted to sing was drowned in her fate.
Lala Badhawa Mull Narang sat in mourning with his eyes closed, his hand on his forehead, surrounded by people. There was but one topic of conversation: Only two months had passed since the wedding. The family could have waited for two more months. Who can change what is ordained by Fate. The bride had spent hardly any time with her in-laws. Once she had stayed for two days, then for four. She had been at her own parents’ mostly, the poor thing. When they heard the news, the crying parents took the daughter back to her in-laws. They would bring her home after the mourning period; how can she remain there now?
Puri spent the night thinking about Urmila’s lust for life, and her dark, sorrow-filled future. He tried to imagine how she might have behaved with her husband after the marriage. Maybe she had fallen in love with other men too before she got married. She longed for love, and to be loved. Now, as a widow, she had become unworthy of giving or receiving love for the rest of her life.
On the morning of 6 March, the inhabitants of Bhola Pandhe’s Gali and of other galis in the neighbourhood were surprised to see a sidebar column entitled ‘Dauloo Mama’ beside the editorial in
Pairokaar
. Doctor Prabhu Dayal read it aloud:
Dauloo mama, how many children in how many galis in the town of Lahore called you ‘mama’ because they regarded you as an uncle. Every day of your life you made hundreds of children laugh, and now you have left them crying bitterly for you. What cruel Fate took away the source of laughter of these innocents? Whose enemy were you,
mama? Mama had nothing to do with the Unionists, nor did he belong to the League. He was a human being, just a human being. His murder was the murder of human values. Who’s behind this craving for the blood of humanity? Dauloo mama had no quarrel with any one, not even for a place to sleep or for a piece of bread. In whose path was he an obstacle to power and glory?Mama, when God asks you the name of your murderer, whom would you point at? Does He not know that those leaders behind the incitement to your murder use innocents like you as stepping-stones to the seat of power. Will the public not someday judge those leaders for making a mockery of human ideals? Can the deception and the betrayal of the ordinary people for selfish reasons be called protecting religion and democracy?
Ratan clutched Puri’s arm and whispered in a decisive tone, ‘Bhai, I swear that I will avenge the murder of Dauloo mama!’
Puri could not say anything in reply. The same incident had such a different effect on him and on Ratan.
Doctor Prabhu Dayal next read the editorial to everyone:
To the leaders of the League and the Congress! Both your organizations owe their origin to the desire to free the country from slavery. Today, all of you are in the dock for handing over the administration of Punjab to the governor. Today you are all claiming a lackey of the imperialist power and an inveterate turncoat as your ally, and the anti-imperialist forces to be your enemy. The very same person who ordered lathi-charges on peaceful demonstrations of the League, is being called ‘a brother of the League’. What has happened to the slogans of Hindu–Muslim unity of the past two months, and of the promises to end the draconian laws of the imperialist masters? The same Khizr who put the Congress leaders in prison during the War and sold out to British imperialists, today has become a blood brother of these Congress leaders!
Remember that the Congress has been as much a representative of the Muslims since its inception as of the Hindus. By tearing off the green colour from its flag the Congress has cut off one of its hands. To fight the foreign aggressor by forming a united front, Mahatma
Gandhi and Pandit Nehru are willing to join hands with the League in forming a national government, but in spite of the League’s majority in the Punjab Assembly, the Congress leaders are reluctant to join its ministry here. If the Muslims have the confidence in the Congress governments in eight provinces, why won’t the Hindus accept one League government? The downfall of the Unionist ministry is the defeat of imperialism and its henchmen. This defeat is a victory for the Congress demand for democratic and civic liberties. Fomenting age-old enmities or threats to break up ministries formed by other political parties will not solve any problem. Passive resistance of satyagraha to violent suppression by the imperialists, but brandishing swords to threaten the League, does such double-faced behaviour represent your diplomacy and courage? Is the killing of so many innocents in one day not enough for you? Don’t let the enemy turn you into human torches so that he can dance in their light.
The gali people heard this in silence. They did not curse or blame the League as they had done in the days past. Puri did not disclose that he had written the editorial, but Tara guessed so. In praise of the article, she said, ‘I’ll ask everyone at the college to read the editorial.’
All of Puri’s acquaintances who read the editorial had something to say about it. Some liked its bold and direct language, others praised its message for unity and peace while some others praised Puri’s writing style. The communists too came to pat him on the back, and to explain to him the strategy of inspiring a bourgeois democratic revolution by uniting different factions of society. Some of Puri’s colleagues at
Pairokaar
were ambivalent, but Bhagat Ram was particularly concerned. He had heard that Sondhi had not liked the editorial. Puri didn’t care, what did one person’s opinion matter?
Puri felt buoyed up by this acknowledgement of his abilities and the power of his pen. When he returned home from the office, the previous day’s idea of visiting Kanak was on his mind. He washed his face, changed his clothes and went to Gwal Mandi.
He reached Kanak’s place at 6 o’clock. As fate would have it, her elder sister Kanta and Nayyar were present. Kanak rose from her chair to welcome him. Kanta had met Puri only a couple of times, and paid little attention to his arrival. Nayyar sat slouched in his chair; he did not move,
but acknowledged Puri’s namaste with a nod of his head.
As Puri took a seat, Kanak said excitedly, ‘Today your piece was really powerful.’ She turned to Nayyar, ‘Did you see Puri-ji’s editorial?’
‘Where?’ Nayyar asked without enthusiasm.
‘In
Pairokaar
.’
‘I read the
Tribune
.’
‘Want me to read it to you?’ she asked, but did not get up to bring the paper. Puri did not like this cool response to his writing.
Kanak’s enthusiasm had been deflated by the memory of an incident a few days ago. Puri had told Kanak about the indifference shown by Nayyar towards him, and Kanak had replied, ‘Why do you bother about his behaviour? He doesn’t have time for art or literature. He only knows about legal matters and law courts, his concern is only with money and property.’
Kanak made excuses for Nayyar, but let her brother-in-law know about her annoyance. As in any modern family, the brother-in-law playfully teased, argued with and baited his wife’s sisters. Kanta had no brother, and that brought her husband even closer to her sisters. Kanak shared some of her secrets only with him. Being three years younger than Kanta, she was closest to and most intimate with Nayyar. Which young, unmarried woman would let go of the occasion to learn, from a safe distance, a bit about flirtation and seduction from her sister’s husband? Nayyar too would rather talk to Kanak than to her elder sister about certain matters.
Kanak asked her brother-in-law, ‘Why are you so cold towards Puri-ji? He’s our guest, we’re also grateful to him for his help.’
Nayyar showed surprise at her criticism. He said, ‘What can one talk about with him? He always seems nervous, out of place. He’s not used to the company of cultured people.’
Kanak’s defence of Puri gave Nayyar the opportunity to express a grudge he had been nursing for some time. He had felt that Kanak was moving away from him and inching closer towards Puri. He looked hard at her and asked, ‘Is that a feeling of respect for your tutor, or is there something else?’
‘Yes, there is!’ Kanak wanted to say, but she held back. She did not want to take such an important step without consulting Puri. She had not talked to him about letting her family know of her plans. Instead, she said to Nayyar, ‘You always see something where there’s nothing.’
‘What did I see?’
‘Why, are you jealous?’
‘Jealous?’ He turned his curiosity into a question, ‘Have I any reason to be jealous?’
‘I don’t want to talk to you. You always twist things around.’ She was angry and did not talk to him for two days. She decided that until she consulted Puri about broaching the subject of their affair to her family, she would be careful with her ‘devious’ brother-in-law.
Puri sat with Kanta and Nayyar, but they said little to him. There was no particular topic of conversation, but still Kanak was careful to speak with Puri and also to her sister and her husband. The conversation turned to the riots and then to Nayyar’s Muslim neighbour Mirza. Panditji was still in his office, trying to wind up his work. Nayyar was going to take all of them back to his house in Model Town.
Puri was uncomfortable at being ignored by the company. He got up and asked to be excused. Kanta and Nayyar made no show of asking him to stay. In the circumstance, Kanak did not ask him to stay either, and let him leave.
Puri was furious as he came out of her house. What’s the matter, he thought, why this insulting and indifferent behaviour? Kanak had behaved oddly last time too. He wouldn’t visit her in future. No, he would meet her outside and demand an explanation.
He felt upset by Kanak’s demeanour till he drifted into sleep that night.
On 7 March, as Puri stepped into the office, he found Bhagat Ram waiting for him. Bhagat Ram motioned Puri to follow him to the balcony that overlooked the bazaar. He was obviously worried.
‘It’s a disaster!’ Bhagat Ram pointed towards Kashish’s office and said, ‘He says that we have betrayed the Congress and the Hindus, that filthy columnists have infiltrated
Pairokaar
. He says that he was suspicious of you from the beginning, that you stabbed the Congress in the back last year at the time of the sailors’ revolt. He is also angry with me that I let you write the editorial. You know I wasn’t well, I didn’t even read what you had written. You could have written all that the next day.’
‘I’ll take the responsibility for what I wrote,’ Puri said to soothe Bhagat Ram.
Kashish sent for Puri. When Puri entered his office, he found Kashish waiting with a grave expression on his face, ready for an encounter. On
his head was a starched and ironed white Gandhi cap. His fingers were intertwined; he was sitting erect and well back in his chair. On his desk was the editorial written by Puri, marked in places with a green pencil.
In reply to the namaste offered by Puri, he pointed to the editorial on the desk and asked, ‘What foolishness is this?’
Puri tried to answer calmly, ‘Panditji, in my opinion I didn’t write anything foolish. It was an appeal to douse the raging fires of communal disturbance. I thought that was in line with the policy of the Congress.’
‘Oh, very clever! You think I can’t see how you’ve stabbed the Congress and the Hindus in the back, behind a show of sorry sentiments.’
Puri swallowed this deliberate insult and said, ‘In my view I didn’t write a word against the policy and the interest of the Congress.’
‘To accuse the Congress leaders of bloodshed and provocation, to call them devious and dishonest, is that in the interest of the Congress?’ Kashish asked sharply. ‘To suggest that it yield to the pressure from the League, is that in the interest of the Congress?’
‘I wrote all that on the basis of facts. I heard the speeches, and the newspaper reported the same. I didn’t ask the Congress to surrender. I have also pointed out the folly of the League,’ Puri tried to explain.
‘Oh, very clever! You’ll tell both the Congress and the League what to do? You’ve come here to teach your bosses how to write! Spare us your devious ways. Go back and show your tricks to people from whom you learned them!’ Kashish said threateningly.