‘Ma, how can you say that!’ Puri said. His tone was less strident, ‘What’s all this about marriage proposals. We’ll do something when the time comes.’
‘What’ll you do?’ His mother gestured angrily with her hand. Now that she had a chance to say something to her grown-up son and daughter, she wasn’t holding back, ‘What can you do? Suppose you find work, suppose you earn two or three hundred every month; what’ll that amount to in a year or two, I ask? The younger one has turned sixteen. Have you done anything for her? You refused the proposal for your own marriage. That’s what you decided. Good! It’s different with boys. If my nineteen-year-old daughter, big as a she-camel, remains unmarried, I can’t look anyone in the face.’
Puri stood silently with his back against the wall. His mother covered her face with her aanchal and sobbed. Tara sat, chin on knees, listening to what she felt were the preparations for her sacrifice. The voice of her brother in her defence had been silenced.
They were roused to action by the sound of Masterji’s steps on the stairs. Bhagwanti wiped her face with her aanchal and her tone changed, ‘Ushi, serve your father immediately.’ She went into the room.
Puri went and sat near the table lamp, and began looking at Tara’s book. Tara moved to the other side of the veranda.
Bhagwanti said to Masterji in her normal voice, ‘Have your meal. Ushi’ll serve you. It’s quite late.’
Masterji was a little breathless from climbing the stairs. He took deep breaths, mumbling to himself ‘
Hari om tatsat
. God, you’re our only hope.’ He asked, ‘Why, have Jaggi and Tara eaten?’
‘Everyone’s eaten. Have your meal,’ Bhagwanti said.
Masterji washed his face, and mumbling the same words, came into the kitchen and sat on the mat before his thali. From the light in the veranda it was obvious that Puri and Tara were there. He took a mouthful and asked, ‘Where are kakaji and Tara?’ ‘They’re reading in the veranda,’ Bhagwanti replied.
Without addressing anyone, Masterji began to sermonize so that his son and daughter could hear, ‘We should have cool heads. We should bend before God’s will. He’s the one who decides everything. Vanity is of no use.’
Maybe I should hang myself with my dupatta to fulfil God’s will, Tara thought.
‘Allah-u-Akbar! Ya Ali!’ Very loud shouts and slogans from the direction of Mochi Gate could be heard. At the same time, there was banging on the doors of the houses opening on to the gali and the terrified screams
of women. Ghasita Ram called out in a frightened voice, ‘The Muslims have attacked!’
The food in Masteji’s hand fell back into the thali.
Puri leaped to the window and saw that a small mob with burning torches, lathis, spears and daggers had invaded their gali. They were trying to break down the doors of the houses of Panna Lal on one side, and of Mukund Lal and Harbans on the other, and set them on fire. They were hurling stones and chunks of bricks at the windows and shouting threats: ‘Ya Ali! Come on! Come out you sneaky bomb-throwers! You mother … you sister ….!’
Moments later, pandemonium broke out in the gali. Puri saw Harbans, Khyali Ram, doctor Prabhu Dayal. Mewa Ram and others peeped out of their windows. From a window to his right came Ratan’s shout, ‘Grab your lathis and go down into the gali!’
Puri called out, ‘Throw bricks down from the roof tops.’
Prabhu Dayal, Mewa Ram, Bir Singh and Mukund Ram too repeated Puri’s call, ‘Pull down the latrines! … Throw down bricks!’
Puri shouted at Tara, Usha and his mother, ‘Go to the roof at once and pull down the latrine walls and throw the bricks at the attackers.’ After the news of rioting in the galis of Bhati Gate and Said Mittha, the women had been told about this method of defence.
Puri went to Ratan’s door and called, ‘Give me something too!’
Ratan was removing a small box from an almirah. He put it down carefully, and handed Puri a lathi kept beside the door. Puri went down, taking the stairs two at a time.
Mewa Ram and Bir Singh with hatchets in hand were the first to reach the gali. Bir Singh too challenged the crowd by yelling imprecations about the mothers and sisters of the attackers, ‘Come on, you …!’
Tikaram, Puri and Manohar, swinging their lathis, faced the invaders. Prabhu Dayal, Mukund Lal and others too had reached the gali. Terrified women were screaming all around. Mewa Ram gave the Hindu war cry, ‘Nara-e-Bajrangi!’
‘Har Har Mahadev!’ Puri roared with others.
Women were crying and yelling at the top of their voices, but were also pelting the attackers with bricks from the rooftops. The bricks fell in such numbers that neither the attackers nor the defenders were able to take a
step forward. Both sides were shouting ‘Ya Ali!’ and ‘Har Har Mahadev!’ and hurling curses and abuse at each other.
Rampyari’s voice was heard from the window of Dewanchand’s house, ‘Hey Shamoo! Stop! Come back upstairs!’
Someone called from the rooftop of Panna Lal’s house, ‘Mewa! Puri! Biru! Watch out!’
There was an explosion in the midst of the attacking crowd, and a giant flame leapt skywards.
Hai! Oh! Ooo! came the screams. The attackers turned round and fled, stumbling and bumping into each other. The gali was filled with acrid smoke. Several people sneezed.
Prabhu Dayal, Puri and Mewa Ram called out to the women on the rooftops, ‘Stop! Enough! Don’t throw any more bricks!’
The women of Ghasita Ram’s house continued to cry and scream. Ghasita too was yelling, ‘Fire! Fire! My house is on fire! Help me!’
The doors to his house were on fire. Some firewood stacked on the landing had also caught fire. It was impossible to pass through the entrance to the house.
Panna Lal’s house adjoined Ghasita Ram’s. Some men went over to Ghasita Ram’s house from Panna Lal’s roof, and pulled out women and children. Women from all the houses were passing bucketfuls of water to men to douse the flames. Everyone in the gali was doing something to extinguish the fire. Water was being thrown from the windows and the rooftops of the houses situated on the opposite side.
Puri ran towards Rang Mahal to summon the fire engine.
The attackers had retreated towards the bazaar of Mochi Gate, but one man from that mob remained lying on the gali floor. It seemed as if a small bundle of clothes had burst open. A hit from a brick from the rooftop had smashed his head like a melon dashed to the ground. Trickling blood formed a puddle all around.
Doctor Prabhu Dayal pointed to the corpse and said to Mewa Ram, ‘Bhai Mewa, remove this nuisance at once. If the police found this body here, the whole gali would have to bear the consequences. Take him back to his own gali.’
Mewa Ram put down the bucket in his hand and called, ‘Ratan bhappa, come quickly with your musical instrument.’ He said to the doctor, ‘Right now, badshaho, he goes back to his home.’
Ratan put down the water pot he was holding and pulled out a pistol from his waistband. He grabbed one leg of the dead man and Mewa Ram the other. They dragged the corpse like a dead dog past Ghasita Ram’s house up to a gali inside Mochi Gate.
The fire engine reached the gali in about fifteen minutes. The gali people had not let the fire spread. In no time, the firefighters bathed the houses of Ghasita Ram and the others next to it with long-reaching powerful jets of water.
The chaos was over in less than an hour. But it looked as if the gali had been ravaged by a storm. Mud, water and bricks covered the ground. Blood mixed with the mud in front of Harbans’s house.
The men of the gali stood or sat on their chabutaras discussing the damage done to Ghasita Ram’s house. Ghasita Ram and Panna Lal were examining the walls of their houses damaged by the fire and the explosion. Kartaro, Basant Kaur and other women were telling each other about the shock they had felt from the blast.
Khushal Singh patted Ratan on the back, ‘Bravo, you fearless boy!’
Babu Govindram’s chest swelled with pride. He said, ‘No bhai, all the boys fought bravely.’
The doctor corrected him, ‘Mewa, Puri, Harbans, Manohar and Tikaram were equally brave. They were the first ones to face the attackers.’
The women at their windows had a new subject. Pushpa said, showing her hands, ‘Look at these blisters from throwing those
khasamkhani
bricks.’
‘Death to
bachchepitte
, these mourners of their own children,’ Kaula cursed. ‘All my bangles have been smashed from hurling bricks.’
Meladei said from her window, ‘Did you all hear what Rampyari said? She was telling her son to stay home. That good soul isn’t the only one with a son. She wants her son to cower at home, and other lads to jump into the fight. Haven’t we all gone through the pain of giving birth!’
Kartaro echoed Meladei’s sentiments in an angry voice, ‘Yeah, she’s the only one to have suffered birth pangs. We just pissed our babies out.’
Rampyari shot back from her window, ‘I didn’t ask any one to go and fight. Those who have a few big strong sons, let them send their sons to fight. I’ve only got one son.’
Bhagwanti was incensed. She looked out of her window and yelled at Rampyari, ‘Watch out, you slut! Don’t count other people’s children!’
Curses were also hurled from other windows at Rampyari.
The men standing around or sitting on chabutaras called to their respective windows, ‘Hey, shut up! Stop this nonsense!’
Dewanchand raised his voice to he heard, ‘Now we must put an iron gate at the mouth of the gali next to Ghasita Ram’s house.’
Puri said, ‘The municipal corporation will object. For ages this has been the route from Machchi Hatta to the bazaar at Mochi Gate.’
Tikaram said, ‘What route? No one comes this way from up there, or takes this road to get up there. Only Muslim families live in the gali on the other side.’
The Woman-of-the-Well had been stunned by the explosion. Nobody had thought of looking after her. She slept very little, and could not stay indoors after the bedlam outside her house. She opened her doors, sat in the doorway and began her rant, ‘Ramji, take me away from this world. I have lived eighty years and seven, but this is the first time I’ve seen such fighting in the gali. You all are responsible for all this. When there are no relationships, no business or bonds between Hindus and Muslims, no consideration for each other, they will fight each other. What else. My days in this world are numbered. Ramji, please take me away. Who knows what’s to come next! Hai Ramji…’
No one paid attention to her. The gali people were busy talking about a new iron gate at the western entrance. Khushal Singh proposed that a watch be kept for the rest of the night, one from the right end, and another from the left.
The nights in Lahore in the middle of April are not all that warm, but Puri had been sleeping on the roof. Ratan followed Puri to the roof. Ratan had been addressing him as ‘Puri bhraji’ in previous days. As he went up with Puri, he again called him ‘bhappa’ or brother.
Ratan said, ‘These Muslims must have had some guts to attack us. Now they’ll rue the day. And that’s not the end of it. Tayaji told me that a large shipment of arms is due soon. There should be some “pieces” in the gali for such situations. Now everyone will be clamouring to buy weapons.’
Puri checked him, ‘Bhappa, this’ll never end if it goes on like this. The Muslims also have ways to get weapons. After all, we all have to live side by side.’
‘Bhappa, if they want Pakistan, how can they live next to us?’ Ratan asked.
‘Those responsible for fanning the flames of communal hatred have done
their job. If some gullible people have become their prey, we should tell them that they’re wrong, not shoot them dead.’ Puri wanted to say more, but saw that Ratan was not willing to listen.
Early next morning, children from the gali houses carried back the bricks thrown from the rooftops. The missiles had been taken from the makeshift, single-brick walls of the dry latrines and, therefore, needed in the morning.
The puddle of mud and blood was washed away with bucketfuls of water. There were some tiffs between families over the bricks. The latrine walls on the rooftops of Tikaram and Birumal were a few bricks short. They suspected that Kartaro’s daughter Peeto had carried off some extra bricks.
Jeeva said sarcastically from her window without naming the brick-thieves, ‘May God pity those who covet other people’s bricks and stones.’
Kartaro turned around and said, ‘Tell that to those who took your bricks. Guru Maharaj will punish the false accusers.’
Tara heard the exchange and said without addressing anyone, ‘I wonder whom and how many God will punish! Will He punish those who attack and burn other people’s houses, or will He punish those who tie the hands and feet of other people and throw them in a well to drown?’
No curfew was in force that day. By 10 o’clock in the morning, most men had left for work. Only Puri, the doctor and Babu Govindram knew anything about the workings of the police and law courts. It was decided that if the police came to investigate while these three were away, the women should simply deny knowledge of any incident. The other men should do the same.
After being accused by Babu Ramjwaya of sitting at home twiddling his thumbs the previous night, Puri had decided to go to Ghaus Mohammad first thing in the morning and agree to compile the history book. He hadn’t eaten anything the night before and had to take an active part in the melee. He was weak and hungry in the morning. Masterji and Haridev had had their meal. Usha was across at Pushpa’s. Puri was about to ask his mother for his meal when he remembered Tara who was still lying in the veranda, her face covered with her dupatta. She hadn’t eaten the night before either.
He went to her and spoke in English, ‘What’s the use of shedding tears? I’ll discuss this with father. Mother doesn’t understand any of this. Tayaji shoots his mouth off the way he does; what did he not say to me that day!
He taunted me for not having a job. Well, I’m on my way to accept a new assignment. I got only hundred a month at
Pairokaar
, but this man Ghaus is offering me 550 rupees for something I can do in two or two-and-a-half months. Not bad, eh?’
He tried to take her mind off her grief. ‘I just can’t figure what’s going on in the city.’ He told her about the bomb blast at the mosque, and the murder of the poor cobbler. He also recounted how he saw Ratan, Mewa Ram and Bir Singh running back into the gali from the Mochi Gate bazaar side, and the attacking crowd cursing the bomb-throwers. He said, ‘Did you notice something about last night? A house was set on fire, the fire engine came, but the police and the government remained oblivious. Nothing seems to result from the efforts for peace and order by organizing peace committees. Either the communists should work with all their might—they control the 45,000-strong Railway Union—or let the people face whatever may come. Why should I waste my time? I’ll go to the party office too and discuss this with the comrades.’ Tara was the only one in the gali with whom he could talk about such matters.