At the kind words of her brother, the grief that had been collecting in Tara’s heart flowed out in her tears. She told him, ‘I’m coming,’ and sobbed quietly for a few moments. She thought of finding some excuse to go out with her brother. Maybe she would see Asad at the party office. Her tears flowed again. How could Asad know about what she was going through? But accompanying her brother did not seem possible. She was not feeling well either that day.
When Puri returned home in the evening, he was told the police had come to investigate. No one told them anything, but at the sight of the fire-damaged house of Ghasita Ram and the blast-damaged wall of Panna Lal’s house, both men were taken to the police station. Bir Singh had come home for some reason; he too was taken away. The police had taken a note of names and addresses of the gali families. It being Saturday, Babu Govindram, Tikaram and Birumal had returned early in the afternoon. They had gone to bail out and put up sureties for those in police custody. Everyone had become quiet after the arrest of three men from the gali. The children, too, were not playing.
THE WALLED CITY OF OLD LAHORE WITH ITS MAZE OF GALIS WAS MORE
vulnerable to rioting, knifings and arson than the outlying areas of Mall Road, Anarkali, Nisbet Road and Gwal Mandi. Outside the walled city, the flow of traffic and everyday activities of life went on unabated. The calls of Hindu and Muslim peddlers selling iced sherbet drinks, fruits, chunks of sugar cane, vegetables and mithai were as loud and prolific as before. The people living around this place were, of course, haunted by the spectre of incidents in the Old City. The threat of fresh clashes cast a pall over their lives.
Puri had not come to see Kanak for over five weeks and she pined away thinking of his coldness towards her. For her, the mayhem in the city, the arson, the killings—all seemed to pale beside her own suffering. ‘What’s to fear from death?’ she’d ask herself. For some days she remained in a huff, sulking, stubbornly waiting for him to be the first to make an approach. She rehearsed in her mind how, when he came, she would not say a word, but punish him for his cruelty by just shedding tears silently before him. But when he did not come, she accepted defeat. She was anxious to find him. She was like a dog lost in a crowd in a desperate search for its master.
Kanak had come to know about Puri’s walking out on his job rather than compromise his independence and principles, and about the motion to support him proposed at the union meeting. She found this out from Surendra and Zubeida. She also found out that Puri had put all his work aside in order to take an active part in the peace committees formed by Manzoor, Narendra Singh and other communist workers. Surendra told all this to Kanak in a tone that gave the communists all the credit for Puri’s participation in the peace efforts, and in one which suggested that she was closer to Puri than Kanak.
Kanak had become a bit wary of the communists after her differences with them over the 1942 Quit India movement. It had particularly vexed her that to get news of Puri and to have a chance to meet him, she had to depend on Zubeida and Surendra. She could have asked Tara, but none of the girl students living inside the old walled city had come to college
because of the rioting. Tara’s college was closed, anyway, in preparation for the examinations. Kanak would just sigh in desperation at her helplessness. She was not the type to ease her pain and suffering by moping about and weeping quietly. In her admiration for Puri’s noble sacrifice, she was even more eager than before to meet him, but he had managed to avoid her.
Surendra’s garrulous and over-friendly manner often piqued Kanak. Zubeida was different, reserved and matter-of-fact. When Kanak showed interest in meetings and marches in support of communal harmony, both of them began to visit her home. Kanak’s house was on the route Surendra followed every day, and she would drop in every second or third day for a chat. Once she said casually, ‘Puri bhai speaks wonderfully on the issues of Hindu–Muslim unity. He was at our place the other day, talking for a long time about communal tension.’ Kanak felt snubbed by the fact that Puri had passed by her house, but had not even stopped to say namaste. What wrong had she done? She wondered. She too was willing to help in the efforts towards peace and communal harmony, but she wished Puri would speak to her about it, even once.
Surendra told Kanak that Puri would be taking part in the march organized by the Student Federation on 30 March, and would also speak at Bradlaw Hall. She hired a tonga and rode past the crowd that had gathered to march in the procession. She saw Puri twice, but he was surrounded by people, and she could not catch his eye. In her anxiety she thought of writing him a letter. She knew his address at Bhola Pandhe’s Gali, but was not sure who might open the letter. Puri had told her that his parents were quite old-fashioned in this respect.
A doubt niggled at Kanak’s mind that someone had turned Puri against her. She suspected Surendra, after hearing such effusive praise of Puri from her. Surendra had seen her a couple of times in the Gwal Mandi bazaar with the younger brother of Kanta’s husband, and had given her a knowing smile. Rajendra Nayyar sometimes took Kanak to Model Town to meet her sister in his brother’s car. Kanak was not particularly fond of him; Rajendra talked of little other than his hosiery business and bridge games.
Kanak habitually glanced at the daily newspapers. She read in the city news column of
Pairokaar
: ‘Bomb blast and fire at Bhola Pandhe’s Gali. A bomb was thrown at the gali and houses were set on fire. Some gali residents had been taken into police custody after an investigation of the incident.’
Kanak could not contain herself. Panditji was in his office early that
day attending to some work left over from the day before. She read the news to her father and reminded him that Puri’s house too was in Bhola Pandhe’s Gali.
‘Oh, really!’ Her father took off his reading glasses and placed them on the desk. He held his chin as he reflected upon the implication of the news, ‘Yes, we haven’t heard from Puri for quite some time.’ He thought for a few moments, before himself providing the answer, ‘He must be busy. He’s a good boy, very hard working.’
Stung by her father’s indifference, she said, ‘We must enquire how he’s doing, don’t you think?’
‘Enquire?’ Panditji said scratching his head. ‘Yes, of course, although it wont be easy to find someone in those galis. Well, if Vidhichand has some work in the Lohari Gate area, I’ll ask him to pass by Bhola Pandhe’s Gali.’ He put his reading glasses back on and went back to the papers in front of him.
Kanak seethed in frustration. She returned to her room, thinking over what she could do. She went back to her father after a few minutes, ‘Pitaji, I have to go to Shanti Bhasin’s place. I shall be back by lunch time.’
‘What, beta, when there’s such trouble outside?’ He moved his eyes from his papers to her.
‘It’s not so bad on Nisbet Road, Pitaji. I’ll be back soon.’
She changed into her going-out clothes and hired a tonga in the Gwal Mandi bazaar and gave directions for Bhola Pandhe’s Gali, inside the Shahalami Gate.
The tonga could not wait for Kanak’s return near the entrance to the gali in the narrow bazaar of Machchi Hatta. She noted its serial number, and asked the driver to wait in the Rang Mahal square just a few paces ahead.
Children skipping and playing hopscotch in the gali ran ahead of Kanak and showed her the stairs leading to the house of Jaidev Puri and Tara.
The heated words between Puri and Babu Ramjwaya about Tara’s marriage two evenings before had left everyone quiet and gloomy in the family. Their sadness did not last long in the aftermath of the pandemonium caused by the attack on the gali. But Tara, the focus of the family row, could not forget her woes like everyone else. The suggestion of her taya lay open before her like the jaws of a trap whose clutch would finish her off. Her only support so far had been her brother; but he too had failed to stand his ground that evening.
Puri had again reminded Tara not to fall behind in preparation for her exams. She lay on a mat next to the wall in her home, trying to concentrate on the book in her hand, but her mind was elsewhere. Girls normally wear ordinary clothes when at home. With her small wardrobe, Tara wore indoors what was not fit to wear outside. She looked even more dishevelled in that distracted state of mind, with a slight ache in her body and head, her hair and clothes tousled. Since no male was present, she had no dupatta around her shoulders. She kept thinking of Somraj being caught cheating in the exam, and of him staring at her on her way to college. Then she heard Asad’s words and his face came up before her eyes: ‘Would you be able to cross the deep gulf of faith, community and religion?’ And her answer: ‘Yes, if you hold my hand.’ She desperately wanted to meet Asad and ask him about what she should do in the face of all that had happened.
She heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Must be Pushpa or Sita coming to see Ratan’s mother, she thought. Then she heard someone call, ‘Tara bahin!’
Tara turned her head as she lay on her back, and saw Kanak peeping from behind the landing door.
For a moment Tara was left paralysed at the embarrassment of being seen in such an unkempt condition, by her brother’s girlfriend on top of that. Then she sprang up from the mat. ‘Come on in,’ she said.
Kanak stepped in with a friendly smile.
‘Wait a second, I’ll get you a stool to sit on.’ Tara said, afraid that her guest’s clothes might get dirty and wrinkled from sitting on the mat. Kanak’s clothes still smelled freshly laundered and ironed.
‘No, no. It’s all right.’ Kanak held Tara’s hand, sat down on the mat against the wall, and made her sit next to her. Tara felt guilty at this exposure of her poor living conditions as if the family’s financial hardships were her fault. At that moment her mother came in to hang some washing she had done in the kitchen on a clothes line beside the veranda. Her mother was wearing only a petticoat and a blouse. Tara felt even more embarrassed. She said to her mother, ‘You’ve done enough. Time to stop.’
Kanak said namaste to Tara’s mother, and said, ‘My mother too does all sorts of chores the whole day. Housework demands so much time.’ She turned to Tara, ‘Today there was some news about an attack in your gali. We all felt anxious when we read the newspaper. Surendra and Zubeida too wanted to come for a visit. I’d come to meet the Chaddha family outside
Shahalami and thought I’d look you up. There were reports of a bomb explosion and of houses being set on fire. Hope no one was hurt.’ Kanak also told her of another report of a death and nine injuries in a bomb blast in a gali near the Mochi Gate bazaar.
Tara couldn’t but tell her, ‘The boys from our gali were the ones behind the bomb attack at Mochi Gate. Bhai tries his best to discourage them. What else can he do?’ She briefly described the incidents of the other night. She also described their dilemma, ‘Bhai is working so hard for peace and communal harmony, but we had to defend ourselves. Three men from the gali are in police custody. Bhai and several others have been trying since this morning to get them out on bail.’
‘He…’ Kanak began.
Tara looked at her.
Kanak gathered her wits and changed the subject, ‘Yeah, how are your preparations for the exam?’
‘What preparation!’ Tara said unhappily, biting her fingernail, ‘The exam has been postponed once. Who knows if it will be held at all? If it is, I don’t know if I’ll be able to show up for it.’
‘Hai, how can you say that? Everyone tells me that you’re one of the best students.’ She asked, ‘You’ll join the MA programme, yes?’
Tara’s face fell, ‘That’s not my kismet.’
‘How so?’ Kanak said. ‘When students like me who pass in the third division can do an MA.’
Tara hung her head as if to hide her humiliation, and replied, ‘No such luck for me. My parents won’t agree…’
‘But your brother will definitely support your studying.’ Kanak said with assurance. She wanted to hear about Tara’s brother.
‘How can he?’ Tara took a deep breath. ‘He has his own troubles. He lost his job; I’m sure you know about that. We were hard up even with his salary. Bhai had got some translation work from a publisher, but he had to choose between doing the translation and spending time helping in the peace efforts. He still manages to work whenever he can. He had done translation worth one hundred and fifty rupees for the manuscript he got from Adayara Munavvar. He was paid only half the amount, and this only after repeated visits to the publisher.’
Tara wanted to praise her brother in front of Kanak. She said, ‘Bhai has been very upset ever since he lost his job. The editor of
Pairokaar
held back
his last month’s salary. Bhai isn’t one to beg. That’s his way; he may suffer in silence, but he won’t take insults from anyone. You know, all kinds of things happen in a home. In his present state of mind, he feels very hurt when someone from the family criticizes him. You know how intelligent he is, but when there’s no opening for him what can he do?’
Kanak felt proud about Puri leaving his job for the sake of his principles and honour. She had paid him tributes in her heart for his uprightness too, but she had never thought about the monetary aspect of the job; as if Puri was working only to satisfy his creative urges and his bent for writing. Tara’s words brought home the enormity of his situation, along with a feeling of guilt for not thinking about it before and for not helping him.
Tara suddenly remembered, ‘Do you want some lassi? Or would you rather have tea?’
‘No, no. Nothing.’ She put her hand on Tara’s shoulder to stop her from getting up. ‘I had a late breakfast. But I could have a glass of water.’
Tara called Usha to ask, ‘Where’s Hari? Can you get some ice?’
Usha too was not in her going-out clothes. Tara told her, ‘Ask Vijay, or call Peeto from across the gali.’
Kanak protested, ‘Don’t bother about the ice. My throat is a bit raw. Plain water would be just fine.’
Usha went to the kitchen to ask her mother for a paisa for some ice. Bhagwanti first asked about the need for ice, then said, ‘There are some coins wrapped in a handkerchief on the top shelf of the cupboard. Take one paisa.’
Kanak heard all this and the evidence of their adversity sent a shiver down her back.
Kanak took up the thread of the conversation, ‘Pitaji frequently remembers him … Puriji.’
Tara’s ears picked up the first inadvertent reference to her brother and she liked it. Kanak went on, ‘Pitaji is full of praise for Puriji’s writing. He asked about him several times, and said that he hadn’t visited us for some weeks.’
Tara said, ‘Bahin, my brother has no time. That Urdu publisher too wanted him to do something soon, but he…’
‘Wah!’ Kanak cut her short to complain, ‘He went to Surendra’s. Zubeida and Surendra both told me. Neither of you has time to come to my place. Very well! I know I’m not an important person or a leader, but my house is right on the road to Surendra’s. So when will you both come to see me?’
‘Hai, don’t say that.’ Tara felt Kanak’s desperation. She said, ‘Bhai is not as fond of anybody else as he is of your family. It’s just that he’s got too much on his hands with the peace committees. You know the unrest in the city. I don’t go out at all. Bhai definitely has to go in your direction tomorrow. Ibrahim from the Railway union sent a message for him earlier today. They want bhai to be at the party office tomorrow at three o’clock.’