After the Storm (21 page)

A few paces away from the collector’s cottage, Jatin looked at him again and asked, ‘Preeto, why are we heading towards the collector’s house?’

‘Because he has committed a heinous crime and must pay for it,’ ground Gurpreet through clenched teeth.

‘But Guruji said—’

‘To hell with Guruji, Jatin. Are you with me or not?’ asked Gurpreet.

Jatin looked at him aghast. Then he spoke quietly. ‘I’ve always been with you, Preeto. How can I desert you now? But I’ll not kill anyone.’

Gurpreet’s face softened and he slapped his friend across his back. This time Jatin did not protest. They quietly walked up to the collector’s gate.

‘Where to, young men?’ asked the gatekeeper.

‘We need to meet the collector,’ said Gurpreet.

‘He gone to bed. Come some other day,’ replied the gatekeeper, waving his hand to shoo them off.

‘What? Gone to bed already?’ Gurpreet narrowed his eyes at the gatekeeper, not quite believing what he had said.

‘Yes, gone to bed,’ repeated the gatekeeper. ‘He having headache. So sleep early.’

Gurpreet scowled. Bloody paleface. Had robbed him of his sleep and was now sleeping peacefully himself! He had no right to.

‘Go and wake your sahib, we need to see him now,’ ordered Gurpreet.

The gatekeeper stood his ground. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said.

Opening the gate, Gurpreet tried to push past him.
The gatekeeper attempted to stop him. In the scuffle that followed, Gurpreet took out his handkerchief soaked in chloroform and held it over the gatekeeper’s nose until he became unconscious. As soon as he passed out, Gurpreet shoved him aside and stormed towards the house, followed by the other three.

‘Not the front door, the side door,’ he hissed at Jatin, who had started walking in that direction. Mili had told him the side door only had a single bolt on the top. Gurpreet threw himself against the door. Again. And again, until the bolt loosened and the door flung open.

The four of them listened. They couldn’t hear anything. So the noise hadn’t woken the servants. So far so good. Mili was right. The house did look like a railway carriage, with several doors opening onto a single corridor. Gurpreet entered the first room. It was the living room and was empty. The next room was the dining room. The third one, the study. Still no sign of life. The fourth door was shut. Gurpreet gestured to the others to be quiet. He pushed the door slightly. It wasn’t bolted. He pushed it further ajar.

There on the four-poster bed was the collector, – spreadeagled and snoring like an engine. Gurpreet stared at him with venom and then kicked him hard. George woke up with a start. Before he could say or do anything, Gurpreet hit him with his stick. Shivam and Devashish too began raining lathis on him.

‘Tie him to the bed and gag him,’ Gurpreet ordered his boys. He smiled bitterly as the collector tried to struggle. Once he had been securely tied, Gurpreet asked the others to step back. He then tore off the collector’s
clothes. He smiled cruelly as George looked at him in alarm. He looked like a scared skinned rhinoceros, without his clothes. ‘You remember what happened to your niece, don’t you?’ Gurpreet asked as he began sprinkling kerosene all around the bed. He watched George dart a frightened look at each of the boys and then at his shackles. And struggle once more to free himself.

Gurpreet lighted a match and lit his cigarette. He drew a long puff. Then without putting out the matchstick, he threw it on the ground. It immediately burst into flames. As the flames engulfed the bed, he shot one last look at the collector, then strode out of the room.

The four of them ran towards the gate. A couple of servants had woken up by now. They could hear them shouting ‘Fire!’ and running helter-skelter trying to put it out. Gurpreet paused at the gate and looked at the gatekeeper. He was still unconscious. He hastily drew his gun and shot him.

‘Why did you do that?’ asked Jatin.

‘He’d seen us. We don’t want to leave behind any witnesses,’ replied Gurpreet. Then he looked heavenward. He had avenged his Vicky’s death. He did not care what happened to him now.

It was twenty-six hours since George had been killed. There had been pandemonium in Kishangarh that morning. The people had woken up to the horrifying news that the telegraph office had been burnt down, the post office destroyed and the collector set alight in his own home.

Gurpreet walked towards Jatin’s house. He and Vidushi lived by themselves in a small house, not very far from Guruji’s. He knocked on the door and waited.

Vidushi opened the door. ‘Oh, come in please,’ she said smiling nervously.

Gurpreet and Jatin looked at one another but said nothing.

Vidushi looked anxiously from one face to the other. ‘Is something the matter, Bhaisaheb?’ she asked. ‘He has not been himself since yesterday.’

‘We killed the collector,’ Gurpreet replied.

‘What? Have you gone insane?’ exclaimed Vidushi.

‘I had my reasons,’ said Gurpreet lowering his eyes.

‘Why did you tell her?’ Jatin asked, clearly upset.

‘It’s better she knows,’ said Gurpreet, lighting a cigarette.

There was a knock on the door. Gurpreet looked at Jatin and then at Vidushi, then again at Jatin. He slowly opened the window an inch and peered out, careful not to be seen. It was Shivam. He heaved a sigh of relief and opened the door.

Shivam hastily bolted the door as soon as he was inside. ‘The police have been questioning the collector’s servants. They said that by the time they woke up, the culprits had escaped and the collector’s house was on fire. They got busy putting it out and trying to save barre sahib and did not notice anyone.’

Gurpreet watched him as he sank down on a chair, and lowering his head, held it between his hands.

‘But one servant saw a Sikh in a maroon turban shooting the gatekeeper and then fleeing,’ said Shivam, shaking his head from side to side.

A deathly silence fell on the room.

Gurpreet’s Adam’s apple moved. Lighting another cigarette, he walked over to Jatin’s desk and fiddled with his typewriter. Then he turned around to face the others. He spoke with deathly calm. ‘I want all three of you and Devashish to run away.’

‘And what about you?’ Jatin asked.

‘Nothing will happen to me,’ replied Gurpreet. ‘I’m a sardar.’

‘I’m not going anywhere without you,’ said Jatin.
‘And why do we need to run away? Shivam just said they did not see the rest of us. Isn’t it, Shivam?’

Shivam nodded.

‘No, I don’t want you to take any chances,’ said Gurpreet. ‘You want to make my bhabhi a widow again?’

‘Then come with us,’ said Jatin.

‘If I come with you, we’ll surely get caught,’ said Gurpreet.

‘Why don’t you cut your hair and get rid of your turban?’ said Vidushi. ‘No one will recognise you then.’

‘Bhabhi, I’ve killed an Englishman and that too a collector,’ replied Gurpreet. ‘Sooner or later, they
will
find me. And when they do, I want to go with dignity, proud to be a Sikh.’ He stopped speaking and looked at Jatin – at his ashen face, his downcast eyes brimming with unshed tears. He went and embraced him. ‘Don’t be sad, yaara. I’ve no regrets. That man deserves to rot in hell.’

Without looking up, Jatin wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Gurpreet spread out a map on the little cane table in front of him. Moving his fingers over it, he said, ‘Go through the forest here and keep moving towards Pithoragarh. From there you can easily escape to Nepal without attracting any attention.’ He looked at Jatin. ‘Take Shivam and Devashish with you. Once you’re safe, ask bhabhi to join you. And don’t tell a single soul where you’re headed, not even your parents. Even when you speak to bhabhi, speak in codes. Don’t mention the place or your names, ever.’

Pursing his lips, Gurpreet folded the map and gave it to Jatin. What a mess. He did not regret killing the collector, not even for a moment. But he was damned if he did not feel awful about bringing his friends to this. Why did he have to drag them into this? Why, oh why, didn’t he go it alone? He would never be able to forgive himself if something should happen to them.

Mili sat on her bed, her pillow propped up behind her, reading the Bhagavad Gita.
Death is certain for the one who is born, and birth is certain for the one who dies. Therefore, you should not lament over the inevitable. All beings, O Arjuna, are unmanifest before birth and after death. They are manifest
only
between birth and death. So what is there to grieve about?
She put down the book and frowned. But grieving over the death of dear ones was inevitable as well. She wondered what the purpose of Vicky’s life had been. For that matter, her own life. What was the purpose of
her
life?

She should be happy. Gurpreet had avenged Vicky’s death. Finally justice had been done. But she wasn’t. An unknown fear gnawed at her heart and filled her with dread. She had read about the collector’s death in the newspaper. She knew who the Sikh in the maroon turban and his accomplices were. She feared for their safety. Even the slightest sound or knock on the door made her jump up in fright.

‘Your friend’s here to see you, Mili,’ called Mausi from the prayer room.

She looked up as the maidservant Ramdulari led Vidushi to her room. As soon as Ramdulari left, Vidushi
darted a quick glance down the corridor, then shut and bolted the door. She hastened over to Mili’s bed and sat down at the edge.

‘Gurpreet bhaisaheb has been arrested,’ she whispered.

‘What? When?’

‘Yesterday. One of the collector’s servants identified him,’ said Vidushi, wiping her forehead with the edge of her sari.

‘Where are the others? Where’s Jatin?’ Mili asked.

Vidushi looked around to make sure all the doors and windows were closed. Then she whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone. Jatin has escaped to Pithoragarh. The other two are in Garampani.’ Vidushi got up and walked over to the dressing table mirror. She pressed the red bindi on her forehead lightly, then stared at the sindoor in her hair. ‘I’m worried, Mili.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Mili tried to sound reassuring, ‘I’m sure he’ll never be caught.’

‘Yes, and I owe his life to Gurpreet bhaisaheb.’

‘How so?’

‘They flogged him all day yesterday. Perhaps all night even; who knows? And when that didn’t work, they hit him with whips dipped in salt water to increase the pain.’

Mili’s eyes narrowed and her forehead creased at the thought of what he must have had to endure.

‘But he would not tell them who the others were and where they were hiding.’

She stood up. ‘I won’t be seeing you again, Mili. Maybe never again.’

Mili looked at her questioningly.

‘I’m taking the bus today to Pithoragarh. From there we plan to escape to Nepal.’

Walking over to Vidushi, Mili clutched her hands. She pursed her lips and wiped the tears that were rolling down Vidushi’s cheeks with her fingers.

‘They’re going to hang Gurpreet bhaisaheb,’ Vidushi sobbed.

After making her sit down on the stool in front of the dressing table, Mili went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Now she understood why she did not feel elated at the collector’s death. Gurpreet was going to be hanged. She remembered what Gandhiji often said: ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’ Gurpreet had killed the collector to avenge Vicky’s death. But now he himself was going to die. It all seemed so futile.

Mili walked slowly towards the town centre where the public execution of Gurpreet was to take place. A huge crowd was already there. It seemed the whole of Kishangarh was there today. Mili pushed her way through the throng, until she was right in front. She looked around as she bit her thumbnail.

A sudden hush fell on the square as Gurpreet was led towards the gallows, flanked on either side by a dozen policemen carrying rifles. His hands had been tied behind his back. He had been stripped down to the waist and the marks of the flogging could be seen as angry, oozing welts, criss-crossing his entire back. He was ordered to stand on a wooden stool, just below the noose. Mili looked at his face. It was expressionless, his
beard matted with blood, the tip of his nose glistening with sweat.

Mili looked around, feeling an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. She felt a sense of déjà vu. Was she to watch another friend die in a similar fashion and not be able to do anything about it? Lord Kishan, why? Why were you making her go through all this?

The mayor arrived and the policemen stood to attention. Mili stared at Gurpreet with terrified eyes. His Adam’s apple moved as the noose was put around his neck. His eyes were vacant. Just like Vicky’s had been, the day she ended her life. They lit up for a second as they alighted on Mili. Tears ran down her cheeks as their eyes met. He looked heavenward, then smiled at her.

She understood. Vicky will be happy that her death had been avenged, he was saying. She made the V sign with her middle and forefinger, pointed heavenward, then pulled the edges of her lips with her fingers to make a mock smile.

Gurpreet nodded slowly, closed his eyes, looked heavenward and smiled.

Mili smiled back. Yes, she was sure his soul would meet hers, up there. Perhaps she was waiting for him to join her and together they would be reborn again.

The mob had begun to shout, ‘Vande Mataram. Bharat Mata ki Jai.’

Closing her eyes, Mili said a fervent prayer to her Lord Kishan. ‘Hey Kishan,’ she prayed. ‘You are known for your miracles. Please spare my friend his life.’ Maybe
Lord Kishan would suddenly appear out of nowhere and save Gurpreet. Just like he had come to Drapaudi’s aid when the Pandavas had lost her in a game of dice and she was subjected to humiliation in front of the whole court. Her Lord Kishan had saved her. He would save Gurpreet too. He had to.

Mili opened her eyes slowly.

‘Hang him,’ the mayor barked.

The crowd went silent again.

The stool, on which Gurpreet stood, was kicked off from beneath his feet. His legs thrashed about for a while as the noose tightened around his neck.

Covering her mouth with the edge of her dupatta, Mili sank to her feet, her body racked with sobs. No, there had been no miracle and no Kishan Bhagwan had appeared. The crowd had begun to disperse, leaving her alone with the lifeless body of her friend, swinging from the rope.

That night Mili had a fitful sleep. She dreamt of a puppy she had once seen dying, as a little girl. The puppy had been attacked by a stray dog. Its skin had been so badly torn that its ribs could be seen. It lay whimpering until it died the next day. Every few minutes it would let out a chilling, heart-rending cry, followed by a long whimpering. Suddenly, it was not the puppy’s body that was being torn apart by the stray dog. It was a human body, her own body which was being molested. A pair of stubby white hands with cracked fingernails were pawing it, maligning it, tearing her clothes away. And now the same hands
were putting a noose around her neck. Mili screamed. Her scream woke her up. She sat up, sobbing. Soon her sobbing turned into a low, whimpering sound similar to that of the puppy’s.

Mili looked around Prof. Raven’s room. She had been summoned to this room so many times before. Sometimes with Vicky, sometimes without. But this might be the last time she was here.

‘Good evening, Malvika,’ said Raven, looking up from his papers and gesturing to her to sit down. ‘What brings you here today?’

‘Sir, I’m leaving STH and going back to Mohanagar,’ she said as she sat down. ‘I can’t stay here any more, after all that has happened.’ She paused to take in a deep breath. Looking down, she said in a low voice, ‘It was all my fault, sir. If I hadn’t left Vicky alone soon after her rape, if I had not blurted to Gurpreet about the collector, both of them would be alive today.’

‘Listen to me, Malvika,’ said Raven, leaning forward. ‘No one can change what is to happen. Vicky would have committed suicide no matter what you did and Gurpreet was a revolutionary; he would have got killed sooner or later. Stop blaming yourself.’ He rested the palms of his hands on the desk before adding slowly, ‘Wait for three more months. Sit your Senior Cambridge exams and then go.’

‘No, sir, I have to go. I’ve lost two friends, in a way no one should ever have to. I’m confused. I need to work some things out for myself.’

‘I understand.’

Mili looked at him, her eyes beseeching. ‘What do I do, sir?’ she whispered.

Raven got up, walked over to the window and rubbed the back of his neck. Turning back to her he said, ‘That is for you to decide, Malvika.’

‘I’m so confused,’ Mili replied, in a defeated voice.

Raven walked around the desk to where she was sitting. Pulling up a chair beside her, he sat down, his face just a few inches away from hers. His eyes twinkled as he said, ‘Well, you can now fulfil your lifelong ambition of marrying your Prince Charming.’

‘Sir, that’s not my ambition any more,’ she said, smiling slightly. She knew he was trying to distract her.

Raven raised his brows. ‘It isn’t?’ he asked with mock horror.

‘When are
you
planning to get married?’ Mili asked, her smile widening.

‘I don’t believe in the institution of marriage,’ he said, taking Mili’s hand in his and stroking her fingers. ‘Not after what it did to Mother.’

Mili looked down. Her hands looked so small in his. Getting distracted by a sound, she listened carefully. ‘Is it raining?’ she asked.

‘It seems so,’ replied Raven, looking out of the window. He got up and pulled something from his coat stand. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘You can borrow my mackintosh.’

‘That won’t be necessary, sir. My brother is waiting for me in the car, just outside the school gates.’

‘It’s raining too hard. You’ll be drenched by the time you reach it.’

‘But sir …’

‘I insist.’

Reluctantly, Mili put on the raincoat, conscious of his eyes looking at her with amusement.

She turned red as Raven threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re drowning in it,’ he said. He lowered his voice and brought his face close to hers. ‘You look cute,’ he said with a smile. ‘Like a penguin.’