Tamas

by Bhisham Sahni

  Suddenly Bodhraj thought of a way out. Why not get a cauldron from the halwai’s shop?

  ‘His shop is closed.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘He lives in Naya Mohalla.’

  ‘Has anyone seen his house?’

  Bodhraj had, but at that time, being the group leader, could not take upon himself so petty a job.

  Ranvir suggested breaking into his shop.

  Though the others did not feel comfortable with the idea, it was the only option in the present situation.

  For a while the group leader stood looking at the roof, pondering over the situation. To be a group leader was no joke, it was a highly responsible job. The youngsters must not be seen breaking open a lock. The group leader was the son of a clerk who worked in the commissariat and was a first-year student in a local college. He was the only one in the group wearing an army shirt with two pockets, much to the envy of others.

  ‘Yes, you may break open the lock, but the work must be done on the sly. No one must see you doing it. Who will volunteer himself for this work?’

  ‘I shall do it,’ said Ranvir stepping forward.

  The group leader glanced at Ranvir from head to toe and shook his head.

  ‘No. You are too short for the job. Your hand will not reach the lock if it is high up on the door.’

  ‘The lock is in the middle of the door. I have seen it several times,’ Ranvir replied somewhat boastfully, as was his habit, which often irritated the group leader. Nevertheless, he was a smart boy, ran very fast too, but he lacked discipline.

  The group leader believed that Ranvir would procure the cauldron, come what may, but the boy could be lackadaisical in his approach, make some mistake, and thereby land the group into trouble.

  ‘You have my permission. But you will not go alone. Dharamdev will go with you,’ said the group leader in a decisive voice. ‘No one must see you breaking the lock. Go at a time when there is no one around. And don’t go together. Go separately, one by one.’

  The halwai’s shop stood at the road-crossing, on the other side of the ditch. As they approached the shop, Ranvir saw something moving behind the shop, something white, like a turban. Perhaps the halwai had come to open his shop. But what was he doing, standing at the back of his shop? Maybe it was not the halwai but someone else. Who could it be? Maybe a mleccha had come to loot the shop. Ranvir looked closely. It was none other than the halwai opening the backdoor of his shop.

  There was no one around. Even otherwise, at that time of the day, except for an occasional hawker or a plying tonga, the road was empty. It was only in the evening that the road was frequented.

  Both the boys went over to the shop. The plan was that while one would engage him in conversation the other would go in and pick up the cauldron.

  ‘It won’t be necessary to steal the cauldron. He will give it to us on his own. He is our Hindu brother,’ said Ranvir’s companion.

  ‘What nonsense. Who do you think you are, you midget?’

  Both boys moved towards the back of the shop. The door was open. The halwai seemed to have gone in.

  It was dark inside the shop. A swarm of flies buzzed over the greasy shelves. The place smelt of stale samosas. Ranvir peeped in.

  ‘Who is it?’ A voice came from inside the shop. ‘The shop is closed today.’

  The two boys went in. The halwai was standing in a corner of the shop pouring a tin of fine wheat-flour into a bag. He was taken aback on seeing someone standing at the door.

  ‘Come in. Please come in,’ he said smiling. ‘No sweetmeats have been made today. I thought I would take some of the provisions home. The situation in the town is not good. Sons, you too should not stir out on a day like this. It is better to stay indoors.’

  ‘Pick up the cauldron,’ Ranvir ordered Dharamdev.

  Dharamdev moved towards the row of utensils lying against the wall.

  ‘The cauldron is being taken away for the defence of the nation. You will get it back at the right time.’

  The halwai did not understand what the boy was talking about.

  ‘What is the matter? Who are you? What do you need the cauldron for? Is it for some wedding?’

  Neither of the boys answered.

  ‘Pick up the one in the middle. It is lying right in front of you,’ Ranvir said in a commanding voice.

  ‘Wait! What is all this?’ shouted the bewildered halwai. ‘Why are you taking my cauldron?’

  ‘You will know at the right time.’

  ‘That’s no way of doing things,’ exclaimed the halwai.

  ‘You can’t just pick up a thing and take it away. You have to take my permission for it. Who are you, anyway?’

  Just then Ranvir put his hand in his shirt pocket and shouted fiercely. ‘Are you refusing us?’ He advanced threateningly towards him and struck him.

  Before the halwai could open his mouth to say something, blood was streaming down his right cheek. Ranvir put his hand back into his shirt pocket. The halwai sat down on the floor, both hands covering his face, moaning in pain, drops of blood falling on the floor.

  ‘No one should know about it or you will be finished off.’

  Dharamdev had meanwhile carried the cauldron across the ditch towards the other side of the road. After a short pause, Ranvir too left the shop and walked a few paces behind Dharamdev. ‘Killing is not difficult,’ Ranvir thought, ‘I could have killed this man easily. One has only to raise one’s hand and it is done. It is fighting that is difficult, particularly when the other person stands up against you. To stab a man to death is far easier. It poses no problem, killing poses no problem.’

  On entering the house, Dharamdev paused in the doorway ‘Why did you hit him?’

  ‘Why did he not carry out my order immediately? Why was he dilli-dallying?’

  But Dharamdev’s throat had gone dry and he stammered as he spoke. ‘What if anyone had seen? What if the halwai had cried out for help?’

  ‘We are not afraid of anyone. Let the fellow do his worst. You too may do your worst,’ Ranvir said in a menacing voice and went towards the staircase.

  7

  ‘There must be something important, gentlemen, that has brought you to my residence, and that too on a Sunday,’ Richard said smiling.

  The peon lifted the bamboo curtain and members of the deputation entered the room one by one. Richard stood at the door, his eyes taking in each member as he went in. Then he too entered and sat at his table. Four of the men wore turbans while one had a Turkish cap on, and two were wearing Gandhi caps. The very composition of the deputation convinced him that it would not be difficult to handle them.

  ‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’

  Members were pleased with the courtesy shown to them by the Deputy Commissioner. His predecessor was an insolent man who didn’t believe in meeting anyone or discussing anything.

  Richard had previously, with the help of police diaries, conducted an investigation on each member of the delegation. The unkempt, carelessly dressed man with the Gandhian cap must be Bakshi who had spent sixteen years in jail. The fellow sitting in a corner with a Turkish cap must be Hayat Baksh, a prominent member of the Muslim League. Mr Herbert, the American principal of a local college had also come along as a member of the deputation. And there was Professor Raghu Nath too, a lecturer in literature. He must have been included because he was on friendly terms with the Deputy Commissioner. The rest belonged to different organizations.

  Looking towards Bakshi, Richard said, ‘I am told there is some tension in the town.’

  ‘It is precisely because of that that we have come to meet you,’ Bakshi said. Bakshi looked anxious and agitated. Every occurrence since morning had been upsetting him. He had, on his own, called on the President of the Muslim League, but finding him indifferent, had decided to form a deputation and take it to the Deputy Commissioner. That too had not been easy. He had gone from house to house to get some local leaders together.

  ‘
Immediate action must be taken by the government to control the situation. Otherwise, my fear is that kites and vultures will hover for a long time over the town,’ he said, repeating the expression which had been going round in his head.

  The others were worried but not so agitated as Bakshi was.

  Just then Richard and Raghu Nath’s eyes met. The professor was the only Indian among them with whom Richard socialized, since he regarded him as a knowledgeable, well-cultivated person and since both were keenly interested in literature and ancient Indian history. Their eyes lit up, as if to say, ‘We have been willy-nilly drawn by these people into mundane matters, otherwise we belong to a different world.’

  Richard nodded his head and tapped the table with his pencil. ‘The administration does not enjoy a good reputation with you gentlemen. I am a British officer, and you have little faith in the British government. You won’t very much care to listen to what I have to say,’ he said in an ironical vein and tapped the table with his pencil.

  ‘But the reins of power are in the hands of the British government. And you represent British authority. To preserve law and order in the town is your direct responsibility,’ Bakshi said, his chin trembling and his face turning pale in agitation.

  ‘At this time, power rests in the hands of Pandit Nehru,’ Richard said, in a low voice, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. Then, turning to Bakshiji, he said, ‘The British government is always to blame, whether you have differences with it or among yourselves.’

  The smile still played on his lips. Then, restraining himself, as it were, he continued, ‘But I believe, with our joint efforts we can tackle and resolve the situation.’ He turned his eyes towards Hayat Baksh.

  ‘If the police is alerted, the situation can be brought under control in no time,’ said Hayat Baksh, ‘despite the mischief played by the Hindus. You know what was found on the steps of the mosque?’

  ‘How can you say that the Hindus had a hand in it?’ shouted Lakshmi Narain, the philanthropist, jumping up in his seat.

  For Richard the problem was resolving itself.

  ‘Blaming one another will not serve any purpose,’ he said persuasively. ‘You gentlemen have obviously come to me with the intention of resolving the issue.’

  ‘Of course we do not want rioting and bloodshed in the city,’ said Hayat Baksh.

  Lakshmi Narain felt isolated and angry. Had his colleagues been present, he wouldn’t have had to face the Muslims all by himself. They would have supported him and told the Deputy Commissioner how weapons were being stored in the Jama Masjid, about the killing of the cow and a hundred other things. A deputation comprising exclusively of Hindus should have called on the Deputy Commissioner and apprised him of the real situation.

  ‘If the police were to patrol the city and army pickets were set up at different places, there would be no rioting,’ said Bakshiji.

  Richard nodded his head, smiled and said, ‘The army is not under my command, even though some army contingents are stationed in the cantonment.’

  ‘The cantonment is as much under British rule as the city is,’ said Bakshiji. ‘If you will set up army pickets, the situation will come under control in no time.’

  Richard shook his head, ‘The Deputy Commissioner has no such authority.’

  ‘If you cannot set up army pickets you can at least clamp curfew on the town. That might help bring the situation under control. Police pickets can be set up, too.’

  ‘Don’t you think clamping curfew will make the people more nervous?’ Richard said. He picked up a piece of paper from the rack and jotted down something on it, and then looked at his watch.

  ‘The administration will certainly do whatever it can, gentlemen,’ he said in a reassuring tone. ‘But you are the prominent leaders of the town, your word carries more weight with the people. I believe a joint appeal from you addressed to the people to keep peace will have a salutary effect.’

  Two or three heads nodded.

  ‘Leaders of both the Congress and the Muslim League are present here. A joint Peace Committee can be formed forthwith, with the inclusion of Sardarji and start its work. The administration will do all it can to help you,’ said Richard.

  ‘We shall of course do that,’ said Bakshiji, still agitated. ‘But the situation is critical and calls for immediate action. Once rioting starts, it will be difficult to control. If an aeroplane were to fly over the town, it will serve as a kind of warning to the people. They will know that the administration is alert. This small measure itself will prevent a riot from breaking out.’

  Richard again nodded his head, and jotted down something on the piece of paper. ‘I have no authority over aeroplanes either,’ said Richard, smiling.

  ‘Everything is under your authority, Sahib, only if you want to exercise it.’

  The man was becoming over-assertive, thought Richard, he must be shown his place.

  ‘It was wrong of you gentlemen, to have come to me with your complaint. You should have addressed it directly to Mr Nehru or the Minister of Defence, Mr Baldev Singh. It is they who are running the government now,’ said Richard laughing.

  On seeing the attitude of the Deputy Commissioner some people fell silent, but Bakshi’s agitation increased.

  ‘We have been told that hardly an hour ago, your police officer, Mr Robert forcibly ejected a family of Muslim tenants from a house, due to which tension has mounted in the entire area. The house belonged to a Hindu landlord. I believe, in the prevailing situation, such an action need not have been taken.’

  Richard knew about the incident. As a matter of fact, the officer had consulted him before taking action. And Richard had asked him to go ahead, since implementation of a law-court judgement was a matter of daily routine and there was no point in postponing it. But before the deputation, he pretended not to know anything about it. He jotted down something on the piece of paper and said, ‘I shall make the necessary enquiries,’ and again looked at his watch.

  At this Herbert, the elderly American pincipal of the local Mission College, said in a persuasive voice, ‘Keeping peace in the city is not a political matter. It is above all political considerations; it concerns all the people. We are required to rise above our party affiliations. The administration too has a vital role to play. We should all join hands and bring the situation under control. Without losing another minute we should go round the entire city and make a fervent appeal to the people to desist from fighting one another.’

  Richard at once supported the proposal, adding, further ‘I would suggest that we engage a bus, duly fitted with a loudspeaker. All you gentlemen should sit in it and go round the town, making a fervent appeal to the people to keep peace.’

  Hardly had these words been uttered by Richard when strange, disturbing sounds were heard from the road outside.

  ‘A Hindu has been done to death on the other side of the bridge,’ someone was saying to the peon sitting outside. ‘All the shops are closed.’

  The members of the deputation sat up greatly perturbed. The Deputy Commissioner’s bungalow was located far from the city. If the riot has actually broken out, it would be a problem reaching home. Then came the sound of a tonga rattling away at top speed on the road, followed by someone’s running footsteps.

  ‘It seems the trouble has started,’ exclaimed Lakshmi Narain nervously and got up.

  ‘Everything possible shall be done, gentlemen,’ said Richard. ‘Too bad if the trouble has started.’

  One by one the members of the deputation stepped out of the room, lifting the bamboo curtain. The Deputy Commissioner accompanied them to the door.

  ‘I can arrange for a police escort for you, gentlemen,’ Richard said and turned towards the telephone lying on the table.

  ‘You need not worry about us. It is more important that the trouble does not spread,’ said Bakshji, stepping out. ‘There is still time. I would say, clamp curfew on the town.’

  The Sahib smiled, nodding his head.

  On
coming out of the bungalow all the members of the deputation felt confused. They exited from the gate and found themselves on the road without speaking to one another. They walked along, side by side, for some distance, then suddenly Lakshmi Narain and the Sardarji hurriedly crossed over to the other side of the road. Lakshmi Narain had taken off his turban and tucked it under his arm. The road here sloped down and went straight up to the bridge which separated the city from the cantonment.

  Herbert, the principal, had come on his bicycle. He went slowly down the slope. For a moment he paused, with the intention of asking them as to when or where the meeting of the proposed Peace Committee would take place, but, seeing them so nervous, desisted from saying anything. How can a meeting take place now, if a riot has actually broken out?

  Hayat Baksh strode briskly looking over his shoulder from time to time. All of them, in fact turned to look back now and again.

  ‘I need not walk fast. It is a Muslim locality,’ Hayat Baksh mumbled reassuring himself.

  On the other side of the road, the Sardarji was walking fast. The bulky Lakshmi Narain was trailing nearly two yards behind. He was breathless and had to slow down to wipe the perspiration from his neck again and again. Bakshiji and Mehta stood undecided for some time at the gate, but then they too walked down the slope.

  ‘Let us take a tonga, that will be much quicker,’ suggested Mehta. Bakshiji stopped. A tonga was approaching from the other side. Hearing the patter of the horse’s hoofs, Mehta waved his hand to stop it.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ asked the young, swarthy tonga driver, reining in his horse.

  ‘Take us to the tonga stand.’

  ‘It will be two rupees.’

  ‘What? Two rupees? That is scandalous,’ Bakshi said out of sheer habit. The tonga began to move on.

  ‘Let us take it, Bakshiji. This is no time to bargain.’ And Mehta jumped in and occupied the back seat. ‘Take us to the city. Make it quick.’

  Seeing them get into the tonga, Lakshmi Narain turned and went towards them. But the tonga was already moving away. Lakshmi Narain stood in the middle of the road staring at them.