‘How much did you get for killing the pig?’
‘Five rupees. He paid the money in advance.’
‘Five rupees? So much money? What did you do with it?’ ‘Four rupees are still left with me. They are lying on the shelf.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I thought I would buy a couple of dhotis for you.’
‘Shall I get dhotis with tainted money? Shall I not throw this money into the fire?’ Nathu’s wife said angrily. But then she restrained herself and making a vain attempt to smile, added, ‘But this is your hard-earned money. I shall buy with it whatever you say’
She got up, went to the shelf, lifted herself on her toes, saw the coins lying on the shelf and turned round. Nathu sat with his head bowed, as though sunk deeper into despair.
‘Did you notice the man who was standing on the other side of the yard?’ Nathu asked, raising his head.
‘Yes, I did. But how does it concern us?’
‘I think it was his pig that I pushed into the room. He must have come to know of it.’
‘What nonsense! If he has come to know of it, let him come and demand it from you,’ Nathu’s wife said somewhat loudly, then, shaking her head, added, ‘Listen. We are chamars. To kill animals and skin hides is our profession. You killed a pig. Now, how does it concern us whether they sell it in the market or throw it on the steps of a mosque?’ Then added, chirpily, ‘I shall certainly buy dhotis with this money. You have earned it with your hard labour.’ Then, going back to the shelf she picked up the money, but the next moment put it back.
‘You are perfectly right,’ exclaimed Nathu. ‘How does it concern me? To hell with Murad Ali and his pig! Yesterday too I thought the same way,’ he said, with a ring of self-assurance in his voice.
‘I have full fifteen rupees with me now. You too can buy something for yourself.’
‘I don’t need anything,’ said Nathu feeling elated. ‘When you are by my side, I feel I have everything.’
Nathu’s wife went straight to the fireplace and sat down to make tea.
‘God is never angry with a person whose heart is clean. Our hearts are clean. Why should we be afraid of anyone?’ she said and then added, ‘You have told me about it but don’t tell anyone else in the colony.’
‘You too don’t tell anyone,’ said Nathu.
Nathu’s wife was pouring tea into glasses, when she heard the sound of running feet outside. Her hand shook. She raised her eyes and looked at Nathu, but did not say anything. Instead, she smiled.
A little later, they heard one skinner asking another, outside, in the colony ‘What’s happened, uncle?’
‘A riot has broken out in Ratta.’
‘Where?’
‘In Ratta. Two persons have been killed.’
‘Who was the fellow running away?’
‘I don’t know. Must be some outsider.’
Silence fell again. The skinner had either gone into his house or towards the back of the colony.
Handing the glass of tea to Nathu, his wife said, ‘You too should go and meet the fellow-skinners. It is not good to remain aloof from them. Let’s go together; I too will come along.’
Nathu’s wife got up, but then, without any explicable reason, picked up the broom and started sweeping the floor. She swept every nook and corner, picked up things and swept the floor under them. She herself did not know why she was doing it. It was as though, with the help of the broom she was trying to cast out some phantom or spectre from the room. After sweeping, she washed the floor clean, pouring as much water as she could. But when she sat down tired, on the cot, it seemed to her that the phantom was crawling back into the room through the chinks of the closed door and that the house was once again becoming dark with its presence.
14
Starting from Khanpur, the first bus would normally reach the village at eight o’clock in the morning. After every hour or two, buses would begin to arrive from the city or from Khanpur. It was already midday and as yet no bus had arrived. In the tea-shop, the water in the kettle for tea had been boiling since morning. Both the benches in front of the tea-shop lay vacant. Earlier, there used to be so many customers that the benches were always occupied. There was hardly a person who, passing by Harnam Singh’s tea-shop would not sit down for a glass of tea. At the bus stop too, only a couple of stray dogs were to be seen moving about. A pall of silence lay over everything.
A woman has a keener insight into things. Since the previous evening, Banto had been insisting, ‘Let us get away from this village and go to Khanpur where some of our relatives are living. In this entire village we are the only Sikh couple, all the others are Muslims.’ But Harnam Singh would not agree. ‘How can we shut down a running shop and go away? Riots and disturbances keep taking place but that is no reason why one should close down one’s business. And where shall we go? Shall we go to the city which is already in flames? If we go to Khanpur, who will feed us there? What if our shop is looted when we turn our back on it? How shall we live? Shall we go to our son? He is living twenty miles away in Mirpur. He is as much alone there as we are here. Let us leave ourselves in Guru Maharaj’s hands and stick on where we are. If we go to our son, won’t we be a liability on him? Will he try to protect us old people or try to save his own life? For how long can we be fed by others? And for how long can we live on our savings?’ And sitting on his stool, Harnam Singh would fold his hands and recite a couplet: ‘Blessed with your protecting hand, Lord, how can anyone suffer?’
Banto would listen and fall silent. But then, whenever she felt nervous and anxious she would say, ‘Let us go to my sister’s village, that is nearby. We shall not stay with her, we shall stay in the gurdwara. Besides, there is a fairly large community of Sikhs living there. They are our own people. We shall feel safe living among them.’ But Harnam Singh would not agree to this either. He was somehow convinced that while other people might have difficulties to face, nothing untoward would happen to him.
‘Listen, my good woman, we have never thought ill of anyone; we have never harmed anyone. People in the village too have been good to us. We do not owe anyone anything. Right in your presence, Karim Khan has assured me no less than ten times that we should continue to live here with an easy mind, that no one would dare cast an evil eye on us, and who in the village enjoys more respect than Karim Khan? We are the only family of Sikhs living in the village. Will they not feel ashamed of attacking two defenceless old people?’
Banto again fell silent. Argument can counter argument, but argument is helpless against faith. While Banto’s heart would, time and again, sink with anxiety, Harnam Singh did not feel restless even once. He face glowed and God’s name was ever on his lips, and this would impart courage to Banto too.
But on that day no bus had arrived and not a single customer had come to his shop. The road bore a deserted look. On the other hand, two or three persons whom he had never seen before, while going towards the village, had eyed him and his shop very closely.
When the afternoon sun was declining, he heard the sound of familiar footsteps coming from the side of the slope. Harnam Singh felt reassured on seeing Karim Khan coming towards his shop, pattering along with his stick. Karim Khan would give him the news besides good counsel. ‘If it becomes unsafe, we can take shelter in Karim Khan’s house,’ thought Harnam Singh.
Karim Khan came over but did not stop at his shop. As he passed by, he merely turned his face once towards Harnam Singh, slowed down his pace, and muttered while pretending to cough: ‘Things have taken a bad turn, Harnam Singh. Your welfare lies in leaving the place.’
Then after taking a couple of more steps added, ‘Local people will not do you any harm but it is feared that marauders may come from outside. We will not be able to stop them.’
And coughing and pattering his stick, he moved on.
For the first time, his faith which had all along given him moral strength was badly shaken. Karim Khan did not stop at his shop, which meant
that the danger was real. He must have come here at some risk to himself. The news did not scare him so much as it made him sad. He felt disenchanted, rather than angry or frightened.
About five minutes later Karim Khan was seen coming back. Climbing up the slope, his hand on his waist, coughing and breathing hard, he again slowed his pace and muttered: ‘Don’t delay, Harnam Singh. The situation is not good. There is fear of marauders attacking.’
And he continued climbing up, breathing hard, with his hand on his waist.
Where was Harnam Singh to go? For miles on end, on all sides, stretched roads and vast stretches of land. Karim Khan had of course advised him to leave, but leave for where? Where could he get shelter? At sixty and with a woman by his side, how far could he run for safety?
A voice again came from within him: ‘Do not go anywhere, stay where you are. When the marauders come, offer them both your shop and your lives. It is better to die rather than to go knocking from pillar to post.’ Harnam Singh still could not believe that anyone from the village would raise his hand against him or that the village folk would allow the outsiders to attack them.
Harnam Singh got up and went into the room at the back of the tea-shop where Banto was sitting.
‘Karim Khan was here a moment ago. He said that we should leave the village immediately, that there was danger of marauders coming from outside.’
Banto’s blood froze. She sat petrified. Night was approaching and there was nowhere to go. And there, in the middle of the room, stood her husband, a picture of despondency.
There was no time to think, nor could they linger here any longer.
‘We must get away from here as soon as it gets dark.’
‘I still maintain that we should stick on here,’ said Harnam Singh. ‘We shouldn’t go anywhere.’ Then, pointing to his double-barrelled gun hanging on the wall, he added, ‘If it comes to killing or getting killed, I shall shoot you down with this gun first and then kill myself.’
Banto listened in silence. What could she say? What counsel could she give? They were left with no choice.
Harnam Singh came back to the shop. He collected his earnings from under the coir-matting on which he used to sit, separated the currency notes from the coins, put back the coins, and put the wad of notes in the inner pocket of his waistcoat. Thereafter he took down the gun from the wall and hung it from his shoulder. He was unable to decide what else to take with him. ‘Shall I take the papers concerning the registration of the shop?’ But there was no time to look for them or to take them out. Banto too was in a fix. ‘Should I take my jewellery along? Shall I cook something for the way? Make a couple of chapatis? Nothing may be available on the way. Shall I change my clothes? One should wear clean and tidy clothes when going out.’ Banto too was unable to decide what she should pick up, and what leave behind.
‘What should I do with my ornaments?’ she asked. ‘Should I put them on?’
‘Put them on,’ Harnam Singh said, but then thought for a moment and said, ‘No, don’t put them on. Anyone seeing you with ornaments will be tempted to kill you. Go and bury them at the back of the house.’
Banto decided to put on some ornaments under her shirt, of some others she made a small bundle in a handkerchief and put it in a trunk; the rest she took with her to the backyard behind the shop and buried them in the ground near the vegetable-beds.
The living room behind the tea-shop was full of boxes, beddings and other household stuff. They had got so many things made at the time of their daughter’s wedding yet nothing could be taken along.
‘Shall I make a couple of chapatis? Who knows where we may have to go knocking?’
‘There is no time for making chapatis now, good woman. Had we thought of leaving earlier, it could have been done.’
Just then came the sound of beating drums from far away. Both stood staring at each other.
‘The marauders are here. They seem to be coming from Khanpur.’
The sound of drums was soon followed by another sound—of slogans being raised from the other side of the mound in the village.
‘Ya Ali!’
‘Allah-o-Akbar!’
‘It must be Ashraf and Latif who are shouting these slogans,’ murmured Harnam Singh. ‘They are members of the League in the village and keep shouting Pakistani slogans.’
The atmosphere became tense.
Evening had fallen but it wasn’t dark yet. The sound of the marauders appeared to be coming from the other side of the ravine.
Just then Harnam Singh’s eyes fell on the small cage hanging from the roof in which sat their little pet-bird myna.
‘Banto, take the cage to the backyard, and let the myna fly away’
Only a little while earlier Banto had put water and bird-feed in the two small cups lying in the cage. Now, as she took down the cage and carried it to the backyard, the little myna repeated by rote: ‘God be with you, Banto! May God be with everyone.’
On hearing the words Banto’s throat choked. In answer to the bird, Banto too repeated the words: ‘Myna, may God be with you! May God be with everyone!’
The myna had learnt these words from Harnam Singh, who, while sitting in the shop, would often talk to Banto sitting in the back room about the Gurbani and other religious matters, and every time he would stand up or sit down he would utter such words as ‘God is the Protector! God is everyone’s protector!’ Gradually, the myna had begun to repeat the words.
But the utterance of the myna gave a lot of strength to Banto. She regained courage and her steadiness, as though the little bird had taught her a lesson.
In the small backyard Harnam Singh had planted a few vegetables besides a mango tree. On reaching the middle of the backyard, Banto opened the cage and said softly:
‘Go, fly away my little myna!
‘May God be with you! May God be with everyone!’
But the myna continued to sit inside the cage.
‘Fly away, my little one!
‘Fly away!’
And Banto’s throat again choked. Leaving the cage on the ground, she came back into the room.
The sound of beating drums was again heard. This time it came from somewhere nearby. The hum of sounds from the village too had grown louder. A large number of people seemed to be advancing from somewhere. From within the village, the sound of slogans came intermittently.
Banto and Harnam Singh, locked the shop and came out. They left with a little cash, a gun and the clothes on their back. No sooner had they stepped out of the house that the entire place became alien to them. Which way were they to turn? To the left lay the sprawling village. In that very direction was the ravine, from the other side of which came the sound of beating drums. To their right was the pucca road that led towards Khanpur. To go in that direction was not without danger. Across the road, at some distance, flowed a streamlet with a wide bed and a high embankment. That was the only way of escape. They could cover a long distance without being noticed. To go along the road was risky. The streamlet had no water in it; its broad bed was dry and full of sand, pebbles and stones. Both of them crossed the road, and walking a few yards, went down the slope of the embankment. The marauders had already reached the outskirts of the village and seemed to be advancing in this very direction. The atmosphere resounded with the sound of drums and slogans.
Banto and Harnam Singh were going down the bed of the stream when they heard a thin, soft voice:
‘Banto, May God be with you! May God be with everyone!’
The myna had come flying after them and had perched on a tree nearby.
The marauders had by then reached the top of the mound, at the foot of which, to the right side Harnam Singh had his tea-shop. They came down the mound, shrieking and shouting and raising slogans, and beating their drums.
The moon had risen and its soft light spread all over. One felt as though an unknown enemy lurked behind every tree and rock. Under the light of the moon, the dry stream-bed looked like a white sheet of cloth.
Both of them had come down the slope and, turning to the right, were walking slowly along the foot of the embankment. The edge of the stream-bed being strewn with stones and pebbles, they soon grew tired and breathless. Even as they walked they were all ears to every sound coming from the direction of the village.
The noise which had earlier risen to a high pitch had somewhat subsided. It appeared to Harnam Singh as though the marauders had stopped in front of his shop and were not able to decide their next move. Harnam Singh felt grateful to Karim Khan for his timely warning which had made it possible for them to escape. Suddenly they heard the sound of heavy blows falling on something. Harnam Singh understood that they were breaking down the door of his shop. Their legs trembled, making it difficult for them to continue walking. Holding each other’s hand they slowly moved forward.
‘Pray to God and walk on, Banto,’ said Harnam Singh, pulling along his wife.
A dog suddenly barked somewhere. Both looked up. At the top of the embankment a fierce-looking black dog stood barking at them. Harnam Singh’s face turned livid.
‘For which sins of ours are we being punished so severely by Guru Maharaj? The marauders have only to hear the barking of the dog and they will come running after us.’
‘Keep walking, don’t stop!’
The dog was still barking. It was the same dog which Harnam Singh had often seen in front of his shop, sniffing at things. After walking some distance, Banto turned round. The dog was still barking but it had neither moved down towards them nor along the top of the embankment.
They continued walking at a snail’s pace.
‘Let us somehow get away from the village. The rest is in God’s hands.’
Tamas Page 18