Tamas

by Bhisham Sahni

  The mother-in-law looked at Akran’s face. There was sense in what she was saying. ‘If the men fell out with one another, and Ramzan had almost been in a frenzy these several days what if the fellow sitting up there fires his gun? It will certainly kill the man standing below. It is one thing to give shelter to someone, it is quite another to jeopardize the lives of your son and husband. Nothing could be more foolish. Why did this not occur to me?’

  She came and stood under the loft.

  ‘Listen, Sardarji, listen to what I say,’ she said in a low tone.

  Harnam Singh opened the door a little wider.

  ‘What is it, sister?’

  ‘Give that gun to me. Hang it down, I shall take it.’

  Harnam Singh was taken aback.

  ‘How can I give away my gun, sister?’

  ‘No, give me your gun. You cannot sit up there with a gun.’

  Silence ensued between them. To surrender the gun meant surrendering one’s life into their hands. If he declined, she would at once turn them out of the house, and once outside, even if he was carrying a gun, it would not be safe.

  ‘Are you listening, Sardarji? Give over the gun. Why do you need a gun, sitting in my house?’

  ‘I shall become totally unarmed, sister. With the gun I feel safe.’

  ‘Hand over the gun. Hang it down. I shall give it back to you when you leave my house.’

  Harnam Singh looked at his wife, and then quietly lowered the gun to her.

  After handing over the gun, Harnam Singh suddenly realized that he had delivered a loaded gun to her, that he should have taken the cartridges out before giving it away. But then he shook his head. When life itself is hanging in uncertainty, what difference does it make whether one has taken out the cartridges or not. Had I taken them out, there would only be one chance less of death, and not taking them out meant one more chance added to the thousand other chances of likely death. Harnam Singh heaved a deep sigh, so deep that Banto thought the women standing below must have heard it.

  It was once again dark inside the loft.

  What a transformation! Only yesterday, at this time, Banto was tidying her box of clothes, whereas today, both she and her husband were like two rats shut in a hole! Yesterday, Harnam Singh and Karim Khan were condemning the riots, condemning those indulging in them as people who had lost all sense of decency, as though what was happening was something so remote that they could talk and comment on it in a detached way. And now, with one gust of the wind, as it were, they had been thrown overboard.

  His heart sank within him as he suddenly realized that he was without a gun, that he might never get it back. ‘What have I done? I have myself cut off my hands. The gun with me was like the blind man’s staff. I shall never get it back now.’ Harnam Singh felt as though he was drenched in cold sweat. By this act, his wife’s situation had become all the more precarious. ‘With what sense of confidence will I be able to take her along with me now? People can now stone us to death.’ In one stroke of stark reality, Harnam Singh had lost all that he had earned through a lifetime of devotion, faith and love of humanity.

  ‘I wish we had some news of Jasbir,’ Banto muttered suddenly.

  Harnam Singh did not say anything. Now and then, the mother in Banto would cry out. The previous night too, as they trudged along the dry bed of the stream, Banto had time and again thought of her children. Every time the shadow of danger lifted a little, her thoughts would turn to her children.

  There was noise in the village outside and it was increasing. Men and women seemed to be talking animatedly. Then someone knocked at the door and a woman’s voice was heard:

  ‘Ai Akran, come out. Our menfolk are on their way.’ It was one of Akran’s girl-friends, shouting. Akran opened the door and ran out.

  Harnam Singh’s heart sank within him. Banto looked up at her husband’s face. The face which had always looked radiant had turned pale, while his clothes were crumpled and dirty.

  Through the slightly open window of the loft, Harnam Singh saw the mistress of the house. She was standing, both her hands on her waist in front of the open door of the courtyard. Looking at her tall figure and her graceful bearing, his faith returned, as it were. He once again felt like reposing all his confidence in her. So long as she is there, there is still hope; everything is not lost.

  ‘Through Guru Maharaj’s kindness, we shall come out unscathed. You are a devotee of God. Why should you be afraid?’ said Banto trying to instil confidence in her husband. Harnam Singh remained silent.

  Voices grew louder outside. Sounds of loud laughter, jovialities as also of advancing footsteps increased. Suddenly, Akran’s voice was heard, talking and laughing loudly. Harnam Singh understood that the male members of the family had arrived after their night-long outing.

  Akran and her father-in-law hauled in a big, black trunk into the courtyard. The turban on the man’s head was sunk in indicating that he had carried the trunk on his head all the way through.

  Harnam Singh put out his hand and touched his wife on her knee.

  ‘Banto, it is our trunk, the big black trunk. They have been looting our shop.’

  Banto made no effort to look out.

  ‘It is still locked. The lock on it is still there,’ Harnam Singh whispered.

  Akran’s father-in-law sat down on top of the trunk; he took off his turban and wiped the perspiration off his forehead with it. His wife stepped forward and shut the door.

  ‘Why hasn’t Ramzan come?’

  ‘Ramzan has gone to participate in Tabligh.’

  Harnam Singh again stretched out his hand and touched his wife’s knee: ‘It is Ehsan Ali. I know him. I have had dealings with him.’

  ‘Abba, you have brought a locked trunk. Heaven knows if there is anything worthwhile in it.’,

  ‘Why, it was so heavy, my back bent double carrying it. It is bound to be full of many things.’

  ‘And it is only one trunk you have brought. Hasn’t Ramzan brought anything?’

  ‘It was he who pulled it out. We have brought a full trunk. What more do you want?’

  ‘Let’s open it. Shall we break the lock?’ Akran said and ran into the back room to bring a hammer.

  In her eagerness to see what the trunk contained, she forgot to tell him about the kafirs sitting in the loft. Her mother-in-law still stood nearby without uttering a word.

  ‘Get me some lassi, Rajo. I am dying of thirst,’ said the father-in-law at which his wife went forthwith to fetch buttermilk.

  Akran began hammering at the lock.

  With the bowl in his hand Ehsan Ali drank buttermilk when Rajo, his wife, told him that she had given shelter to a Sardar and his wife in the house.

  Just then, Harnam Singh opened the little door of the loft and putting out his head said, ‘Child, why are you hammering at the lock? Here is the key. It is our trunk.’ Then, turning to Ehsan Ali, said, ‘Ehsan Ali, I am Harnam Singh. Your wife has been so kind as to give us shelter. May Guru Maharaj’s blessings be on you both. This trunk is ours. But consider it your own. Good that it fell into your hands.’

  Ehsan Ali looked up and felt embarrassed, as though he had been caught stealing.

  Akran’s hands too stopped moving, and she shouted, ‘Ma has given them shelter. I told her that she should not let kafirs into the house but she wouldn’t listen.’

  Akran was saying all this to please her father-in-law, but Ehsan Ali still stood perplexed, feeling uneasy. Once upon a time they had had dealings with each other, and knew each other well enough. He had not anticipated such an encounter and therefore did not know how he should treat Harnam Singh. Besides, he was not so hot-headed either as to get enraged at the mere sight of a Hindu or a Sikh.

  ‘Come down, Harnam Singh,’ and as though covering his theft with the good turn done by his wife, said somewhat boldly, ‘Thank your stars that you took shelter in my house. Had you gone elsewhere, you wouldn’t have been alive by now.’

  Akran was impatient to op
en the lock but Rajo had snatched the key from her hand and despite her repeated requests would not give it to her.

  ‘I shall be considerate towards you, Harnam Singh, because you have come to my house, but you had better go away now. If my son comes to know that you are here, he will not treat you well. If the village folk come to know that we have given you shelter, they will be hard on us.’

  ‘We shall do whatever you tell us, Ehsan Ali. We have no choice, no say. But who will leave us alive if we go out at this time, in broad daylight?’

  Ehsan Ali fell silent and looked at his wife, so as to say, what a messy situation she had landed him in:

  ‘People were looking for you last night,’ Ehsan Ali said. ‘If they come to know that you are hiding here, they won’t spare us. It is as much in your interest as in ours that you leave this place.’

  Akran brought the ladder of her own accord and put it below the loft. Both husband and wife quietly came down. Both looked like sacrificial goats.

  Then the same drama was enacted as had been played in the morning. Both of them came down, resigned to their fate. Both of them were composed. Neither of them demeaned themselves by asking for consideration. As they stood in the yard, Harnam Singh was about to ask for his gun from Rajo, who stood in the middle of the yard, her hands on her waist, when Ehsan Ali suddenly said, ‘Take them into the godown, Rajo, where we stack hay. Let them sit there and lock the door from outside. Here, take this very lock and put it on the door. Hurry up.’ Then trying to show his magnanimity, he said to Harnam Singh, ‘It is out of consideration for our past contacts, Harnam Singh, otherwise by God, what the kafirs have done in the city, makes one’s blood boil.’

  Rajo led the way and Harnam Singh and Banto followed her. They were taken to a godown at the back of the house. It smelled strongly of cow-dung, fodder and wet hay. It was stacked with hay, from top to bottom.

  ‘Sit down here. My husband is a pious man. I did not know that you knew each other. Try to pass the time somehow.’

  Here too, Harnam Singh and his wife accepted the situation as they had earlier when they had been asked to sit in the loft. Rajo shut the door and locked it from outside.

  Time passed. Both felt that till nightfall they were assured of shelter. Some time during the day, Rajo came and gave them some chapatis and buttermilk. The food gave them much-needed respite. For a long time both sat staring into the darkness with wide open eyes. Banto again said to Harnam Singh: ‘Where do you think Iqbal Singh must be at this time? I wonder if he is still in his village or has gone elsewhere.’ ‘Whatever is Wahe Guru’s will. I hope some kindhearted person has come his way and saved his life. Thank God Jasbiro is not alone. Many of our people are there. I hope all of them have gathered in one place.’

  At this Harnam Singh said, ‘I hope these people give us back our gun. What do you think, Banto? I don’t suppose they will.’

  They talked in low whispers for a long time. Although the godown did not have a window or a ventilator, it was not so sultry as it had been in the loft. Sitting on a heap of sheaves, both felt sleepy. They had not had a wink of sleep during the previous night. A little later, both fell into deep slumber. They were suddenly woken up by someone battering the door with a pickaxe.

  ‘Come out, bastards, come out, you…’

  Harnam Singh and his wife woke up as though they had seen a nightmare.

  ‘Where is the key? Give me the key. You kafirs, I’ll show you…’ and blow after blow fell on the door.

  ‘Don’t shout, Ramzan, don’t shout.’ A female voice was saying. Perhaps it was Akran, pressing her husband not to speak so loudly.

  Blows from the pickaxe continued to fall and soon enough there was a crack in the upper part of the door. Through the crack some light entered the dark godown.

  Thereupon the voice of another woman was heard, ‘What has come over you, Ramzan? Stop shouting, and stop breaking the door. Where is this damned girl? Couldn’t you keep your mouth shut? I shall pull out your tongue, haramzadi, I had told you not to tell Ramzan. Stop it, Ramzan. Will you kill those who have taken shelter in our house? This man is known to us. At one time we owed him money.’

  ‘Stop chattering, Ma. In the city they have killed two hundred Musalmans.’ And blows from the pickaxe began to fall on the door again. ‘Come out, you kafirs, you bloody…’

  Another two blows and the door fell open. The godown was suddenly filled with light. Pickaxe in hand, Ramzan stood outside, breathing hard. Close by him stood Akran, her face pale and frightened. On one side stood Rajo, her hands on her waist.

  ‘Come out, you kafirs…’ said Ramzan peeping in.

  Harnam Singh and his wife sat close to each other, their eyes dazzled as they tried to look out. As the door was broken open, Harnam Singh stood up and slowly came out.

  ‘Put me to death if you want to,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

  ‘You…’ Ramzan shouted and putting out his left hand caught hold of Harnam Singh by the throat. The collar button on Harnam Singh’s shirt broke and fell down on the floor, and the turban on his head became loose. With the swiftness with which he had caught hold of Harnam Singh’s neck, he let go off it too. His fingers left reddish marks on Harnam Singh’s neck.

  He too had recognized Harnam Singh, for he had tea at his tea-shop a couple of times. Harnam Singh’s beard had turned grey and he looked thinner.

  Twice Ramzan raised his pickaxe to strike, but both times he let it fall. It is one thing to kill a kafir, it is quite another to kill someone you know and who has sought shelter in your house. A thin line was still there which was difficult to cross, despite the fact that the atmosphere was charged with religious frenzy and hatred. Ramzan stood there for some time, breathing hard and then, uttering abuses, went out of the house.

  It was nearing midnight, when the tall, stately figure of Rajo, walking in front, led Harnam Singh and Banto out of the house and in the direction of the grove of trees. A bright moon shone above and bathed in its light the view on all sides looked ethereal and dreamlike. Patches of light and shade appeared to be playing hide and seek. The grove of trees and the vast valley beyond looked mysterious and almost frightening. Rajo, carrying the double-barrelled gun in her hand, looked sedate and very graceful.

  They were again going towards the dry bed of the stream. Towards the left the sky was turning crimson. Harnam Singh softly pressed his wife’s hand and said, ‘Look towards the left, Banto! What do you see?’

  ‘Yes, I have seen. Some village is burning.’

  ‘Wahe Guru!’

  They walked on. Harnam Singh again paused. Far into the distance, on the other side too, the horizon was turning red.

  ‘Which village is that? That too is burning!’

  Banto remained silent.

  Harnam Singh turned round and looked towards the village that they had left behind. The flat-roofed mud-houses were bathed in the moonlight. Here and there, in some houses was the glimmer of light from the earthen lamps. Outside the houses, in the yards, stood haystacks, a bullock-cart here and there.

  As they passed by the grove, their eyes fell on the pir’s grave. No light was burning there. People had forgotten to light the earthen lamp on it that day..

  Rajo walked along the edge of the grove. As they reached the end of the grove, they climbed up a small mound. It was from the top of this mound that Harnam Singh and Banto had gone down to the village that morning.

  Rajo stopped. Handing the gun to Harnam Singh she said, ‘Now go. May God be with you. Go along the edge of the stream. May Fate be kind to you.’

  There was a slight tremor in her voice.

  ‘We are deeply indebted to you, Rajo sister. We shall never be able to repay you for what you have done for us.’

  ‘If we survive, we shall, one day…’ and Harnam Singh’s voice shook and he could not complete the sentence.

  Rajo said, ‘Everyone to his or her fate. I do not know whether I am saving your life or pushing you into the jaws of death. Fires
are raging on all sides,’ and so saying she put her hand into her shirt-pocket and took out a small bundle wrapped in, a piece of cloth.

  ‘Here, take this. It is yours.’

  ‘What is it, Rajo sister?’

  ‘I found this in your trunk and took it out. It is your jewellery. It will stand by you in difficulty.’

  ‘We must have done some good deeds in our past life to have met you,’ Banto said and burst into tears.

  ‘It is getting late. Move on. May God be with you,’ Rajo said. She could not tell them in which direction they should go, or towards which village or at whose door they should knock.

  Husband and wife went down the slope. Rajo kept standing at the top of the mound. Once again it was the same stream-bed, strewn with pebbles and sand. Under the light of the moon the entire valley was divided into dark and bright patches.

  After having covered some distance, they looked back. Rajo was still standing on top of the mound, as though watching their footsteps leading them towards the unknown. Then, as they looked, she turned and went back towards the village.

  As she went out of sight a frightful desolation descended on all sides.

  17

  In the meantime, another drama was being enacted in the rugged countryside of this rural district. Ramzan and his fellow freebooters were returning from their exploits in Dhok Elahi Baksh and Muradpur. Chatting and laughing, and carrying their booty they suddenly noticed a young Sikh, at some distance running for his life, near a small mound. It is difficult to say whether he had started running on seeing the marauders, or had already been running frantically in search of shelter. When they set their eyes on him, they were greatly excited as though they had found a sport. ‘Ya Ali!’ Ramzan shouted and all the fellows—there must have been twenty or thirty of them—ran after him. The ground was uneven, with many small mounds, ravines, and hollows and deep recesses like tunnels inside the mounds. The young Sardar was heading towards some village but had left the road and chosen to go through the fields and the rugged area, thinking that in doing so he would escape the notice of those going by the main cart road.