A Beautiful Lie

by Irfan Master

  ‘Doctorji, what’s going on?’

  Doctorji stood up and began pacing the room. He approached the door and listened. Satisfied there was no one on the other side, he sat back down.

  ‘Bilal, this is what we spoke of. The peace has been broken and we are far from home. After completing my duties and distributing the medicine, the village elders – well, mostly young men from what I could see – marched me here. They asked if I was a spy sent by the Muslims to count their number and take vital information back to the massing hordes who are waiting to attack.’

  Finally, the danger of the situation hit me and I sat down opposite Doctorji with my head in my hands.

  ‘Why would they think that? I mean, we’ve been coming here for years. You’ve been coming here even longer than me. How could they think that?’

  Doctorji stood up and began pacing again.

  ‘There have been riots and looting in many places. A relative of one of the villagers arrived at the same time we did and told all the village elders some of the stories of violence around the country. Most of the people here aren’t convinced by them and spoke out but the young men seem to hold sway here. Fuelled by the relative’s terrible stories, they managed to convince everybody that it was in the interests of the village to hold us.’

  Doctorji looked straight at me and stopped pacing, aware that it was making me nervous watching him prowl back and forth.

  ‘But what are they going to do with us now? We’re not spies. When are they going to let us go? I have to get back to Bapuji!’ I cried. Panicking, my stomach cramped, making me bend over in pain. Doctorji came to my side.

  ‘Stomach cramps again? We have to stay calm, Bilal. This is probably all just talk. Once the villagers realise that they’re overreacting, we can get back home. Relax your stomach and stop clenching your teeth. Take a deep breath and let your body relax. We’ll be fine, we just have to be patient.’

  Leaning back, I tried to breathe slowly. What could they possibly do to us? We hadn’t done anything wrong. We were trying to help by bringing people medicine. I shut my eyes. We just have to be patient. But what are we waiting for?

  Chapter 23

  The hours crawled by as I watched Doctorji pace around the hut. Many years ago, the market town committee had decided to set up a scheme to aid the local villages by providing them with better medicine. Doctorji had volunteered to administer to the villagers and take what little medicine the market town was able to spare. In all that time, we had always been treated with the utmost respect. Often the villagers would ask us to stay another day because they seldom had visitors. I laughed out loud at the thought of these gentle villagers, who always thought of Doctorji’s more modern methods and medicine as strange, wanting to kill us. I noticed Doctorji had stopped pacing and was staring at me, clearly startled at my laughter.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Doctorji asked.

  ‘The thought of these villagers trying to do us harm. It just doesn’t make sense. What could they possibly do to us?’

  It was getting dark now. The little barred window let in a beam of moonlight outlining the tracks Doctorji’s pacing had created on the floor. It was a strange and beautiful pattern in a figure of eight. I chuckled again. Typical, I thought. It was just like Doctorji to pace nervously but still maintain a well-ordered pattern. I went to the window and looked out. The moonlight had bathed everything in a silver light and shadows jumped at every turn.

  ‘It’s not worth thinking about what they could do to us, Bilal. These are strange times. Difficult times. People aren’t behaving how they normally would so we can’t depend on them to behave rationally.’

  Doctorji began pacing again as I tried to make sense of what he had said. I stood up and began to pace in the opposite direction.

  As the night wore on, I thought of all the terrible things the villagers could do to us. The many ways in which they could harm or kill us. My pacing intensified until I caught up with Doctorji and almost clipped his ankles. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he held me firmly. As we locked eyes, I noticed for the first time the deep lines around his eyes, like little incisions made with a scalpel.

  With a grating sound, we suddenly heard the bar being lifted. We froze. Doctorji motioned for me to sit down away from the door and stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips. Two young men walked in with scarves wrapped around their faces. They stopped, whispered something to one another then advanced.

  ‘Now look,’ said Doctorji, ‘I’ve been coming here for eight years and never have I been treated in this –’

  Without warning, the larger of the men slapped Doctorji hard in the face while the other one punched him in the stomach.

  ‘Shut your mouth, you dog! How stupid do you think we are?’

  Stunned, it took me a minute to realise what was going on. I watched in horror as the shorter man produced a stick and raised it high in the air. Yelling, I jumped at him and, taking him by surprise, we both went down in a heap. After the initial surprise, the man recovered and pinned my arms.

  ‘Look, boy, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to take this stick to your head. Understand?’

  Reluctantly, I stopped struggling. Moving off me slowly and pointing the stick at me, he nodded at the other man.

  ‘We just want to ask some questions. After that we’ll let you go.’

  Doctorji was now sitting up but still looked winded. Sucking in deep breaths of air, he held up his hand and agreed. ‘Ask your questions,’ he wheezed.

  ‘Who sent you?’ asked the larger man.

  ‘I told you, we were sent by the market town committee. Like always.’

  The two men looked at each other, puzzled, and shrugged.

  ‘Have the Muslims overrun your town? Is that what you’re trying to tell us?’ demanded the smaller man.

  ‘No, of course not, ’ said Doctorji. ‘What I’m saying is that –’

  The smaller man swung the stick in a vicious arc and connected with Doctorji’s nose. I threw myself at him again, grabbing hold of his stick, but he was ready for me this time and, holding my neck with his free hand, he threw me to the ground. The bigger man moved towards me and pinned me against the floor.

  ‘We know you’re a doctor – some of the villagers here even think you’re a good man – but you don’t fool me. Just tell us how many people there are waiting to attack us so that we can make the necessary arrangements. You’d be saving a lot of bloodshed. Think of that.’

  His nose streaming with blood, Doctorji sat upright and tilted his head back.

  ‘Does it matter what I say, boy? You’ve already made up your mind about why we’re here. I’ve been coming here for eight years to provide medicine and aid for the people of the village. But I’ve never seen you here before, either of you. What are you? Political agitators?’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about who we are.’

  ‘No, you’re right, I don’t. Because in six months or a year or however long it takes, I’ll come back here. The villagers will look at me with guilt but you won’t be here, will you? You’ll be gone, feeding off the next frenzy in the next town.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying, old man. The villagers asked us to come. We’re here to help them find out the truth.’

  Bringing his head down and staring at both men, Doctorji smiled, the blood streaming down his nose colouring his mouth and teeth, making him look frightening in the moonlight.

  ‘Son, my donkey knows more about the truth than you do.’

  The men looked at one another and then advanced on Doctorji. The big man also produced a stick and both began to pound him as he curled up into a little ball. Shouting for help, I jumped on the big man’s back but he lifted me off and hit me hard in the face, the force of it flinging me on to the floor. I tried to stand up but the smaller man kicked me in the stomach. Helpless, I watched as Doctorji took the beating without a sound. It was only after they’d stopped that I realised I’d been screaming enough for bot
h of us.

  Stepping over me, they pulled open the heavy door and turned round.

  ‘Look, we tried to help you by giving you a chance but there are others who’ll be here in the morning who aren’t so forgiving.’

  Holding my stomach, I watched as they left, slamming the door shut and replacing the bar across it. Doctorji had dragged himself upright. I crawled over to him on all fours and leant heavily against a sack of rice.

  ‘Are you all right, Doctorji?’

  ‘No broken bones. I think that was just the warm-up act, though – the real thugs will be here by morning,’ said Doctorji, slowly moving the tip of his nose and wincing.

  ‘Can’t you just lie to me?’ I asked.

  ‘Lie? About what?’ he replied incredulously.

  ‘About what could happen. Tell me everything will be OK.’

  ‘What’s the point of that?’

  ‘It would make me feel better,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Only for a while, until you realise the truth,’ Doctorji said grimly.

  ‘But by then it wouldn’t matter.’

  ‘It would matter to me,’ said Doctorji, grimacing in pain as he tried to sit comfortably. ‘There are a few more hours until dawn. It’s no use worrying now. Let’s sit and see what comes.’

  Staring at the smudged figure of eight on the dusty floor, my legs felt like they were still moving. A thousand thoughts tried to break free from my head. I have to get home. I need to be near Bapuji. Desperation crept into my mind and the sight of Doctorji sitting opposite me with his shoulders slumped, holding his head in his hands, was almost too much to bear.

  ‘Doctorji?’

  ‘Yes, Bilal,’ replied Doctorji without looking up.

  ‘I need to tell you something . . . about what I’ve been doing recently . . .’

  After I’d told Doctorji about the lie, I didn’t feel better or worse. His face stayed passive but I knew he was weighing up what I’d said.

  Doctorji didn’t have time to tell me what he thought because there was a scratching sound at the door. I closed my eyes and listened carefully in case my ears were playing tricks on me. There it was again! But Doctorji hadn’t stirred from his thoughtful pose. I quickly moved towards the door and put my ear to it. Doctorji noticed and stood up.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I heard a scratching at the door. I think there’s somebody on the other side.’

  We both put our ears against the door and listened. The scratching sound continued.

  ‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ I whispered.

  ‘Hello,’ a little voice whispered from the other side.

  ‘Hello! Can you tell us what’s happening? What are they going to do to us?’

  More silence. I could hear Doctorji’s heartbeat drumming steadily next to me.

  ‘They think you’re spies. They think that if you’re allowed to leave you’ll go and tell whoever it is to attack us and steal all our women. They think . . .?’

  This time the silence was deafening. Now I could hear my own heartbeat thumping inside my chest.

  ‘They think what?’ I whispered.

  ‘They think it best if you’re not allowed to leave.’

  ‘Do you think you can help us?’ Doctorji asked quietly.

  ‘How can I help you?’ the voice whispered.

  ‘Can you open this door and let us out?’

  There was a shuffling sound outside which stopped suddenly.

  Please, don’t leave us here.

  ‘I’m not tall enough to reach the bar. It’s just out of my reach.’

  ‘There must be something you can stand on – a barrel or something?’

  ‘It’s all too heavy for me to move,’ said the voice.

  ‘And it would make too much noise anyway,’ I added.

  ‘There must be something you can use,’ said Doctorji. Sensing desperation in his voice, I leant close to the door.

  ‘It’s OK, take your time. We’re not going anywhere,’ I tried to joke.

  Nobody laughed. The light in the hut was changing and dawn was not far away. If we didn’t escape now we might never leave. As we pressed our ears to the door, we heard some more shuffling and then little footsteps running away. I looked at Doctorji in horror at the realisation that we were alone again. He stepped away and, setting his jaw, walked slowly back to his sack of rice. I turned my back on the door and slid down to the floor, head resting in my hands. We were far from home and surrounded by strangers. This was not how I’d thought it would be. I had only ever known the market town. It was where I thought I would live and die. I had been so sure of it that the possibility of anything else was like a slap across my face.

  Abruptly, I heard returning footsteps and more shuffling outside the door. Grunting sounds followed and, with a grinding noise that sounded as if it would wake the whole village, the bar was lifted from its resting place. The door was slowly nudged open and there before us was the little girl, standing on the thick, heavy book I’d given her. Smiling, she stepped off the book and very carefully picked it up, blowing the dust off its surface. Doctorji was at my side looking curiously at the girl with my book, then he quickly went to our donkey cart.

  ‘Why did you come for us?’ I asked.

  ‘I wanted to give your book back to you like I said I would.’

  Doctorji returned hurriedly. ‘We have to go now, before the village wakes.’ He smiled at the girl and went back to the cart.

  Kneeling down, I grinned at her. ‘We have to leave now. Thank you so much for your help.’

  ‘That’s OK. I didn’t want them to hurt you,’ she replied.

  ‘Thanks to you they won’t. But you mustn’t tell anybody about this and you must go back home and pretend this never happened.’

  ‘OK.’ And she held the book out in front of me.

  ‘No, this book is now yours. I give it to you for your help. Just tell them that I forgot it or something. I hope it brings you great pleasure.’

  The little girl’s eyes widened in surprise and she held the book close to her chest. I kissed her forehead and ran to the cart. Waving goodbye, we quickly made our way out of the village.

  Chapter 24

  We approached the town weary and stiff from the ride and a weight settled on me as soon as we entered it. My limbs felt like lead and my head drooped to my chest. But I lifted my head. I was home and Bapuji needed me. It was no time to feel weak. Doctorji sat upright as ever and led the cart straight to his house. Stepping off the cart, he grimaced slightly at the stiffness or pain he must have felt.

  ‘Bilal, we mustn’t tell anyone about this. Certain members of the committee might use this to tip things over the edge. Leave it with me. If we don’t say anything, technically we’re not lying.’

  Looking at Doctorji’s haggard face, I nodded. So it’s not technically a lie until you open your mouth. Right. It seems the rules of lying are more subtle than I thought.

  ‘I’ll keep it to myself.’ I can do that.

  ‘Check on your bapuji and see if he’s OK. I visited him before we left and the medicine seemed to be giving him some relief. Make sure he drinks a lot of water and give him some fresh fruit. I’ll come to check on him soon.’

  ‘Yes, Doctorji. I’ll see you later.’

  Jumping off the cart, I made to move past Doctorji but he stopped me and squeezed my shoulder.

  ‘About the other thing . . . about your bapuji . . .’ he started.

  The weight of my confession hit me squarely between my shoulders, almost bearing me down to the ground.

  ‘We need to talk about that too,’ Doctorji said quietly and turned away.

  Chapter 25

  I trudged my way into town then went to our vantage point and hailed Chota. His head appeared at the top of the old house and he waved me up.

  ‘What’s the news, Chota? Where’s Saleem?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure where he is – some problem at home, I think.’

  ‘What kind
of problem?’

  ‘He didn’t say but he promised he’d be back shortly. Oh, and he said to tell you that your bapuji woke up yesterday and wondered where you were. He also asked Saleem if there were any newspapers about as he wanted to catch up with what was going on. Saleem made some excuse and left but your bapuji asked him to get a paper by tomorrow.’

  ‘He can’t read a newspaper! He’ll know in an instant what’s going on! All the papers have news about the partition plan and it will break his heart.’ I knew that he’d want to see a newspaper eventually.

  ‘But he wanted to read one and you know what he’s like when he gets an idea in his head,’ Chota replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘He’s a bit like you. Once the idea’s there, there’s no getting rid of it.’

  I rubbed my eyes and sighed deeply. Chota was shaking his head.

  ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ I asked.

  ‘What are you looking so miserable for?’ Chota replied. ‘Just think it through. There is always an answer if you think hard enough.’

  I rubbed my forehead. Chota always thinks everything is so simple! But I thought it best to humour him.

  ‘And what’s that then?’ I asked tiredly.

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to print your own newspaper, won’t you? Simple.’

  Chota went back to paring a piece of wood, entirely satisfied with himself. I closed my eyes in irritation. Suddenly, it hit me. Chota was right! I needed to print my own paper with my own version of events. I patted Chota on the back, thanked him and said goodbye.

  I arrived home in time for the midday meal. Bapuji was dozing when I returned and I set about cooking rice and making some daal to eat with it. As the rice was cooking, I sat down on the bed at Bapuji’s feet. He was breathing evenly and coughing less but he was still so thin; apart from his head propped up against a pillow, it would be difficult to tell if there was anybody under the thick blanket. Bapuji had always been slight but his skin now hung off him, stretched taut over his frame as if somebody had laced him up too tight from behind, like toughened, tan leather shoes. His cheeks had sunken inwards, as had his eyes, so that when he looked at you, only two shiny glints appeared, like two lone stars in a dark sky.