A Thousand Yearnings

by Ralph Russell

  ‘Yes, you’ve proved it. It must be all of twelve years since you were sent to jail.’

  ‘Yes, a full twelve years. My friend, you don’t know what I had to put up with in Lucknow. Anyway, this’ll give the bastar something to remember. And this is only the start of it. I’ll kill him before I’ve finished.’

  ‘What? You’re going to kill him too?’ said Pir Bakhsh.

  ‘Of course I am. If I don’t I’m no Pathan.’

  ‘You’re a man of your word. If you say you’ll kill him, you will.’

  ‘Yes. You’ll see.’

  ‘And what are you going to do with her?’

  ‘What do you think I’m going to do with her? Kill her somewhere near here, bury her, and be back home while it’s still night.’

  Now I was sure they’d kill me. My tears stopped. My heart gave a jump. I went all limp. Dilawar Khan saw the state I was in, but even then he showed no pity. He punched me hard in the back, and I cried out.

  ‘All right,’ said Pir Bakhsh, ‘so you’ll kill her. And what about my money? Where are you going to get it from? I had a different idea.’

  ‘Let’s get back home. If I can’t raise it any other way I’ll sell my pigeons and pay you.’

  ‘You’re a fool. Why sell your pigeons? Shall I tell you what I think?’

  ‘All right, tell me.’

  ‘All right, I’ll tell you. We’ll go to Lucknow and raise money on the girl.’

  Once I’d felt sure I was going to be killed, I’d not listened much to what these two brutes were saying, I’d felt as though I was listening to people talking in a dream. But now what Pir Bakhsh had just said made me hope that I wasn’t going to die after all. In my heart of hearts I blessed him. But now I waited to see what Dilawar Khan would say.

  ‘All right, we’ll see,’ he said.‘For the present keep going.’

  ‘Why don’t we stop here for a while? There’s a fire burning over there under the tree. Let’s get some coals and light the hookah.’

  Pir Bakhsh went off to the fire, and I felt afraid again in case Dilavar finished me off before he got back. I was so frightened I screamed.

  Dilavar Khan at once slapped my face hard two or three times. ‘Keep quiet you little bastard, can’t you? I’ll soon knife you if you don’t. Kicking up that row!’

  Pir Bakhsh wasn’t yet far off. He shouted out,‘No, my friend! Don’t do anything of the sort! Just let me bring the coals.’

  ‘All right then.’

  Pir Bakhsh was soon back. He lit the hookah and gave it to Dilavar Khan. Dilavar Khan took a puff at it and said,‘How much will we get for her? And who’ll arrange to sell her? If we’re caught at it we’ll be in worse trouble than we are now.’

  ‘I’ll take care of that. Good God! What’s the problem? Who’s going to catch us? In Lucknow things like this go on all the time. You know my brother-in-law?’

  ‘Kariman.’

  ‘Yes. He earns his living by it. He’s kidnapped dozens of boys and girls and got good money for them in Lucknow.’

  ‘Where is he these days?’

  ‘Where is he? He’s in Lucknow. His in-laws live across the Gomati. He’ll be there.’

  ‘Well, what does a child fetch?’

  ‘It depends on what they look like.’

  ‘Well, what will this one fetch?’

  ‘A hundred to a hundred and fifty. Depends on your luck.’

  ‘What are you talking about, my friend? A hundred to a hundred and fifty? She’s nothing to look at. We’ll be lucky to get a hundred.’

  ‘Well, what of it? Let’s go. Killing her’s no use.’ Dilavar Khan then leaned over and whispered something which I couldn’t hear. Pir Bakhsh said,‘Of course! I knew that. Would you be such a fool?’

  The cart went steadily on throughout the night. I was in agonies of uncertainty. The prospect of death was before me. All my strength was gone. My whole body was numb. You know what they say,that even on the gallows you can’t fight off sleep. I soon dozed off. Pir Bakhsh had the decency to put the oxen’s blanket over me. Several times in the night I woke with a start. I would open my eyes, but I was too frightened to speak. In the end I pushed the blanket off my face, and saw that I was alone in the cart. I peeped through the curtain and saw that there were some mud houses in front of me. And a corn chandler’s shop at which Dilavar Khan and Pir Bakhsh were buying something. The oxen were eating bran under a banyan tree. Two or three rustics were sitting round a bonfire warming themselves. One was smoking from a clay hookah bowl. Pir Bakhsh came and brought me some parched gram to eat. I’d had nothing to eat all night. A little later he brought me a lota of water. I drank a little and then lay down again quietly.

  We stayed there a long time. Then Pir Bakhsh yoked the oxen, Dilavar Khan, smoking his hookah, came and sat by me and we set off. Today I wasn’t treated so badly. Dilavar Khan didn’t pull out his knife, or punch me, or scold me. He and Pir Bakhsh stopped quite often to see to the hookah. They would talk until they got tired of talking, and then sing—that is, one would sing and the other would listen. Probably he wasn’t listening but thinking of something to say next. Then they would start talking again. Quite often they would start swearing at each other. They’d roll up their sleeves ready to fight. And then they’d calm down,forget about what had happened, and be friends again. One would say to the other,‘What on earth were we fighting about?’And the other would say,‘Yes, it was nothing.’And they would tell each other to forget it.

  Well, that was how I spent my first night of captivity. I shall never forget as long as I live how completely helpless I felt. It still amazes me that I survived it. Well, Dilavar Khan in this world was eventually brought to book. But do you think that satisfied me? I’d have cut the brute up into little pieces and fed him to the kites and crows without turning a hair. I know that now he’s dead he’ll be suffering the tortures of the grave, and on Judgement Day, God willing, he’ll get worse than that.

  What must my father and mother have felt? I can’t imagine their distress...

  Mirza Sahib, that’s enough for today. I’ll go on with my story tomorrow. My heart’s too full for words, and I feel as though I could scream and never stop crying.

  I’m telling you my shameful story. But what will you do with it? Why not leave it at this? I wish now that Dilavar Khan had killed me. The grave would have preserved my honour, my parents would not have been put to shame, and I would not have been disgraced in this world and the next.

  I saw my mother once again—ages ago now. I don’t know now whether she’s still alive. I’ve heard that my young brother has a son. God bless him, the boy’ll be fourteen or fifteen now. And he has two girls. I can’t help wishing I could see them all. Faizabad isn’t all that far away. One rupee will get you there. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t go.

  In those days there was no railway, and from Faizabad to Lucknow was a four days’ journey. But Dilavar Khan was afraid my father might come after him, and God knows what out of the way roads he travelled by. It took us something like eight days to get there. I, poor little wretch, had no idea where Lucknow was, but I could gather from what Pir Bakhsh and Dilavar Khan said that that was where they were taking me. People had talked about it at home, because my grandfather worked there as one of the armed guards at one of the big houses,and people used to talk about it. He visited us once in Faizabad, and brought me a lot of sweets and toys...

  In Lucknow, on the far side of the Gomati, Karim’s in-laws lived. They set me down there. It was a small mud house. Karim’s mother-in-law, who looked as if she was at death’s door, took me in and shut me in a little room. We’d reached Lucknow early in the morning. I stayed shut up there until midday, when the door opened and a youngish woman (Karim’s wife) came in, put down three chapatis, a spoonful of lentils in an earthenware cup, and a small pot of water, and went out again. Even that was a godsend to me at that time. I’d not eaten home-cooked food for eight days. During the journey here nothing bu
t gram and sattu.* I drank about half of the water and then lay down and went to sleep. God knows how long I slept, because in the dark room you couldn’t tell whether it was night or day. I woke up a few times, but there was darkness everywhere and no sign of anyone anywhere near. So I would cover my face and go to sleep again. When I woke up for the third or fourth time I stayed awake, and lay there until Karim’s mother-in-law, looking like a witch, came mumbling and grumbling into the room. I sat up.

  ‘How the little brat sleeps!’ she said. ‘During the night she screamed until she was hoarse. I had to keep shaking her to wake her up. She was hardly breathing. I thought she’d been frightened by a snake. Well, well! She’s sitting up again.’

  I said nothing, and when she’d finished grumbling she said, ‘Where’s the cup?’ I picked it up and handed it to her, and she went out and shut the door behind her. After a little while Karim’s wife came in. There was a window in the room and she now opened the shutters. She led me out of the room into some broken-down ruin, and here I could see the sky. After a little while she took me back into the same black hole and shut me in. Today I got different kind of lentils and some millet porridge.

  Two days passed like this. On the third day they brought in another girl, a year or two older than me, and shut her in the room with me. God knows where Karim had enticed her away from. The poor girl was sobbing all the time. Her coming was a comfort to me. When she’d stopped crying we talked quietly together. She was a corn chandler’s daughter. Her name was Ram Dai. She came from a village near Sitapur. It was too dark to see what she looked like, but on the following day they opened the window as usual and we could see each other. She had a very fair complexion and very beautiful features, and was rather on the slim side.

  On the fourth day she was taken away. I was left where I was, and again had to pass the time alone for two full days. On the night of the third day Dilavar Khan and Pir Bakhsh came to fetch me. It was a moonlit night. We walked across an open space and then through a street of shops. We came to a bridge under which the water was flowing fast. There was a cold wind blowing and I was shivering. After a while we came to some more shops, and after that turned into a long narrow lane. My legs were tired. Then we came out into another street of shops. It was crowded, and it was only with difficulty that we could make our way. And now we came to the door of a house.

  3

  Mirza Rusva Sahib, you’ll have guessed where that was. It was the street where my honour was to be sold, the Chauk, and this was the house where I was to get all that was coming to me in this world—disgrace, honour, notoriety, fame, humiliations, triumphs. In other words it was Khanam’s house. The door was open. In front of us was a stairway. We went up it to the upper storey. I passed through the courtyard and went to Khanam who was sitting in a spacious room next to the main room.

  You must have seen Khanam. At that time she must have been about fifty years old. What a dignified old lady she was! Her complexion was rather dark, but I’ve neither seen nor heard of any other woman of such imposing presence, and so well-dressed. Her hair had gone completely white at the temples but it framed her face very attractively. She was wearing a muslin dupatta of the finest, most delicate cloth, and a purple paijama with wide legs. Heavy gold bangles fitting tightly on her wrists, and two plain gold earrings on her ears enhanced her charm all the more. Bismillah’s* complexion and features were exactly like hers, but she was not nearly as attractive. I can remember to this day what she looked like then. She was sitting on the carpet, with her back against a small bed.

  A light was burning in a globe shade. A large, engraved box for paan was open before her, and she was smoking a long-tubed hookah. A rather dark-complexioned girl (Bismillah) was dancing before her, but when we arrived the dancing stopped, and everyone else left the room. Of course, everything had been settled beforehand. She asked Dilavar Khan,‘Is this the girl?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  She called me to come to her, made kissing noises and sat me down. Then she raised my face and looked at me.

  ‘Very well. The sum we agreed on is ready for you. And what about the other girl?’

  ‘We’ve already disposed of her,’ Pir Bakhsh said.

  ‘How much did you get for her?’

  ‘Two hundred.’

  ‘Oh, well. Who did you sell her to?’

  ‘A lady bought her for her son.’

  ‘She was a good-looking girl. I’d have been willing to pay that for her, but it seems you were in a hurry.’

  ‘What could I do? I did all I could to persuade my brother-inlaw but he wouldn’t agree.’

  ‘This one’s good looking too,’ said Dilavar Khan.‘But it’s up to you.’

  ‘Well, she’s a girl.’

  ‘And, such as she is, she’s here.’

  ‘Very well then. As you please.’

  And she called Bua Husaini. A plumpish, dark, middle-aged woman came in. Khanam told her to ‘bring the box’ and she went out and brought it. Khanam opened it and counted out a lot of rupee coins in Dilavar Khan’s presence. I learnt later that it was a hundred and twenty-five rupees. Pir Bakhsh counted out some of them (I was told later it was fifty rupees) and tied them up in a cloth and Dilavar Khan pocketed the rest. After which both bade a respectful farewell and departed. And now Khanam, Husaini, and I were alone in the room.

  ‘Husaini,’ Khanam said. ‘You don’t think I paid too much for the girl?’

  ‘Too much? I’d say you got her cheap.’

  ‘Well, not all that cheap either. Anyway she looks a simple sort of girl. God knows whose daughter she is. What a state her parents must be in! God knows where these wretches get hold of these girls. The fear of God means nothing to them. Bua Husaini, we’re not to blame in this at all. It’s those wretches that’ll have to answer to God for it, not us. And after all, if we’d not bought her somebody else would have done.’

  ‘Khanam Sahiba, she’s better off here. You must have heard the things ladies do to their slave girls.’

  ‘Yes, of course I have. It’s only a day or two ago that I heard how Sultan Jahan Begum saw her slave girl talking to her husband. She branded her with hot irons and then killed her.’

  ‘Ladies like that can do as they like in this world. They’ll stand condemned on Judgement Day.’

  ‘Stand condemned! They’ll burn in hell fire.’

  After that Husaini said very earnestly,‘Lady, let me look after this girl. She’s yours, but I’ll look after her.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Khanam.‘You look after her.’

  All this time Bua Husaini had remained standing. Now she came and sat down beside me and began to talk to me.

  ‘Where do you come from, child?’

  ‘Bangla,’ I said.

  Husaini turned to Khanam,‘Where’s Bangla?’ she said.

  ‘Are you a child?’ said Khanam.‘Don’t you know that they call Faizabad Bangla too?’

  Husaini turned to me again.‘What’s your daddy’s name?’

  ‘Jemadar.’

  ‘You expect too much of her,’ said Khanam. ‘How on earth would she know his name? She’s only a child.’

  ‘All right, what’s your name?’ Husaini asked me.

  ‘Amiran.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t like that name,’ said Khanam.‘We’ll call you Umrao.’

  ‘Do you hear, child?’ said Husaini.‘You answer to the name of Umrao. When the lady calls “Umrao!” you answer.’

  And from that day I was Umrao. Later, when I became a courtesan, people began to call me Umrao Jan. Khanam continued to call me Umrao to her dying day. Bua Husaini called me Umrao Sahiba.*

  After that Bua Husaini took me to her room, gave me nice food, and then sweets to eat, washed my hands and face and put me to bed beside her. That night I dreamt of my mother and father. Daddy had just come home from work, bringing a leaf-cup of sweets. My brother was there playing, and daddy gave him some of the sweets. He asked where I was, thinking I must be in the other room
. Mummy was in the kitchen. I saw he was there and came running to give him a hug. Then I told him everything that had happened to me, weeping all the time.

  In my dream I cried so much that I couldn’t stop sobbing. Bua Husaini woke me up, and when I opened my eyes I saw that I was not in my home. No room. No daddy. No mummy. I was in Bua Husaini’s arms crying. She was wiping my eyes. The lamp was burning, and I could see that she was crying too.

  Bua Husaini really was a good, kind woman. She gave me such affection that within a few days I had forgotten my father and mother. And after all, that was only natural. In the first place, I couldn’t help being where I was. And then everything was new—new ways, new colours, the very best food to eat, such as I’d never tasted before. Clothes finer than I had ever dreamt of, let alone seen. Three girls—Bismillah Jan, Khurshid Jan and Amir Jan—to play with. Dancing to watch and singing to listen to day and night. Parties, shows, festivals, visits to the parks—everything I could want to give me pleasure.

  Mirza Sahib, you’ll think that I must have been very hardhearted to forget my mother and father so quickly. But though I was still very young, as soon as I arrived at Khanam’s house I somehow realized that this was where I was to spend the rest of my life. I felt exactly as a new bride does when she goes to her in-laws and knows that come what may she is there for life.