Munshi Ilmdin said, ‘Joravar Singh does appear to be a little downcast.’
Ganda Singh, Joravar’s father, sat up in agitation. ‘Neither does our kaka have any ailment, nor is he on leave. He has returned the army stripes and come back. He put them down before the English captain and said, “Here, take your uniform. I want no more of this.”’
Jahandadji was worried. ‘Explain in detail. Badshaho, this is a serious matter.’
Ganda Singh touched his safa, then said, ‘Joravar has returned un-uniformed. His platoon had some thirty, forty men. Old recruits. When the list of subedars came out, there was not one native on it. There was an uproar. Everyone got together to put up a complaint before the commanding officer – Sahib, tell us, how are the natives any less? Why should they not get promotions? That was it, the next day they were read an order during the parade itself, that the discontented group should return their guns. And that their stripes should be taken off their shoulders!’
‘That means they have dismissed the boys. What do you say, Jahandadji?’
Jahandadji asked Ganda Singh, ‘This is no small matter. Seems there is some grave reason behind it.’
‘Reason is this only, that if the army platoon is Hindostani, they too should get equal opportunity for promotion. The captain explained to the boys, “This is the punishment for your crime. If you conspire with the revolutionaries, this is how you will be treated.” Jahandadji, Joravar says there was a boy from Sahiwal, Roshan Ali, a truly worthy opponent. He gave an impressive reply. Said, “Captain Sahib, understand this quite clearly. If everyone is not treated on par in the army, each native heart will leave its cage and become an inquilabi.”’
Shahji remained deep in thought, then said in a low voice, ‘Send Joravar to his grandparents for a few days. Police and army visits are a little too frequent in our village. It will be good if he spends some time away.’
Guruditt Singh took up the letter of Shardool Singh. ‘Shahji, Shardool Singh writes that the French public is very happy to see our faujis. Especially their women. When the Hindostani battalion moves out on the roads, the ladies smile and shake hands with such goodwill that a man is almost compelled to take them into his arms.’
Meeranbaksh said, ‘These are the army’s bounties to its youth. This is like getting your heart’s desire! But it is these very boys who will brave the cannon shells and bullets too. If they get a chance to be happy, why shouldn’t they!’
‘Badshaho, has any letter arrived from our Gauhar?’
‘Yes. He is shy of me. But he wrote to his brother, saying that a posse of five or seven soldiers was returning to its cantonment. On the way, a rose of a girl first shook his hand. Then gave him a kiss. The Gora walking with him started laughing. Gauhar asked, “If she herself is falling into my arms, tell me what should I do?” The Gora said, “You are lucky, jawan. Go take this lovely lady for a walk.”’
‘Then what happened, Meeranbakshji?’
Guruditt Singh jumped in, ‘Oho, what could have happened! He must have taken a sip or two in passing. It’s not like he was going to put up a thatch and say, “Come bibi, make children and cook rotis!”’
Maiyya Singh hooted with laughter. He winked and said to Guruditt Singh, ‘Well, my son, inclined for a taste of the French? Come, let us go to France. So what if we are old, there must be something smouldering somewhere, even if the fire banks low!’
Fakira laughed. ‘You do cross the limits, Taya Maiyya Singh. A lion grows old by and by.’
It was as though Maiyya Singh’s youth had returned. He guffawed, ‘O you motherfucking mouthful, you dare mock me! Oye, your Taya’s getting ready for the final journey. Now he won’t get it no more, Rabba, oh no, he won’t.’
The gathering laughed and laughed, wiping their streaming eyes.
And then the people were struck dumb – still laughing, Taya Maiyya Singh’s turbaned head had fallen to the cot.
Kashi Shah lifted his head with his hands. Taya’s eyes were still. Kashishah checked his pulse – nothing.
Just like that, the old lion had leapt clear of the trenches of the battlefield.
‘Hai hai ri faffekuttan, you fraud, you who would cheat your own mother, queen of tantrums and wiles, you played sly games within these four walls! Amassed a wealth of coins. If we too had planted illegitimate seeds in our courtyard, the boughs would have flowered with pearls day and night and the bastard child would have grown! Arey, even with two husbands, the cursed waters of your lust knew no shores! Restraint, Dittiye, show some restraint. If you don’t remain within bounds, these shores will crumble!’
Saain Ditti’s bosom turned to flames. She called out from the rooftop, ‘Not me, but may your family crumble!’
‘Who is this miserable bitch, venting spleen so early in the morning!’
‘Shut up! You swallowed our lands, and now you dare point a finger at us!’
‘Fitte moonh! Shame on your tongue! Ari Dittiye, this home knows dearth already. By His grace, it is a one-man clan. I didn’t poison my man with my own hands like you.’
‘May you rot in hell! False accusations! My godly husband died of high fever. Were he alive, he would have wrung the neck of such foul-mouths.’
‘But you are alive, you should try! Ari, even if you wish to, you won’t be able to. Khudavanda Karim knows your sins. You made him drink poison with your own hands.’
‘Chup, ri, chup!’
‘Why should I be quiet? She who smears ash on toiling heads and tempers her food with ill-gotten ghee, she should shut up …’
‘One enjoys a good life by the grace of God. So why does your heart burn? We don’t save gram by gram, we eat and enjoy.’
In her haveli, Shahni’s ears pricked up. ‘I say Bindradayi, what is this flare-up so early in the morning?’
Chhoti Shahni started laughing. ‘Let the two relatives vent their wrath. Every year or six months, they have a fit. The one who had money took the lands. Naturally the other will burn like dried cottonwood sticks.’
Chachi Mehri had returned from the nearby prayer hut. She lowered her voice and said, ‘Ditti’s older son, Laudey Khan came home yesterday. He is a sailor. Jamila, the impatient one should have shown some intelligence. This boy is quiet and introverted. If such a one is lit up, he smoulders like a tandoor. Hope he doesn’t do something rash!’
Both women fought on till lunch. When they returned from the fields that afternoon, Saain Ditti took the lead. ‘The crude, uncouth one shits about others. One who is graceful and keeps ease of heart should mind her own as well as others’ prestige.’
Jamila started off, ‘You, rattling your bangles of prestige, are you the only one born with pride and honour? Who has ever seen sticks and rings of silver and bangles of a quarter kilo each! Ari, even prostitutes have no dearth of wealth. Go and see where women sell themselves, every Kanjari is laden with jewels!’ Instead of an answer, Jamila saw such pride on Ditti’s fair, beaming face that she threw a final shoe of insult at her, ‘Even Kanjaris are better than you. They, too, run after money, but they don’t serve poison in sherbets!’
Saain Ditti spat her temper and went to clay-wash the tandoor. Jamila grew bolder. ‘Ari, your arrogance will only last till your man stands like a wall. Khuda’s messengers don’t let sinners go. It will all unravel. Just wait and see. These plots and evil deeds will all fall apart!’
Saain Ditti put a pot on the clay stove. ‘By God’s grace, my son is obedient. What do I care if your idle mind burns in jealousy.’
‘All your dead from before and after will rise from their graves, remember this and tie it in your knot.’
‘Tie I will, but your tongue. Such venomous talk that the heart and body are burnt to a cinder.’ Saain Ditti took out a fistful of vermicelli and called out to her daughter, ‘Reshmi, go get two fistfuls of sugar from the shop. Let me make sevaiyyan for your brother.’
Jamila started laughing. ‘Be a mother and pretend for all you are worth; after all you will still go to h
ell. Murders and foul deeds can’t be hidden forever.’
Chaudhary Fateh Ali happened to pass by. He admonished her, ‘Bibi, rein in your tongue! Whether you lie with your feet one way or the other, your back will always be in the middle.’
Jamila covered her head with dupatti. ‘I salute the wise man’s eminence. Who in the village doesn’t know whether it was sherbet or poison. But our wise and respected were fooled, weren’t they?’
The henna red moustache on Fateh Ali’s fair countenance seemed to catch fire. ‘Dhiye, it is not good to dig up the past. Post-mortems were bad yesterday, and as bad today.’
Chaudharyji turned to go and Jamila grumbled to herself, ‘Thieves and robbers rule, and the criminal wench presides!’
Saain Ditti grew taller. ‘Throw a hundred insults at me, but have some shame and consideration for the Chaudharhatta, the wise men of the village at least. How dare you fling mud upon their honour, phitte moonh!’
‘Haan, ri, haan, you swallowed our lands, and the wise men didn’t even blink. They are your sympathizers, not ours!’
That evening, Saain Ditti roasted quails and placed them on a platter. When she put some basmati rice to boil, the delicious aroma went to Jamila’s head. She climbed up the wooden stepladder, peered into her relatives’ courtyard, and started off, ‘Yes, yes, feed him well! Your son is not the only one to have returned home with good earnings. Whoever goes out to earn returns in a year or six months.’
Saain Ditti glanced at her husband. Kamal lifted the cot off the wall and warned Jamila by way of shooing away a dog, ‘Durre … durre …’
Brash Jamila didn’t stop. ‘Make pulao everyday, but be wary of your son. He is not naive like his father that he will drink sherbet from your hands and fall asleep for good.’
The ladle fell from Ditti’s trembling hands. She looked up to the balcony. Then she went nearer and softly said, ‘Khudatarsi, one who God has kept bereft, have some mercy. Don’t go on humiliating a mother before her son like this. I, too, must have done you some good sometime.’ Saain Ditti set the platter on the tandoor with her head lowered and prayed in her heart: Rabba, distract her mind, let this shameless one think of something else. What if she creates a scene and humiliates me in my old age!
Kamal pulled his cot nearer the manger, rested his head on his arms and gazed unblinking at the sky. His ears waited for Laudey Khan’s footfalls. He imagined the scene before his eyes – the boy had started from the village yard. Reached the common. Jumped over the water tank. He had now turned this way … When Kamal blinked, Bashir’s face rose from the skies and merged into the broad features of Laudey Khan. Ya Allah, even the gait was the same! Why should this hour return after so many years?
Saain Ditti took the pot off the fire, put the rice in one plate, quail and rotis in another, and called to her son, ‘Come, puttarji, sit.’ Then she called out to Kamal, ‘I say, come and eat now, rest after your meal.’
Laudey Khan and Kamal had just broken roti for their first mouthful when Jamila came and sat on the balcony in front. ‘Puttar Laudey Khan, what does this house lack for when you are there? But Tikkaji, pray why did you grab our share, too? We are your kin after all, not your enemies.’
Saain Ditti grew bold in front of her son, ‘What lies you speak, Jamalo, utter lies. We are no kin of yours, we are enemies.’
Laudey Khan looked up, offered salaam to Jamila and laughingly said, ‘Aunt, the matter was decided in courts. What use is talking and inciting people now?’
Jamila softened. He was a strong and strapping lad after all. ‘Puttara, you are wise. You tell me, is there any Jatt father’s son who doesn’t love his lands? Malla, don’t ask my heart, even my mud walls burn in anguish. Puttar, you do justice. I, too, have cradled you in my lap after all. Rabb-Rasool is my witness, I have never loved you less than my Fajju.’
Laudey Khan looked at his mother, then at Chacha Kamal. Solemnly he said, ‘Khala, I never forgot him. Family quarrels on one side, and love and affection on the other. I have come home after so many years, why don’t you also come over and pamper your nephew a little? Come down and eat with us. If you refuse, I won’t eat today.’
Kamal looked up and called out easily, ‘Sikandara, come on out. Hasn’t the fragrance reached you yet!’
Jamila’s mouth, too, watered at the aroma of quail and rice. ‘Just hear what my nephew says! Whether you call me your sister-in-law or sister, I am both in relation. Ari Dittiye, am I nothing to you! Going to courts doesn’t change relationships.’
Saain Ditti thanked God a hundred times. Said with overflowing affection, ‘Come, you loudmouth, come down the roof. Bring your husband.’
Jamila started laughing. ‘Listen, you won the court case, and we, the wretched and the poor were wounded at your hands. Hardly looks nice if we sit and eat with you!’
Laudey Khan called out impressively, ‘Ma, pick up the plate and throw it into the buffalo’s manger. If Khala and Chacha don’t come, I’ll be cursed if I take another bite.’
Jamila’s fair face, framed in black dupatti and silver earrings, glowed. She broke into happy laughter and called out to Sikandara, ‘Husband, we couldn’t handle the relatives we had, now there is one big new relative born! We don’t have permission to refuse this feast, so come fast.’
Platter in the centre, they all sat down to eat. When Jamila watched Laudey Khan breaking his roti for a mouthful, Bashir himself came to life: that same broad hand, that same impatience to fold the roti in two and tear it into four.
Ditti too saw her son’s hand, and felt her heart churn. She stood up and filled a glass of water from the pot to drink.
Laudey Khan laughed. ‘Ma, water at your very first bite?’
Ditti didn’t meet her son’s eyes. Somewhere deep in her heart, a sob rose and stuck in her throat.
When Kamal couldn’t think of anything to say, he said to Jamila, ‘Tell Laudey the one about the Jatt son-in-law who sat down to eat ghee-rice with his mother-in-law.’
Jamila shook her head, ‘Why would I waste time talking when I am sitting down to a feast! No Malla, this is not on.’
To hide her anxiety Saain Ditti said, ‘She is my first cousin; Jamila doesn’t lose to anyone.’
Jamila chirped happily, ‘Laudey Khan puttara, whether I call you my sister’s son, or my brother’s son, both relations are true. Now let us move on. I am a plaintiff before you. You defeated us in court, and now you blame us!’
‘Khala, throw out this ill-will from your heart. Command me, and if I don’t keep my word, I am not my father’s son.’
Hearing this, Kamal and Saain Ditti were thrown to one side, as if the plate itself was shattered in two.
‘Command me, Khala!’
Jamila looked triumphantly at Ditti, as though she had won over her son, and lovingly said, ‘Live and rise every morning, puttar Laudey Khan, your safety and well-being always. Get the papers taken out from the Shahs tomorrow. See if it is possible and worthwhile, get the land with the tali trees freed. Your younger brothers will follow your every word hereafter.’
‘It is promised, khala.’
Kamal and Ditti wanted to warn Laudey Khan, but he kept talking fondly with his aunt. Sikandara put a piece of meat into his mouth, glanced at Kamal, and then looked down, embarrassed. Jamila the horse thief would betray those very people in whose house she ate. She would turn their own son against them.
As if reading his look, Jamila laughed sweetly and said, ‘Malla, and why not, whose son is he, after all? Generous to excess!’
All at once, Laudey Khan felt his father beat within his heart. The roti in his hand remained uneaten. ‘After all, what had happened to father? If I try and recall, it’s just a fleeting glimpse. Here, in this very courtyard, Abbu is lying covered with a sheet. Ma is wailing loudly, and the whole village has gathered around.’
A thorn stuck in Ditti’s throat. When she drew a breath, her eyes filled with tears.
Jamila gladly took centre stage. ‘Laudey put
tar, that is all that remained, the wailing and grieving. One lion of a man he was, your father. Returned from the fields one evening. Your mother made sherbet and brought it to him. He drank it in one breath, and shut his eyes forever. Hai Allah, what a death! It was God’s wrath!’
Laudey Khan turned to Kamal. ‘These stories go way back, Chacha. I left here in class two or four. Ma sent me away to the canals with Mamu, her brother. Even when I came back once or twice, I hardly stayed two-three days. Then I ventured further out, and reached Karachi. Never knew what home was. It is true, when sailors visit different ports, their own homeland and village come alive in their hearts. One of my friends on the ship is from Sahiwal. He says – Laudey Khan, you may roam the whole wide world, but you can never forget the clay-washed rooftops of your home.
‘Ma, don’t get up yet! Sit for a while, this is worth listening to. Once a devotee asked his beloved Nabi, “To whom should I do the greatest good?” Huzoor Nabi opined, “To your mother.” The devotee then asked, “To whom next?” Huzoor said, “To your mother.” Again he asked, “To whom next?” Huzoor again replied, “To your mother.” Three times, the beloved Nabi repeated the same reply. When asked the fourth time, he said, “To your father.”’
When Saain Ditti began to put away the pots and plates, Laudey Khan said, ‘Ma, I thought this time I would listen to you talk about Abbu.’
Ditti turned towards the chicken coop. She went, opened it and shut it. Then she called, ‘Wait, son, I’ll be back in a moment.’
Ditti’s voice shook Kamal. It was so unlike her – afraid, tremulous and shaken.
Sikandara stood up, yawned and said, ‘This feast of quails was such that a man could sleep from Friday to Friday.’
Laudey touched his knees in respect and stopped him. ‘Chacha, let us sit for a while longer today. How often do I return to the village?’
Both cots were laid out facing each other. The three men sat on one cot, and Saain Ditti and Jamila said on the other. Jamila asked, ‘The children have been fed, haven’t they?’
Zindaginama Page 43