“There is Sheru,” she said, “you could throw yourself at brother Nizam’s feet and beg forgiveness for our refusal.”
Tulla turned sick at these words and felt an ache in his heart. He knew Sheru well, knew his surly temper. He knew his sister-in-law Rukhsana too, greedy and grasping and vicious. What chance would his Sohni have of any happiness in that household?
“You do not know what you say. She will be miserable and unhappy for all her days,” he said.
“What chance will she have of happiness here, condemned to eternal spinsterhood, condemned to the jibes and taunts of all her neighbours? Her life will be a greater misery here with us.”
Tulla pondered over his wife’s words. She was right. Far better that she go to Nizam’s house as Sheru’s bride. He sighed.
“I will go to Nizam tomorrow,” he said and turning away from his wife, pretended to sleep.
Early the next morning, before it was light, Tulla took a bundle of food and what poor gifts could be rustled up at such short notice for his cousin’s family, and set out on his unhappy task. In spite of his age and his shuffling gait, the need to be done with it, lent wings to his feet and he made good time. He stopped at mid-morning for his meal. It was a beautiful spot under a sprawling tree, on a little plateau, overlooking a broad sweep in the river. The heady fragrance from thousands of wild flowers perfumed the air. There was the constant murmur of bees as they went about their honey gathering and the cheerful chirping of myriads of birds. But Tulla’s heart was not in the world around him and he did not notice its beauty.
What had he done to deserve this? He had worked diligently and taken pride in his work and, even though times had been hard, he had been content with his lot. He had been a dutiful husband, a loving father and an active member of his community. He had always been polite and courteous and never done any man harm by thought, word or deed. He had done nothing to deserve this fate. Then the memory of Mirza, the poor besotted Mirza, stole upon his mind and he remembered how he had sold him poor quality pots at outrageous prices.
He had exploited Mirza’s madness without a qualm. The food turned bitter in his mouth and he could not swallow it. He spat it out and tied up, in a bundle, what remained of it.
He shouldered his bundles and set out again upon his way. He came, in the early afternoon, to Amloh, Nizam’s village. The street dogs barked at his approach and the people came to their doors to see him pass. They all knew him and in the past, whenever he had come, they had invited him into their homes to spend a few minutes with them. Now they stood at their doorways, watching with wariness in their eyes, and the few who greeted him, did so in a close, guarded manner. He knew that a difficult time lay ahead for him.
Majid, Nizam’s younger brother, stood at the door and when Tulla was within earshot, he said, “You have taken your time in coming.”
Tulla’s heart quaked at these words. They could only mean that the family knew of Sohni’s disgrace, that they had discussed the situation and considered the possibility of Tulla coming to them. Attitudes would have hardened with this discussion.
Nizam sat on a cot in the verandah, fanning himself with a reed fan. He made no effort to get up to greet his cousin. “What brings my cousin here, after all these years?” he asked and Tulla knew he had no choice but to come straight to the point.
“I come to ask for Sheru’s hand in marriage for my Sohni.”
“Never,” Rukhsana cried in scorn. “What makes you think that I would take that harlot for my daughter-in-law?” There was such contempt, such hatred in the words that Tulla’s heart churned, again, for his daughter.
“Shut your mouth, woman,” Nizam said sharply, “and leave men’s talk to men.”
Tulla saw a glimmering of hope in his cousin’s words.
“You are my nearest relative, and more than that, my closest friend. Who will come to my aid in my time of trouble if you will not? We are one family, brother Nizam, and I beg you to protect my honour. I beg you, I beseech you, do not turn me away.”
“And where was this honour when you turned me away? I was not good enough for you then. I am good enough now that you want to be rid of the leavings of another man.”
“Quiet Sheru, you will get a chance to have your say,” Nizam said. “And close the door. Tulla is right. This is a family matter – we do not want the neighbours to listen in on us.”
Sheru turned and closed the door. When he returned, Tulla shot him an ingratiating smile.
“We were wrong to have turned down a fine upright lad like Sheru,” Tulla said and the bile rose within him at this blatant falsehood; he had to swallow hard to keep from being sick. “We know our folly now. If we had not been so foolish then, we would not have had to see this terrible day.” He turned to Nizam again.
“Help me, brother Nizam, save me from disgrace.” He took the turban from his head and put it at Nizam’s feet. “My honour, the honour of my family, is in your hands,”
Nizam reached down and picked up the turban and placed it back on Tulla’s head. “Come, come brother, there is no need for that, not with me. Sheru what do you have to say?”
They all turned to look at Sheru and Tulla saw in his eyes what his wife had seen so long ago – the wild, naked lust for Sohni’s body. Sickened by what he saw, he looked away.
“Well, if it will save the family honour, and if you endorse it, I will take the girl as my wife. But it must be made clear to her that I will not stand for any nonsense.”
“Once you are married, she will be yours, only yours, and if you are displeased, you can do with her what you will.” Even as he spoke, he hated himself for what he said. He knew that he had, in one stroke, reduced Sohni to this terrible man’s chattel.
“The matter is settled then. We accept your proposal.”
Rukhsana snorted but Nizam shot her such an angry look, that she did not dare to speak.
“When will the marriage be?” Nizam asked.
“A week from now. I will go back and settle the matter with the maulvi.”
A glass of milk was offered to the visitor and some snacks, and his poor presents were accepted with a show of graciousness.
Two hours later, Tulla hurried homeward, relieved that Sohni was, at last, to be married and that the gossip would be stilled, but heavy at heart with knowing what lay ahead for her in her new home.
The news of her impending marriage was kept from Sohni for as long as it was possible to do so. Even the gold border to her bridal veil was stitched on in the neighbour’s house. But three days later, when Sohni came home, she saw her mother putting some clothes away in the wooden box under her bed.
“What is that, mother?” she asked.
“Your bridal suit.”
“My bridal suit! I am to be married and I know nothing about it? Who is the bridegroom to be?”
“Your cousin Sheru.”
“The same Sheru who was not good enough for me? I will never marry that horrible man.”
“Do not bring further disgrace to us by refusing this match. God knows you have brought enough disgrace upon us already.”
“Disgrace? I have done nothing to disgrace you, mother. I have loved a man above all men and done no more than what all lovers do. There is no disgrace in that.”
“There is, when your love does not end in holy matrimony.”
“How do you know it will not end thus? We have not talked of marriage because we have felt no need for it. Our love has been sacred enough not to feel the need for any further sanctity. But now that you speak of it, I assure you that giving my love the name of marriage, is an easy matter.”
The old woman’s heart went out to her child. How simple she was and how naïve!
“Oh Sohni, Sohni,” she said and going up to her daughter, attempted to put her arm around her. But the girl pushed her roughly away.
“Don’t you see, my child, that he is using you? If he had meant well by you, he would have come a long time ago and asked for your hand in marria
ge. Your father and I would have been happy to give our consent. But no, he has not come because he has no intention of coming. You are his plaything, he is using you, and when he tires of you, he will discard you and take another.” She saw the hurt spring up in her daughter’s eyes and all at once, she was tired of it all and her knees threatened to give way under her. She went back to the cot and sat down upon it.
Sohni came to her mother then, and kneeling down upon the floor at her feet, looked up into her face.
“Don’t say that, mother. Do what you will, marry me to who you will and I will go without protest to the home you assign me, but don’t ever say that. For by saying so, you insult my love, you humiliate me and destroy the very core of my existence.”
There was such pain in her eyes, that the mother put her hand on her head. Sohni buried her face in her mother’s lap and the old woman caressed her hair. Poor child, poor, poor child, she was too young to have to live with so much pain.
After a moment, Sohni lifted up her head and looked again into her mother’s eyes. “If it were true what you say, if he thought of me as a mere plaything, would he have become the way he did?”
The mother’s mind went back to the derelict that Mirza had once become and she remembered how one and all had talked, with reverence, of the great love that had brought him to this sorry pass. Sohni was right – if Mirza had merely been using her, he would not have let himself become what he had. He would have merely shrugged his shoulders, when he failed to have his way with her, and moved on to another pretty girl. She made up her mind at once.
“If he comes within forty-eight hours and speaks for you, I will not go through with this marriage. Though God alone knows, what Nizam will do to your father and to me.”
Sohni sprang to her feet, drew her mother into a tight embrace, then gave her a quick kiss on her cheek and ran from the room.
It was a hot afternoon. Having spent all morning waiting for his beloved, Mirza had, at last, curled up under the shade of a tree and gone to sleep. But half of him still waited for her and listened for the sounds of her approach and when, half asleep, he heard the sound of a dry twig snapping underfoot, he knew that she had at last come, and he was instantly awake.
He saw the anxiety on her face before she spoke and knew what she was going to say. He had known that it would come. Unable to offer her marriage, unable to take her away with him, he had known that it was only a matter of time before she was wed to another and sent away to her new home.
“You are to be wed to another,” he said and she stopped in her tracks and looked at him with bewilderment.
“How did you know?”
“I read it in your face.”
She was quiet for a while and then she said, “My mother says that if you will come and speak for me by tomorrow evening, ask for my hand in marriage, she will break off this engagement. It is much that she offers us.”
“Yes, it is much that she offers us.” He put his arm around her shoulder and led her gently to their favourite spot. Once they were seated, side by side, his arm still around her shoulder, she turned to him again.
“You will come?” she asked and there was no trace of doubt in her voice.
“I cannot,” he said softly. “I am already married.”
“I know that,” she said. “But our law permits a man to take more than one wife.”
“Our law permits a man to take four wives and I have four wives, all loyal and loving and devoted. I will not do one of them the injustice of seeking a divorce so that I can make way for you.”
The understanding of his predicament dawned upon her and she turned to him with a strange, wild frenzy in her eyes and in her voice. “Take me away, then, as your servant. I will be content to take my place with the other servants and serve you as they serve you. I will be content with whatever scraps, leftovers come my way and with sleeping upon the floor – God knows, I have been content with less. I will make no demands upon your love, upon your attention or your time, content only with the fleeting glimpse of you that may be vouchsafed to me from time to time.” Her voice broke and he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. He took her hand and held it to his lips.
“I will not demean you nor demean myself, by doing this. If I did this to you, I would belittle our love and I would become nothing in my own eyes. I tried to tell you all this the first time I took you, but you would not let me speak. And afterwards it did not matter.”
She turned to him, with a small sad smile. “It would not have mattered even then. I would have still done what I did – given myself to you with no thought of the future, thinking only of now.”
They were silent again and once more, he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close.
“Remember what you once said? ‘All that we can do is to make the most of what we have’. Well, I made the most of what I had and I am content. As for the future, let it come, I will make the most of what it gives me.”
He drew her tight against his chest and kissed her and then he lowered her to the ground and they made love one last time, there, in their grove.
All through that day and the next, her mother watched her as she went about her work. There was lightness in her step, and buoyancy in her spirit and the mother was sure that Sohni had spoken to her lover and an understanding had been reached. She was sure that Mirza would soon appear at their doorstep and ask for Sohni’s hand. But the second day, too, slipped away and at dusk, she began to worry about whether she had read too much into her daughter’s stance and manner. At last, she could bear the uncertainty no longer and drawing her daughter aside, she asked, “Did you speak to him?”
“Yes. He cannot marry me. He has four wives already, all such wonderful women that he cannot bear to do injustice to them. I offered to go away with him as his concubine, his slave, but he said he could not insult our love, could not insult me by doing this.”
The mother was silent. Anger flared up within her, anger at her daughter’s destiny, at her daughter’s lover and then she realized that her rage was an impotent rage. Then it slipped away from her and was replaced by a sense of sheer helplessness. She looked at her daughter and felt an overwhelming urge to draw her close and hold her to her heart and cry.
As if sensing this urge, Sohni went to her mother and embraced her. But before the old woman could break down and weep, Sohni said: “Do not worry, mother. In this brief span of time, I have been given more happiness than others are given in a lifetime. I am content. I will make Sheru a fine wife and give him a little of the happiness that I have accumulated.”
Still, the uncertainty did not leave the old woman, but in the face of her daughter’s attitude, she could not find it in her heart to rail against destiny, or weep in helplessness. And when she saw her daughter take an active interest in the preparations for the wedding, she forced herself to put aside all her own doubts, her dark forebodings for the future, and worked with all her heart and soul to ensure that the wedding went off well.
It was a simple wedding but a good one. Tulla, as all fathers do on such occasions, borrowed money from whomever he could, mortgaged what was left of his future, to ensure that the clothes and jewellery he gave his daughter were of the best, that the hospitality he lavished on his guests would long be remembered and that the presents he gave the bridegroom’s party would speak of his generosity.
When the maulvi asked Sohni if she would take Sheru as her husband, she answered without a moment’s hesitation and her assent came in a loud, clear, ringing voice.
At last the feasting was over and it was time for the doli to leave. With tearful farewells, the bride was escorted to the little wooden palanquin and was borne away. No one noticed Mirza, standing in the crowd of spectators across the street.
Sohni remained true to what she had said to her mother. Even before the mehndi was dry on her hands, she took on all the household chores. She was up before anyone else and when the others awoke, they found that the cooking fires had been lit, the milk
had been boiled and there was steaming hot tea waiting for them.
She had a cheerful smile and a warm greeting for all she met and a joke for the younger members of the household.
Soon she had made a place for herself in everyone’s heart and even her shrewish mother-in-law, who had been prepared to dislike her, admitted that they had not made such a bad bargain after all, and when the neighbours complimented her on the new bride, she could not help but feel proud. Sheru noticed none of these things. It was her youthful body that he had long desired and this body was now his. After the first few days, she led him gently on and made him see that loving was more than a mere bestial coupling of the bodies, and he experienced pleasure more beautiful and complete, than he had ever experienced before.
He went out frequently with his cronies and when he staggered home, no matter what hour it was, he found his bride waiting patiently for him to ensure that he did not go hungry to bed.
Though this did not change his drinking habits, it did soften his attitude towards his wife.
“Don’t wait up for me.” he said gruffly, one day. “Just leave my food beside the bed. I will eat when I come.”
Of all the members of the household, it was her sister-in-law, Moti, who benefited from Sohni’s love. Moti was obese to the point of ugliness and this had made her, from an early age, the butt of much mockery and ridicule. As a result, she had grown up to be a morose and bitter individual and her parents, with the best will in the world, had not been able to find a husband for her, adding further to her bitterness. She had a sharp, malicious tongue and the fear of what she might say, made people leave her alone. Like her mother, Moti too had been prepared to hate her new sister-in-law.
Yet, when her sister-in-law came home, there was nothing in her that she could dislike. Sensing Moti’s unhappiness, Sohni made a special effort to draw her out, and even though she was older, Sohni treated her like a younger sister. Soon the two of them were the best of friends and confidantes. Moti came to worship the ground that Sohni trod upon.
Love Stories from Punjab Page 4