Kaidon gazed into the young man’s fiery eyes and realized that he was on shifty ground. It would be his word against Heer’s. He wished now, he had not acted in haste, had waited to gather some tangible proof. But having come so far, it was too late to retract.
“I hid in the forest this morning, long before the world was astir, and waited there. Ranjha came first and took his place on a little mound. A few hours later, when the sun was well on its way to the zenith and the cattle had all wandered deep into the forest, Heer came and shamed herself in dalliance with the cowherd.” A deep stillness fell over the courtyard, as the enormity of Kaidon’s accusation sank in. This time the reaction came from without. There was a commotion and a group of people pushed their way through the door. In their midst was Sajda, her hair in disarray, her shirt torn, a long, deep scratch on her cheek. With her were her parents, two brothers and a few other relatives.
“There, there’s the villain, taking sanctuary in the chief’s house,” Sajda’s father ran straight at Kaidon and would have hurt him greviously if Sultan had not come between them and offered his body as a shield.
“Be calm Aslam! Control yourself and tell me what has happened,” Chuchak said with compelling authority.
“I would have liked to see you being calm if it had happened to your Heer.” There was anger and bitterness in Aslam’s voice. “If you cannot protect the honour of the women of your clan, tell us, so that we can turn elsewhere for protection.”
“Enough,” Chuchak thundered. “What is it, what has happened?”
“Speak girl, tell the Khan all that happened,” the father commanded. It was a while before Sajda could control her hysterical sobs. Then, in a soft broken voice she began her story.
“For some days now that man has been snooping around the forest, while my friends and I played there. We did not attach any importance to it – we thought he might be out collecting fodder for his goats.” She paused and when she spoke again, her voice was calm and loud, loud enough for every one present to hear. “Today, when it was time to return home, I stayed back to answer the call of nature. Suddenly he pounced upon me and … and …” She broke into sobs again and through her sobs the other women could be heard muttering.
“Poor thing – just look at the way the villian has torn her clothes.”
“And the scratches on her cheeks – how could he do this, and she is even young enough to be his daughter?”
Kaidon’s accusation against Heer had been forgotten in the face of this greater calamity.
“I ask for justice, O Khan! Will you sit aside and let villains, like Kaidon, outrage the modesty of our girls?”
Cries of “shame, shame” and “never” rang through the courtyard and Chuchak saw that a crowd of villagers had collected at the door and were taking in the proceedings with avid interest.
“Listen to me,” Kaidon said, at last getting over his bewilderment at the sudden and serious charge being levelled against him. “This is all false, all lies. I have never been anywhere near Sajda. I have not—” He looked from face-to-face as he spoke and saw the disbelief in each. The conviction left his voice and he lapsed into silence. He realized that Heer and her friends had outwitted him, yet again.
It was an urgent and desperate matter and Chuchak decided to treat it as such. Summoning all the decisiveness and force which made him a legendary chieftan, he called for an urgent meeting of the panchayat. The charges of molestation were repeated, as was Sajda’s heart-rending narration of what had transpired. Kaidon reiterated his innocence but even as he did so, memories of his earlier conduct came to his listeners’ minds – whispered stories of how he used to hide and spy on the young girls of the village as they bathed. Added to this, was the firm conviction that Sajda had nothing to gain, as far as her accusation was concerned. If anything, as the panchayat pointed out, she had everything to lose. Girls in her situation, usually kept occurrences like these from others, for fear of the shame they would bring upon themselves.
After due deliberation, the panchayat passed its judgement – a public flogging and a year’s banishment from the village. Kaidon accepted the inevitable. He stood, looking proudly ahead, as the sentence was passed, and he bore each whiplash with such fortitude, that it evoked a grudging respect from those who witnessed it. Then, without a backward glance, he hobbled out of the village to serve out the second half of his sentence. Though outwardly calm, behind that stoic exterior seethed bitterness and hatred. How he wished the others could have seen what he saw so clearly – Sajda’s motive in making her accusation.
He was wrong – the others had glimpsed it too, though they did not spell it out in definite words, either to themselves or to each other. Heer’s father, uncle and two elder brothers, sat on in the courtyard, drawing, by turn on Chuchak’s hookah, long after the other members of the family had gone to bed.
“It is a sad thing about Kaidon,” Heer’s father sighed, “very sad. Perhaps if he had found a wife, this would not have happened.” There was silence as each member of the group went over the strange, swift, happenings of the evening in his mind. Each one of them lingered over the accusation of Heer’s affair with Ranjha and their collective subconscious willed it to be brought into the open. It was, again Chuchak, who took the lead.
“Now that Kaidon has cast an aspersion on my daughter, the cowherd must go. That is the only way to avoid further comment and then we must find a suitable groom for Heer.”
The others murmured their assent. “Should I tell him now?” Sultan asked.
“No. I will do it. There will be time enough in the morning before he sets out. But do you have a substitute?”
“Yes, yes. There are dozens of substitutes – what is so special about herding cows?” Chuchak knew from experience, how wrong his son was, but at this stage, he did not wish to labour the point.
“Well, have one of your dozens of cowherds ready in the morning”. He stood up and stretched himself. It was a signal to break off the meeting. The others retired, each to his own bed and a deep stillness descended on the household.
Heer waited till she heard her father’s deep regular snoring, then, as silent as a thief, she stole from the house and made her way to Ranjha’s hut. It was a terrible risk that she took, but Ranjha did not remonstrate. He drew her into the hut and into his arms, and inspite of their impending separation, which they both instinctively knew was inevitable, they managed to steal a few moments of bliss from eternity. When it was time for her to return, Heer broke down and wept in Ranjha’s arms. Holding her tenderly, all he said was, “Rab Rakha (God is our protector).” And there was such a firm conviction in his quiet voice that Heer’s fears were stilled, as she, too, began to believe that God would protect them and protect their love.
In the morning, Ranjha came to lead the herd to the forest. He held the tether of the lead cow and led her out of the shed. He found Chuchak waiting for him and greeted him politely. “You will not lead my herd to pasture any longer.”
“What is it, Khan? What have I done? Do I not look after your cattle well? Have you suffered loss because of my negligence? Or is it that I ask for too much pay?”
“You know it is none of these. My kinsman, Kaidon, has made accusations about you and Heer. And in the face of these accusations, I have no option but to dismiss you.”
Ranjha was silent for a while and when he spoke, it was in his usual pleasant way, with a smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes and a soft lilt to his voice. “I have found great comfort and joy in working with you, Khan. And it grieves me to leave. But if it will add honour to the name of the Sayals, I will do so gladly.” He handed the tether of the lead cow to Chuchak and walked away. In all the years that he had worked with Chuchak, he had accumulated nothing. The only addition to the clothes that he wore was a woollen chaddar, which he used to wrap himself up against the cold of the winter mornings. But winter was still a long way away and it would be many a month before he needed it. And so he left the village of Jhan
g, without even returning to his living quarters, as empty handed as he had come, though immeasurably richer in the wealth that he had accumulated in his heart and his soul: the wealth of a love that few men are destined to find. What the future held for his Heer and him, he did not know. But he believed firmly in what he had told her – God would protect them – and secure in this belief, even though he was going away from her, he trod lightly towards the riverbank.
He came to the landing stage as Luddan, the boatman, was about to embark across the river.
“Come, come brother Ranjha,” Luddan shouted, “What makes you abandon your herd today?” All traces of the initial animosity and hostility that he had borne the arrogant stranger, had been long washed away with the cumulative reports of his diligence at his work, his loyalty to his employer and his little acts of kindness and charity towards the poor and the unfortunate.
“I have not abandoned my herd,” Ranjha said lightly. “My herd has abandoned me.”
“Come, stop speaking in riddles, tell me what the matter is.” The boat had cast off from the riverbank and Luddan guided it carefully to midstream.
“Chuchak has no further need of my services, so I must go,” Ranjha said simply, smiling all the while to show that he harboured no grudge against his former employer.
“But why? Didn’t he give you a reason? After all that you have done for him!”
A babble of voices was raised in protest against what was deemed as unfair treatment.
“Where will you go?” asked a soft, gentle voice, laden with concern. It was Luddan’s younger wife.
“I do not know. But does it matter where I go?”
“Yes, it matters to us. You came as our guest and we will not have you turned away so unceremoniously.”
“Yes, she is right,” Luddan piped in. “You will stay in our little hut and we will, in our own humble way, do the best we can to look after you.”
And so from being an employee in the household of the Khan, Ranjha became a guest in the abode of the boatman.
In the meantime, the affairs of Chuchak’s herd deteriorated. The cattle would not accept any other herdman, they refused to eat or yield any milk. Within a span of three short days, four heads of fine young cattle died, before their ailment could he diagnosed and scores of others sickened and lay close to death.
Malliki wrung her hands as she surveyed the devastation. “Oh woe the day when we sent Ranjha away! He was so gentle with the cattle; he had such a way with them. Now they will not let anyone near them and we will lose all of them and be ruined.” Loudly her laments continued, and when her husband returned home at mid-morning, she prevailed upon him to recall Ranjha.
“Do you think that’s wise? Remember the decision was taken in front of all the others. I would lose face if I now went against it.”
“Well, you can decide what you want to lose: your face or your fortune,” Malliki snapped at her husband. “Besides, you don’t have to send for him,” she offered in a more placating tone. “I will send for him.”
“Will he come?” Chuchak asked, worried now, after being humbled to the point of asking for Ranjha’s return.
“Leave that to me,” Malliki said, “I know how to persuade him.” Smiling to herself, she went about the house, making preparations for her visit to Ranjha. She took special care to pack a large amount of her churi, for the making of which she was justly famous throughout the region.
As she approached Luddan’s hut, the strains of Ranjha’s flute floated down to her and, as it had happened to her daughter all those years ago, her step slowed and she was loath to break the magic of the music. At last he saw her and paused in his playing. He got to his feet and greeted her.
“Sit, sit Ranjha,” she said, taking her place on the doorstep. “Look what you have done to yourself. You look starved and famished.”
“It must be because he hasn’t eaten your churi,” said Luddan’s wife, hurt at the implied insult to her hospitality.
“Yes, it must be that,” Malliki smiled, not the least offended. “That is why I’ve brought some for him.” She undid the little bundle and spread it on the doorstep. “Come, come my son, come and eat.” And as Ranjha sat down and ate the churi, she reached up and smoothed his ruffled hair.
“You must come back to your work,” she said after a while. “You know how the cattle suffer.”
“Yes, I know, and I feel sorry for them. But I will not come back.”
“Come, come child. Be reasonable. Your anger is justified but be reasonable. My husband will double your wages.”
“No, not that,” Ranjha said sharply, stung to the quick, “You know that it was not for the wages that I worked for you.” Malliki stirred, uncomfortable at having to face the truth that she had known but never letting herself admit.
“You know that I worked on wages, which any other cowherd would have sniffed at, because of your daughter Heer. I was her servant, bonded labour to her love and this is what kept me tied to your home. Yet, at the first gust of an ill wind, you cast me aside like a worn-out shoe and look elsewhere for a bridegroom for your daughter.”
“Shame,” Luddan’s wife said. “He is the son of the chief of the Ranjha clan, in every whit as noble and wealthy a line as that of the Sayals.”
“Quiet, woman!” Malliki snapped at her, impatient that a difficult situation was being made even more difficult by the intervention of others.
“Come back, my son,” she said soothingly, “Come back and take your place in the household and I promise you, that when it is time to cast around for a husband for my daughter, yours shall be the first name that we will consider.”
On that promise, Ranjha returned again to his work as the Sayal’s herdsman. Miraculously, the cattle returned to good health, there was joy in the household and, for a while, it seemed that everything had been forgiven and forgotten. But only for a while. The Sayals were a proud people, and they could not forget that they had been made to compromise on their honour and pride by this young man. Though the villagers made sure never to air their feelings by word or gesture, the Sayals imagined they saw their humiliation in everyone’s eyes and read insults into the most innocent of remarks. Chuchak, in his wisdom, realized that having failed to find a suitable replacement for Ranjha, he must now strive to find a suitable bridegroom for his daughter.
Let it be said to Malliki’s credit that she did, at the meeting of family elders, put in a plea for Ranjha. “Have you taken leave of your senses, mother?” Sultan forgot his usual politeness in the face of her preposterous suggestion. “He is our cowherd, one of the lowliest, most menial of our employees.”
“But he is also the son of the late Mauju, the head of the Ranjha clan.”
“That is true,” Chuchak said, stroking his beard. “But the task that a man performs in his life, determines his lineage among men to a greater degree than the accident of his birth. In the eyes of the world he is a mere cowherd.”
So be it, Malliki shrugged, acquiesing in what she saw as the general will. She had done what she could to further Ranjha’s cause. Now she would sit back and let destiny take what course it would.
The manoeuvers of finding a suitable groom for Heer were at first conducted with the greatest discretion, so that no whiff of the endeavour reached the ears of the lovers. They had revived their daily trysts in the forest or on secluded stretches of the riverbank, though at Sajda’s pleading, they were certainly a little more careful, a little more circumspect in their meetings. They met for a brief hour or two each day and they changed their meeting place as often as they could. Sometimes Heer would steal a few delicacies from under her mother’s watchful eye and take them down with the intention of feeding Ranjha. But more often than not, she would meet a weeping child on the outskirts of the village, or a beggar and forgetting who the food was meant for, would give it away and come to Ranjha empty handed.
One late afternoon, while Ranjha lay with his head in Heer’s lap and she caressed his hair, they heard
voices in the forest. They got to their feet, straightened their clothes and Heer quickly tried to look for a means of escape. But before she could decide what to do, five peers, holy men in flowing blue robes and flowing white beards, broke through the trees into the little clearing.
Heer and Ranjha, both bowed their heads in greeting and the holy men raised their hands in blessing.
“Come, most holy ones, come and rest your weary limbs awhile,” Ranjha said, indicating the grassy spot that Heer and he had lately occupied.
“Thank you young man, and who are you?”
“I am Dhido, also called Ranjha. I work as the herdsman of the Sayals.”
Heer brought forth the little spouted pitcher of water that she had carried for Ranjha. She poured water on the hands of each of the peers in turn and gave them the end of her dupatta to wipe them dry.
“Any relation of the Ranjhas of Takht Hazara?”
“Yes. I am the son of Mauju, the chief of the Ranjhas.”
“And you work as a herdsman for the Sayals?”
“He does it for me, O holy one,” Heer interposed, as she served some food to the holy man.
“And who are you?”
“I am Heer, the daughter of Chuchak Khan of the Sayals.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is,” the holy men mused on what they had heard.
“And why do you look at your feet, daughter, while you talk to us? Is there something that you have done that you are ashamed of?”
Heer looked straight into the speaker’s eyes. “I looked down only in deference to your age and to the fact that you have long renounced this world of the flesh. Not because I have done anything that I should be ashamed of.”
“And you love this man.” It was a bald statement of an obvious fact, not demanding an answer and yet Heer responded to it with a passion that broke through her quiet voice at every syllable.
“Yes. I love this man. My world begins and ends at his feet. I hear his voice in the cries of the weak and the helpless and I do whatever is in my power to bring them strength. I see him in the faces of the sick and hungry and I rush forward to bring them comfort. My world is only him, but through him, it has become far bigger and far wider than I have ever known it to be.”
Love Stories from Punjab Page 10