There was a pause as the intensity of her love seemed to fill that little clearing.
“And does he love you?” there was a gentle teasing in the voice.
“I know he does, but does it matter? If he were not to love me, my love would be no whit the less. When you worship God, the intensity of your worship is not conditioned by God’s response to your worship. You worship – that is your end. I love, that is mine.” Her voice rose higher and touched the very tree tops and as the saints looked at her, standing so proud and erect in her declaration of love, it seemed to them that a golden light broke through the trees and bathed her in it.
“And you? What do you have to say?” In the same gentle manner, the questions turned to Ranjha.
“I have been a solitary man too long,” Ranjha replied, “for the words to come easily to me, especially when they are about thoughts and feelings that are so close to my mind and my heart. But yes, I love Heer. Five times a day, when I close my eyes in namaz and raise my voice to thank God for his benedictions, it is Heer’s face that I see in my mind’s eye, her voice that I hear in my ears. It is as if my Heer and my God are one.”
The holy men, on one accord, hastily put aside the food that they had been eating and got to their feet. For a moment, Ranjha was afraid that they were angry with him for his profanity. But they smiled at Heer and Ranjha in turn.
“You are blessed, my children,” said the eldest amongst them. “Truly blessed. You have found God so early in life while living in the world of men. While we, who have shunned this world and spent a lifetime in His quest, have yet to touch the hem of His robe. As ones who have been touched by God, give us your blessings that we might find Him too.” The five holy men made to kneel before Heer and Ranjha. Heer looked into Ranjha’s eyes and saw reflected in them, her own naked, wild fright.
“Please, please do not do this,” she begged, holding her hands out to restrain them. “It is we who need your blessings. My parents seek to marry me to someone else and so separate me from Ranjha.”
“Nothing can separate you from your Ranjha,” it was the peer who had first spoken. “Because it is God who has brought you together. Come, I will read your nikah for you.”
And so, in that secluded quiet forest, with the other four peers as witnesses, the holy man read the holy words, which bound Heer and Ranjha in a sacred bond in life and in death. Before they departed, the eldest peer turned again to the lovers.
“It is said that though we spend a lifetime with our loved ones, no one goes with us when we die. May God give you his special benediction. May you always be together in life, as you are now and together too, even in death.”
The peers left as quietly as they had come and the lovers sat on, too overcome by what had happened to be able to give voice to their feelings. When, at last, they reached out for each other, it was with the fumbling awkwardness of adoloscents.
In the meantime, the search for a suitable groom for Heer gained momentum and it could no longer be kept a secret from the lovers. Ranjha accosted Malliki when she was alone: “You have broken your promise, the promise you made when you persuaded me to come back.”
“I made one promise,” Malliki said, not pausing in her task of churning the milk. “And I have kept it. Your name is being considered as the prospective groom. Do not do anything rash to ruin your chances.”
It was a small concession that he had gained, but it was enough for the hope in his heart to feed upon. When Heer voiced her fears in the gathering clouds of gloom, he bid her be of good cheer. Hadn’t the peers given them their blessings that nothing could separate them in life or in death? And hadn’t Malliki herself promised that she would ensure that Ranjha became Heer’s bridegroom? With such powerful allies in this world and the next, they had nothing to fear. As always, Heer took solace in his reassurances and her fears were stilled.
Unfortunately, their earthly ally, as we have seen, was a false and feeble one. Having made one bid for Ranjha and having failed, she had decided to let the wind blow which way it would, dissembling all the while to lull the lovers into a false sense of security.
At last the day came, when it was no longer possible to turn away from reality. A proposal had come for Heer’s hand from Saida, the son of the Chief of the Khairas, a powerful and wealthy clan. The proposal had been accepted with joy and pride and Heer had only become aware of it when she had seen the shagun – the clothes, the sweetmeats, the silver coins, arranged in silver trays on a cot in the courtyard, waiting to be carried to Rangpur, the home of the Khairas. In her fright and panic, she fled to Ranjha, but found him still secure in the hope that there was bound to be some divine intervention. Finally, the day for the wedding was fixed and as it drew near, Heer begged Ranjha to take some action.
“No one will help us, O Ranjhana, we have to help ourselves. Let us run away. We are joined together in holy matrimony by no less an authority than the five peers. We would be within our legal rights to leave this place and set up our own home and start a new life in some far off place.”
“Yes, we would be within our legal rights,” Ranjha said quietly, his voice calm and steady in contrast to her feverish, hysterical tones. “But do we have the right to run away like this and leave your father’s face besmirched with dirt? No. I would not do that for the entire world. Have no fear, we are man and wife and when the maulvi comes to read the nikah, I shall step forward and tell him the truth. He is a man of God, he will listen.”
Finally it was the day for the wedding. But when the man of God came to perform the nikah, Ranjha was not around. He had been hit across the head by Chuchak’s kinsman who, expecting interference from him in the ceremony, wanted him out of the way. Hurt and bleeding, he was taken to a little hut on the outskirts of the village and locked in there for further safety.
As it turned out, the maulvi himself was a part of the conspiracy. He had promised that no matter what Heer’s response to the all-important question was, he would give out that she had said yes. Heer was given an opiate which dulled her senses. Though she knew what was happening and wished to cry out in protest, she was unable to do so.
When they sat her down for the ceremony, she tried to push herself up but found she had no strength. Her chin fell upon her chest, her eyes closed and she was lost to the world. Just once, for a brief moment, she was able to open her eyes and absorb what was happening around her. This was when the maulvi asked the question. She summoned up all her strength to scream her refusal. But no sound escaped her lips. She knew she was lost and she gave up all effort to let her will be known. Like the waves of the sea, the blankness closed in upon her again and her chin fell again upon her chest.
The maulvi repeated his question and Malliki said loud enough for all to hear. “She is too modest, my daughter, she will not speak. But she has nodded her head to indicate her assent.”
“No,” Sajda protested. “That is not true.”
“Quiet girl! Do you dare to set yourself against me?” The anger in the maulvi’s voice turned Sajda cold with fear and she held her peace. The maulvi declared that the nikah had been performed.
Cries of joy rent the air and the two families congratulated each other. Heer was carried to her room and put upon her bed and here she slept, while the others partook of the lavish feast that had been laid on by the Sayals.
At last it was time for the doli to leave. Though some effect of the opiate had passed, Heer was not yet in full control of her faculties. The gaily decorated doli was brought to the door and Heer was led to it by her sisters-in-law. Only twice during that walk from her room to the doli, was she able to shake off the stupor. The first time was when a weeping Malliki, standing near the door, her arms outstretched, took a step towards her daughter. Heer stopped and looked straight at her and Malliki halted before the gaze.
“Weep? Why do you weep, woman? Have you not reason to rejoice?” Heer said, her voice clear and steady, “For surely today, you have earned for yourself a position that is unique am
ongst the millions and millions of mothers, who throng the annals of history. Mothers wed their daughters, then lower them gently into the doli to be carried to their husbands’ homes. There has been no wedding here and yet you thrust me into a doli to be carried to the home of a stranger. You prostitute me! You make a harlot of your daughter,” her voice was loaded with venom. Malliki recoiled before her daughter’s words. But Heer was not done yet. With tremendous effort, she summoned up all her strength and drew herself to her full height. She took two steps towards the cowering Malliki. “May there never be a mother like you!” So saying, she spat on the ground at her mother’s feet and took her place in the doli.
One by one, all her friends knelt down beside her and made their farewells. She caught sight of the maulvi, and pushing back the weeping women, she staggered out of the doli and drew herself up to her full height. She held her accusing finger under his nose and in a voice loud enough for all to hear, she proclaimed:
“You maulvi, you are evil to the core of your heart. You are twice cursed, for you have betrayed the trust reposed in you both by God and by men. For this there can be no forgiveness. You must be punished and yet, what punishment can I, a poor, broken, defeated woman give you? I can only curse you, and I curse you now from the depths of my broken heart. Our bodies are doomed when we die, to be consumed by worms. May your body be consumed by worms while you live. And as they each burrow into you flesh, may you feel the pain that you have given me, and may you remember, with every breath, how you ceased to be a man of God and became, instead, an agent of the devil.” Those who heard Heer’s words, fell back in horror at the enormity of her curse. She stepped into the doli and called gently to the bearers. “Come, my friends, it is time to go.”
Ranjha had, at last, come to his senses and broken out of the hut, only to discover that it was all over, that his Heer was being carried away in a doli. Half demented with fear, anger and despair, he ran after the doli and having reached it, ran alongside for one last look at his beloved. He realized that there was no hope anymore, that the miracle he had been awaiting, the miracle which would give his Heer to him, would never be wrought. There was hope now, only for one last lingering look, which would fix her face in his eyes forever.
Heer became aware of a figure running alongside the doli, peeping in to catch a fleeting glimpse.
“Put me down,” she called and the bearers, ever obedient, put the doli on the ground. Ranjha knelt besides the doli and Heer put her hand to his cheek.
“What can I say to you, Ranjha? I cannot even commend you to God, because for me, you are God. So I commend you to yourself. I know this, that wherever I am, wherever I go, my prayers will always be only to you, only for you.” She paused for a while and then in the same quiet, steady voice she called. “Come my friends, let us go.”
Ranjha fell back from the path and watched his beloved being carried away. He stood at the edge of the mustard fields, now in full bloom, and continued to look after the procession, as it wound its way down to the riverbank. He saw them all embark on Luddan’s boat, he ran down to the river’s edge and, as the boat rowed down the river, he ran along the edge, his eyes never leaving the gaily coloured doli.
His progress was slow, but he continued to stumble along, tripping on stones, cutting himself, falling into clumps of brambles, unmindful of the stinging nettles on his hands and face. It was as if all the forces of nature were conspiring to hold him back from his beloved. At last, tired and forlorn, he gave up the unequal struggle and standing on the water’s edge, watched his beloved being carried away from him. Long after she was gone, he continued to stand there looking at the spot where she had last been. Without his being aware of it, the darkness had begun to close around him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looking around, saw Sajda, the ever faithful friend, standing besides him. Putting his arms around her, he cried on her shoulder as if his crying would have no end. She held him close but kept her own grief subservient to his and, when at last, his tears had dried, she held his hand and led him away from the river, the way one would lead a little, lost child.
It was like a lost child that Ranjha behaved in the days that followed. He would eat only when food was placed before him, bathe only when he was led down to the river and sleep only when someone told him to do so with some measure of firmness. For the rest, he would sit with a faraway look in his eyes, his lips forming ceaselessly the word Rab over and over again, while his face wore a soft mystical smile at the image of Heer that remained constantly in his eyes. He left the hut the Sayals had given him and began to wander through his beloved forest, which held so many happy memories for him. Mithi took pity on him and insisted he stay with her. So, though he spent the whole day in the forest, he did return to her home at nightfall. As the days passed, he began, a little at a time, to gain some measure of self control.
One day, he met a yogi and so impressed was he by the holy man’s detachment, his calm acceptance of life, that he followed him to his hermitage and became his disciple. The yogi found in him, an adept pupil. He learnt quickly to recognize the different herbs that his master gathered and learnt, too, of their medicinal properties. Soon he was as proficient as the yogi in prescribing herbal medicines. More than this, he learnt, too, about philosophy and religion and soon felt a sense of calm seep into him.
“You are ready for your initiation,” the yogi said one day. Ranjha’s initiation was performed soon after – a fact that caused resentment amongst the other disciples, who had been longer at the hermitage and who had not yet been initiated. Ranjha felt the tension gather around him and was saddened by it. He had no wish to cause strife in a place that had given him great strength, and, taking his leave of the yogi, he left the hermitage.
He now wandered from place to place. He would stop for a day here and another there. People in distress began to gravitate towards him and he was able to bring some measure of relief and comfort to them. He gave them simple advice; advice which was both practical and reassuring. Those who were sick, came to him and he treated them with herbal medicines and cured them of their sickness. Gradually, his fame spread far and wide as a man who had come close to God. Wherever he stopped, people came flocking to him and his reputation as a saint grew.
He came, at last, to a copse of trees outside Rangpur and camped there. People came to him in large numbers for help. One of them, in gratitude for what the saint had done for him, built him a small hut.
One morning, Ranjha wandered from his hut and stopped to rest on a platform that the villagers had built around a huge banyan tree. He put his flute to his lips, as he so often did when he was alone, and began to play.
A shepherd grazing his sheep close by, heard the music and felt the power in it draw him magnetically towards the sound. He abandoned his flock and crept up to the tree. He listened to the music that flowed from the ascetic’s flute and felt disturbed by it. As he stood there entranced, he remembered the stories he had heard about a man called Ranjha and of the magic in his flute. He was sure that this was him.
“You are no ascetic,” he said, when Ranjha paused in his playing. “You are Ranjha from Takht Hazara. You worked as a cowherd with the Sayals.” He did not say that he had heard, too, of Ranjha’s love for Heer, the daughter of the Sayals.
“Yogis have no name,” Ranjha replied calmly. “No home. No past and no future. Do not be deceived my friend. I am no more, no less, than what I appear to be – an ascetic who has renounced the world.”
Though the shepherd was sure that his assumption about the man was correct, he also realized that what the ascetic said was true. Ranjha had indeed renounced the world, what purpose would it serve to rake up the past? He held his peace.
In the Khaira household there was great consternation. Heer, resolutely refused to submit to Saida’s advances.
“Take heed, Khaira,” she warned, again and again. “Beware the wrath of God! It is a sin to covet another man’s wife and I am Ranjha’s wife, lawfully wedded to him.”
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“And what of me?” Saida asked. “I too am wedded to you.”
“No. I was never wedded to you. I did not give my assent. The maulvi deceived all of you by giving out that I had said ‘yes’.”
A frustrated rage welled up in Saida at her quiet and persistent refusal to bed with him. Left to himself, he would have forced his attentions upon her against her will. But his mother cautioned him, again and again, and held him in check.
“Be patient, my son. It is only a question of time. She is not like other women. She is the daughter of the great Sayal and there is madness on her. Be patient, give her time, I am sure the madness will pass and she will soon be herself again. Think how great shall be your blessings when she gives herself to you of her own accord.
“Do not ruin everything by being rash.” Saida listened and knew that there was much truth in these words.
The Khairas left Heer to her own devices, though they were peeved by her willfullness and the insult that she cast by her rejection of their dashing Saida. Only Saiti, Saida’s sister, understood the sorrow that supped at Heer’s heart for she too, knew the pain of love.
One day, Saiti heard of a fakir who had stopped for a few days outside the village. A sudden thought came to her mind: perhaps this man could help Heer. Unknown to anyone in the household, she went out to meet him. As she approached the large banyan tree under which he sat, she heard the strains of beautiful music. It was sad music, sad and poignant and it touched her to the quick. It stirred feelings in her of her own, sad predicament and brought back in full strength, all her longings for Murad, her lover. Yet, as she listened, even in its sadness, the music caused her heart to lift above all the sadness and dreariness of life, filling her with ecstasy and the fervent wish that it would never end.
But end it did, because a little while later, the fakir took his flute away from his lips and put it down beside him. A hush fell on the scene and Saiti saw, at last, the large group of people who waited around the platform. One by one, the people approached the fakir. He listened patiently to their problems and, for each, he had a smile, a piece of advice and always the behest that the person who spoke should turn to prayers. At last, it was Saiti’s turn. She made a sajda and stood for a while, gathering her words, aware of his gaze on her face. He waited patiently for her to speak and then, when it seemed that she would not speak, he smiled that same enigmatic smile and said gently,
Love Stories from Punjab Page 11