“What is it, my child?” His voice was soft and the tone so tender, that it was as if he was really speaking to a child, a child who was hurt, a child who was sad and unhappy. “What is it that troubles you?” And yet, inspite of his coaxing, Saiti could not find the words with which to begin.
“For one so young and beautiful, there can be only one trouble, the trouble of the heart, of love.” And again there was the same, mysterious smile.
“Yes, holy one,” Saiti found her voice at last. “It is the trouble of the heart. But it is not my trouble; it is the trouble of my sister-in-law.”
“Your brother is engaged in dalliance with another and neglects her. Is that the trouble?”
“On the contrary, my brother is besotted by her. He can think and dream only of her. He neglects his work, his duties, his friends and his family. But she will have nothing to do with him.”
“Perhaps your brother has said or done something to hurt her, to turn her love away from him?”
“No, he has been patient and gentle with her. It is a sickness of the mind that she brought with her when she married.” She knelt besides him and held his feet.
“Please, please come and see her, speak to her. Perhaps you can do something to help her and so help my brother.”
“Only God can do that,” the fakir said, smiling again. “But I can see that you have a kind heart and, if it will bring you some comfort, yes, I will come to see her. Come to me tomorrow, two hours after day break, and I will come with you.”
So the next morning, a few hours after day break, Saiti led Ranjha to the courtyard where Heer sat on a cot. Heer heard the approach of the stranger’s feet and drew her veil across her face.
“You do not need to do that before me,” Ranjha said. “For I am done with that part of life. Your sister-in-law asks me to help you and I cannot do that if you turn away and hide your face from me.”
“You cannot help me,” Heer retorted, not recognizing his voice, her face still turned away from him. “There is no one who can help me. Only my God can help me and he has abandoned me. If He refuses to help me what can you, a mere mortal, do for me?” She spoke in a strong, clear voice and Ranjha recognized the voice of his beloved Heer and, for a moment, the world stood still. Everything else fell away from him. He reached out and caught her wrist. She turned and looked into his face. She saw only, a strange fakir, with hollow cheeks and wild eyes, with matted locks and an unkept beard. She snatched her hand away from him.
“How dare you touch me!” she said, the fire strong in her voice, “How dare you touch me when you know that I belong to another!”
“Do not be angry,” Ranjha said soothingly and knelt down besides her. “I only took your hand as the hakim takes the patient’s hand and feels the pulse to affect his diagnosis.”
“My illness is of the heart. You cannot diagnose it by feeling my pulse.”
“Do not be angry with him, sister,” Saiti said gently, drawing close to them. “He is a holy man and holy men have strange and mysterious powers. Who knows, he may even have the power to cure your illness.”
“No man has that power. Only my God has the power to cure my illness.”
“The same God you turned into a cowherd with your love and then abandoned to go away with another?”
Heer turned, at last, and looked sharply into his face. She examined the curve of his eyebrows and the shape of his nose and then the fullness of his lips, which even the thickness of his beard and moustache could not hide. Yes, there could be no mistake: this strange man, in his strange garb, was her Ranjha. Her face flushed, and her heart beat so strongly that she was, at first, afraid that it would break. She reached out and put her hand on his hand and they looked into each other’s eyes. For a long moment they sat thus, and Saiti stood over them, perplexed, not quite understanding what had happened.
Then Heer gave a loud sob and forgetting herself, forgetting Saiti, forgetting who she was and where she was, threw herself into her lover’s arms. He covered her with kisses, first her head and her hair and then, lifting her face, her eyes, her cheeks and her lips. And at last, Saiti understood the import of what she saw and turned away, her heart filled with a bitter-sweet joy at having brought the separated lovers together, thus irrevocably ending all hope of happiness for her brother. She left the lovers alone for a moment and then, afraid that someone would discover them, she turned back to them.
“Are you mad,” she said, “that you forget so completely where you are?”
“I do not care,” Heer said, straightening up on her cot but not letting go of her lover. “It is enough, that we have this moment, that we are together at this moment. I will give up my entire life for this.”
“And what of me? Do you not care of what will happen to me when it is discovered that I have brought your lover to you?”
Ranjha kissed Heer one last time. Then he gently disengaged himself from her clasp and got to his feet.
“She is right,” he said to Heer. “Whatever may be our own feelings, we cannot, in our selfishness, jeopardize her future.”
“Never fear, sister,” Saiti said kneeling down besides Heer, where Ranjha had knelt just a moment ago. “Trust me. Now that I have brought you together, I will ensure that you are never again forced apart.”
And so it was that the lovers were reunited and Saiti, in her scheming way, found both time and place for the lovers to be alone together each day, while she stood guard and kept all intruders at bay. After a few days, the lovers took note of Saiti’s own sad predicament. Soon Heer devised ways to bring Saiti and her young lover, Murad, the Baluch, secretly together. The days flew fast in this wondrous fulfillment of the two loves.
Heer alone, of the four lovers, allowed her mind to dwell on what was to follow. It was not for her own self that she was afraid. She had been more than honest, when she had told Saiti that it was enough for her that, at this moment, she was with her Ranjha. When she thought of the future, with all the terror that it held, her concern was more for Saiti and Murad. She shared her worry with Ranjha.
“They will be caught,” she said. “Already people exchange looks and whisper gossip when one of the two walks past.”
“Yes, yes, I have seen this too. Their only hope is to break free from this hostile environment.”
“Where can they go? The Khaira’s are strong and powerful. They will track them down and exact terrible retribution.”
“The Baluchs are not without strength and power of their own. And the world is so wide a space, surely somewhere there will be a little corner which the Baluchs can make safe for Saiti and Murad.”
There was indeed such a corner. Murad’s aunt had married into a hill tribe which lived in the hills beyond Sialkot. If they could get to this place ahead of the pursuit that must follow, they would be safe.
Heer and Ranjha decided to offer themselves as decoys. They would run away first and then, when all the attention and power of the Khairas was focused on finding them, Saiti and Murad would make a break for the hills, and so get the start they needed.
In pursuance of their plan, one morning, Saiti prevailed upon Heer and some of her other friends to come for a frolic in the forest. Here, as was her wont, Heer broke away from the others and wandered off by herself among the trees. The others, used to her need to be on her own, let her be and joined in play amongst themselves. When Heer found that she was all alone and there was little chance of an intrusion, she looked around for a thorn. Very carefully, she made two puncture marks on her ankle, just deep enough to draw blood and close enough to suggest the work of a snake. Then she swallowed the herbs that Ranjha had given her and waited patiently for them to take effect. When she felt the beads of perspiration break out upon her forehead, she let out a loud scream and fell to the ground.
The others heard the scream and, breaking in their play, ran to her. They found her lying on the ground, her face already blue, the first sign of froth appearing at her lips. They looked down at her feet and saw
the puncture marks.
They set up an alarm and two of them carried Heer back to the village as fast as they could. The Hakim was summoned and though the wise man administered some medicine, he shook his head and it was obvious that he held out little hope. Silence descended on the household and even when the curious neighbours came in to take a look at the unfortunate girl, they did so on tiptoe and when they spoke, it was in whispers. The poison spread through her body, till it took on the same blue hue as her face.
Someone thought of calling on the snake charmers to draw the poison out and though they did their best, playing their gourded pipes till they were out of breath, it was in vain. The blue of her body took on a deeper hue. When it seemed certain that Heer would die, Saiti spoke.
“There is a fakir in the forest. He is a wise man, perhaps he could help.”
“Yes. And he has a great knowledge of herbal medicine.” The cry was taken up by the others and like the proverbial drowning man clutching at a straw, the Khairas turned to the strange fakir.
The fakir came willingly, as he always did, when summoned in time of need and trouble. He felt Heer’s pulse and then shook his head sadly.
“It is hopeless,” he said in a soft gentle voice. “There is little that I can do. There is only one chance and it is a chance in a million.”
“If it is the only chance then we must take it,” Saida said.
“I have one powerful herb that might help. But if it is to help, she must be left in total isolation while it takes effect. I, of course, will be with her to monitor its working. But there must be no one else within sight or hearing.”
Strange are the ways of fakirs, and the Khairas, in their desperation, saw nothing suspicious in this suggestion. Heer was carried to Ranjha’s hut and Ranjha went with her and closed the door behind him. As soon as they were alone, Ranjha gave Heer another herb, an antidote to the first, and within minutes Heer was herself again. While the rest of the village waited with bated breath, Heer and Ranjha made their way through a small window in the rear of the hut. All day the Khairas waited in the hope that the fakir would work a miracle and restore their beautiful daughter to them. Most of them sat in patient silence, while others found solace in prayer.
Then, when the sun sank low on the horizon, the prayers ceased, as one and all accepted the inevitable. Saida and his father rose from the crowd and went to the hut to claim the body. They knocked loud and long but there was no response.
“Has something happened to him too?” one in the crowd said and the Khairas, father and son, broke down the door and discovered the hut empty. They went in and found the little open window at the back, and suddenly, the perfidy of the fakir struck them.
“Who would have thought that he would turn out to be such a rogue?” one of the women spoke up in the shocked silence.
“All those who knew him.” It was the shepherd who had recognized Ranjha. “He was Dhido, of the Ranjha clan of Takht Hazara. He had worked as a cowherd for the Sayals, and their daughter Heer and he had fallen in love.” The story was well known, though no one in his audience had known that the fakir was none other than Ranjha himself.
“Why did you not tell us?’
“Because I believed that he had renounced the world and become a man of God.”
“There are only two directions in which they could be heading: Jhang or Takht Hazara.”
The alarm was sounded and the pursuit taken up in a planned and organized manner. Every available man and horse was pressed into service and two teams of riders fanned out in the directions of Jhang and Takht Hazara. When the echo of the last galloping hoof had died away, Saiti and Murad made their way separately to the grove of trees where Murad’s horse was tethered. In the gathering dusk, the lovers mounted the steed, and rode swiftly away in the opposite direction, never to return.
The pursuit was hampered by the dark, and though the Khairas combed every inch of the land they covered, it was not till the next morning that the lovers were discovered. Heer and Ranjha had walked all through the day and night and had come, at last, to the outskirts of the town of Kot Kabula. It was here, too tired and footsore to walk any longer that they had paused, in the early hours of the morning and it was here that one of the search parties had come upon them. The two tired lovers were easily overpowered. They were tied and shackled and, like two common criminals, led away towards Rangpur. But a group of the town police, who had been patrolling in and around the town during the night, came upon this strange group.
“Who are you?” the thanedar asked, “And who are these that you lead away?”
“We are the Khairas of Rangpur. This is Heer the bride of Saida, the son of our chief. She and the so called fakir, have committed the crime of adultery and we take them back to Rangpur to meet their just punishment.”
“Where were they taken?”
“Here, just outside Kot Kabula.”
“Then this comes within the jurisdiction of our chief. You cannot arrest and take them away without his permission.”
In vain did the Khairas protest, that the crime had been committed in Rangpur and so the trial must take place there. The soldiers remained adamant in their stand. It was a short way to Kot Kabula and the group was soon at the chief’s haveli. They were ushered into the chief’s presence and the Khairas wasted no time in presenting their case and pressing for permission to take the criminals back to Rangpur.
The chief listened patiently, and when they had finished, he turned to Heer and Ranjha.
“And you? Have you anything to say?”
“The story has been so well told, your honour, that I have no addition to make. What they say is the truth, except for one minor error. Heer was never married to Saida.” The Khairas began to protest but the chief held up his hand and silenced them.
“Is this true?” he asked, turning to Heer and there was gentleness in his voice as he spoke to her.
“Yes, your honour, this is true. I never gave my assent.”
There was earnestness in her voice and that, coupled with the young girl’s unflinching gaze, convinced the chief that there was more to this case than the version given by the Khairas.
“Let this case be presented before my qazi. Till then, let them be unshackled and let each be escorted to a place of safety and given food and such comfort as they may need.” So saying, he turned to the Khairas. “You will be my guests. And the commander of my guards shall look to your needs.” He turned and went into the haveli.
Seven days were spent in preparing for the trial. The qazi listened to both parties. As he listened to the Khairas, especially to Saida, he could not but be convinced that they were truly the aggrieved party. And when he listened to Heer and Ranjha, each one separately, and went over their story, again and again, he was sure that they, too, were telling the truth. So the best that he could do was to seek the names of witnesses, who would support or disprove their stories. On the day the trial opened, witnesses from Jhang, Rangpur and Multan assembled in Kot Kabula to give their evidence and so assist the qazi to arrive at a just conclusion.
Word of the trial had spread far and wide. Since it involved the children of three powerful tribal chiefs, it generated great interest. On the day the trial began, Kot Kabula overflowed with visitors. The large courtyard, where the trial was to be conducted, was filled to capacity and the crowd spilled out into the street. Word of what was happening in the courtyard was carried from ear to ear and out into the street.
The qazi entered the courtyard, followed, soon after, by the Chief, and the trial began.
The Khairas presented their case first. It was a simple straightforward case. The Sayals had pursued them for Saida’s hand in marriage for their daughter, Heer. The Khairas had, at first, demurred, because they had heard some talk of Heer’s association with her father’s cowherd. But then they had, at last, given in. The marriage had been performed in Jhang and the bride had been brought back to Rangpur.
“Who performed the marriage?” the qazi a
sked.
“The maulvi of Jhang.”
“And where is this venerable man?” the qazi asked. He had sent for the maulvi and fully expected him to come forward now and confirm the performance of the nikah. There was a murmur of voices and then Chuchak stepped forward from the crowd.
“The maulvi is indisposed, your holiness. He has a large carbuncle in the side of his abdomen and is not able to travel.” What he did not know, or knowing, chose not to say, was that the maulvi’s wound was infested with maggots. Each morning, the maggots were carefully removed and the wound filled with the strongest antiseptic known at the time. Yet, by the next morning, there were more maggots in the wound and as they bore and ate into his flesh, he cried with pain and called out to Allah for the sin he had committed and for the pain he had inflicted upon Heer and Ranjha. The Khairas murmured to themselves and recognized the maulvi’s absence as a blow to their case.
“Is there anyone here who was witness to the marriage?” Immediately there was a babble of voices for many who were present in the hall had participated in the wedding festivities. The qazi held up his hand. There was silence.
“Any, who were with the woman when the maulvi asked for her assent?’
Malliki, Sajda and a few other girls who had sat next to Heer when the maulvi had asked his question, now stepped forward.
“Who are you?” the qazi asked Malliki.
“I am the girl’s mother.”
“And you were present when the maulvi asked your daughter whether she accepted the terms of the nikah?”
Love Stories from Punjab Page 12