Love Stories from Punjab

by Harish Dhillon

  “You are too kind, my child. I do not deserve this love – I lost the right to it when I cast you away.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” she said gently. “You lost the right to your daughter’s love but you did not lose the right to compassion and concern for your suffering.”

  He pulled his head away and looked up into her eyes. “Is that all that you feel then – compassion and concern? Is there no trace of a daughter’s love for her father?”

  She shook her head.

  “My father sits there,” she said, indicating Mahmood with an inclination of her head. “And I can think of no other man as my father, not even the one who gave me birth.”

  For a long while they sat, looking into each other’s eyes.

  Then he smiled. He put his hand briefly on her head and then got to his feet.

  “I understand, my child. Forgive me for what I did to you those many years ago and forgive me now for what I have done today.”

  “You did what you had to do,” she said, still kneeling on the floor and looking up at him. “Your suffering has been so great, it would be a heart of stone that would not forgive you.”

  “Only compassion and concern?” he asked again with the same small, sad smile.

  “Only compassion and concern. Did you hope for more?”

  He thought for a while and then he shrugged his shoulders. “I did not suppose I had the right to hope for more and yet …” The rest of the sentence was lost in a long deep sigh. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said, “God bless you, my child. God be with you all.” He turned and went swiftly to the door as they all stood, looking after him. At the door, he stopped and turned to his daughter again. “Will you send me news of yourself from time to time? Perhaps come to see me someday?”

  She got to her feet and walked slowly towards him and when she spoke, it was in a soft, gentle whisper and the others had to strain their ears to catch her words.

  “No. I will not send you any news nor come to see you. I will not inflict this cruelty upon you. For everytime you get news of me, everytime you see me, you will think again of what you did to me and your heart will be filled with pain and your mind with remorse. Go now with the certainty, that I am well and have found great love and strength in my new home, with my devoted parents and the wonderful man that I have married.”

  He stood there at the door, looking at her for a long time. Then he smiled – a smile of strength.

  “You have done well by my daughter,” he said then, looking first at the old woman and then at the old man. “I turn away now, knowing that I do not need to turn back again.” He turned and was gone and it was only when the sound of his footsteps had died away in the street outside that Sassi turned to her mother and, kneeling beside the old woman, buried her head in her lap and wept.

  The old woman looked at her husband but receiving no response from him, turned towards her son-in-law. Punnu smiled and shook his head and the three stayed silent.

  Helpless in the face of her daughter’s agony, Nasib put her hand on her head. At last, after what seemed an age, Sassi raised her head and taking her mother’s hand in both of hers, gently kissed the palm. Then she got to her feet and picking up the box and the length of cloth, she went out of the house. The mother looked again at her husband and then at her son-in-law. They knew, all three of them, that they would never see the box or the cloth again.

  The days went on and it was almost as if the pundit had never been. Sassi never spoke of his visit, never referred to him again and the others, taking their cue from her, did likewise. Yet they all sensed a change in her behaviour. Now there was an urgency that she brought to her love for her parents, a feeling that communicated itself to Punnu and coloured his love for the old couple too. It was as if the pundit’s visit had brought home to her the swiftness of the passing days and an awareness of how little time she had left with them.

  Meanwhile, in far off Makran, Punnu had become the talk of the town. Everytime a trader or a traveller returned from Bhambhor, he would be besieged for news of Punnu and his beloved. There were some for whom the story of this love had become a legend and the affirmation that the lovers remained so fixed and constant in their devotion, only confirmed the divinity of the relationship. But there were others, people who were hostile to the royal family, who ridiculed this union and made nasty jests about it.

  These barbs could not but get back to Punnu’s father, Ahmad and his brothers, Umar and Tumar. They, at first, ignored them. They knew Punnu well and were sure that he would soon tire of his love and return to them. But the years went by without this happening and the jibes, which were aimed at them, became increasingly vicious. The climax came when, at a conclave of chieftains, one of the neighbouring chiefs referred to Punnu as “that washerman”. The reference evoked a ripple of laughter. Umar’s eyes flashed in anger and his hand went to his sword, ready to throw the gauntlet at the man who had made the derisive remarks. The others sensed his rage and fell silent. The hall filled with tension. But a look from Ahmad, firm and strong, stilled the anger and Umar drew his hand away from his sword.

  Later, in the privacy of their own apartment, the father and sons held conference. The situation was now beyond bearing. They could wait patiently no longer for Punnu’s infatuation to run out, and for his return. They would have to step in and free him from his strange obsession with the washerwoman and bring him home.

  “This affair needs to be handled with great deliberation, with scheming care. Umar, your blood boils too easily and you forget all tact. Your brother has the craft and cunning to handle this affair with the discretion that it deserves. Go then, Tumar and do what you must to bring your brother back.”

  And so it was that the second son of the chief arrived, with his entourage, at the caravan serai at Bhambhor, two weeks later. They stopped at the serai to wash, change their clothes and partake of refreshment and then they presented themselves at the home of the old washerman. Their manner was friendly and affectionate – almost as if they had had washermen as relatives all their lives. They brought gifts for them that were generous but not ostentatious enough to cause embarrassment. “My father sends his apologies,” Tumar said as the party sat on simple stringed cots, sipping scalding hot milk from copper tumblers. “Our tradition demands that the bridegroom’s family should host a feast in celebration of the wedding. We have been remiss in not doing this. We thought we would get an opportunity to do it, when Punnu brought his bride back on a visit. Now, when after three years, it seems that Punnu will never return to Makran, my father has asked me to come here and fulfil our obligation. Can I bid you to a feast at the serai the day after tomorrow?”

  The invitation was extended with all humility and none could find in their hearts, any reason to refuse.

  On the appointed day, the entire community thronged to the serai, which had been made ready for the great reception. There were hundreds of torches blazing against the walls and it was as if the sun had risen in the night. Musicians, dancers and acrobats had been commissioned to entertain the guests and the food and the wine were of the best and in great abundance. The prince and every member of his entourage attended on the guests and charmed their way into every heart. There was a fund of goodwill between the two families and this reaffirmed the belief that Sassi had been specially blessed by the Gods.

  The feast lasted late into the night. The guests found it difficult to refuse when the hosts pressed more wine upon them. Sassi, too, found it difficult to refuse when her brother-in-law offered her a cup of wine. She demurred, at first, because she was not accustomed to wine but then Punnu smiled at her, nodded his head, and whispered that it would be ungracious to refuse.

  The wine was strong and with the first sip, she felt the warmth in her body, the lightness in her head. She would have liked to put her cup down but she saw her brother-in-law watching her.

  Once again she looked at Punnu, and once again he smiled and nodded his head and she threw caution to the winds and qu
affed her drink. Her head began to reel and she would have fallen, but strong arms held her up and escorted her to the specially prepared bridal chamber. There, in the comfort of her husband’s arms, she gave herself up to the effect of the wine and was dead to the world.

  The party broke up soon after, and one by one, the guests took their leave and departed into the night. An attendant went around the serai, dousing the torches, and after the noise of the festivities, a deep stillness settled upon the world. But it was a short-lived stillness. It lasted only as long as the weary and the overindulged took to drift off into deep slumber and then it was broken again – this time by the soft, carefully muffled sounds of swift departure.

  Tumar and his entourage had made their plans well and with the precision of a well rehearsed military manoeuvre, they were on their way in little less than an hour.

  In the early hours of the morning, before the first light broke over the horizon, Sassi stirred in her sleep and reached out for her Punnu. When her hand did not find him, she came instantly awake. Her head still ached from the wine she had drunk, but she ignored it. The eerie silence that prevailed all around, struck fear in her heart. She broke from the bridal chamber and, in the light of the one torch that still burned in the courtyard, she saw, all around, the signs of hasty departure. Dread grew in her heart. They had taken her Punnu with them. Surely, he would not have left her of his own volition. What had they done to him to make him go with them? But they could not have got very far. If she ran after them, perhaps she could still catch up with them. Her mind told her that she should go to her parents, wake up her father and let him organize the chase. But her heart told her that, in so doing, she would lose precious time – time that might perhaps put the royal party beyond the pale of pursuit.

  She ran from the serai, out along the street and on to the highway. There was no hesitation now, in her mind or in her step. Her fear gave her clarity of thought, fixity of purpose and lent wings to her feet. The early morning breeze bit into her ill-clad body, but she paid it no heed as she hurried on. Soon, the sun broke over the horizon, bringing with it, not only the comfort of its warmth but also a resurgence of hope.

  She came, at last, to the point in the highway from which the caravans to Kach Makran, often took a short cut across the sands. She did not hesitate. This caravan was in a hurry and so would have taken the short cut. She, too, abandoned the highway and plunged across the desert. The sands were still cool under her bare feet and she felt some of the fear and pain lift from her heart. She would find him. She trudged on hour after hour, over the soft, yielding sand. The sun was at its zenith now and beat down mercilessly upon her. She felt sweat trickle down the nape of her neck and from her forehead, along the ridge of her nose to her lips, where she could taste its salt.

  Her legs were weak now and her knees threatened to buckle under her. The sand, now hot, burnt into her feet and soon the soles of her feet were covered with blisters, which made each step an ordeal. And yet she lumbered on, with little consciousness of her pain because, before her in the sand, she could clearly see the wheel marks of a caravan – the caravan her Punnu was in. Every time she stepped into a footprint, she drew comfort from the thought that this print had perhaps been made by him. On and on she plodded, willing herself to take each step, shading her eyes now and then to look into the distance in the hope that she would catch a glimpse of the fleeing party. But there was no sight of them and as the day drew on and the sun sank over the western horizon, her heart filled, once again, with despair. Perhaps they were too swift for her, and she would never catch up with them. But that did not matter. They were on their way to Makran. They would go no further. She too would reach there, even if she had to walk all the way, and there, at last, she would find her Punnu. She prayed that he would be well when she found him.

  Night fell and the chill evening breeze blew strong and made her shiver. She hugged herself and staggered on, taking her direction from the stars that twinkled bright and clear above her. Then, after a while, the moon rose and bathed the barren landscape in its comforting light and she felt again a lightening of her heart, an easing of her exhaustion. Hour after hour she plodded across the soft sand – now as distressing in its coldness as it had been during the day in its heat.

  Her mind was hazy now with weariness and she feared that she had lost her way and was heading back the way she had come. She stopped, and shook her head to clear her mind. She looked up at her lodestar and was reassured to find that she was in the right direction.

  Up and down she went over the sand dunes and, in spite of the cold, her mouth was dry and parched and when she ran her tongue over her lips it came away with the taste of the sweat that had caked there with the cold. Her feet were numb beyond sensation and the weariness of her body finally crept into her soul and would not be denied. She sought a sheltered spot on the leeward side of a little hillock, pulled her knees up, and leaning against the hill, closed her eyes. A delicious stillness stole upon her. How wonderful it would be to be thus always, to let her spirit steal away to this restfulness and leave her weary flesh and blood behind. And leave her beloved Punnu, too, behind? She awoke with a start, fearful now of the weakness of her mind and soul and getting to her feet, she took one clear look at the sky and staggered on.

  Day after day, the unfortunate Sassi struggled on. The barren sand had now given way to rugged hills – but they too were bereft of any trace of vegetation, water, food or shelter. There was no sign of the caravan now, nothing to give her direction except the narrow path that meandered through the hills.

  The heat shimmered off the bare, brown hills and everything around her shimmered too. Her vision itself seemed to have become hazy. But she did not care – there was nothing to see except the barren hills and the sky above them. The dryness had crept from her mouth to her throat and her body ached for just one drop of water. The sun beat fiercely down upon her and, when she looked up, the sky spun around her and she fell to her knees, sure that she would not be able to get to her feet again. Then she looked up and saw a vulture circling high above the hills. Not yet, she thought grimly, no, not yet, and she struggled bravely to her feet again. Surely, she thought, there must be some place of refuge nearby. Even the vultures would not survive in this endless barrenness. The thought gave her strength and she scanned the horizon with new hope. But she saw nothing – only the bare peaks of the range of hills piercing the sky.

  Still she forced herself to go on, falling, and then picking herself up again. Now, when she looked up, there were two vultures circling above her. They came and settled down on the ground, a little distance from her, and waited patiently. No, she told herself, not yet, I have still not given up hope of seeing my Punnu again. She struggled to her feet and went on. There was no feeling left in her body now, no emotion in her heart. Like a mindless machine she went on, one step at a time, knowing that she could not last out much longer. Finally, she fell again. When she was, at last, able to raise her head, she saw a dozen vultures settled in a circle around her.

  They waited patiently and she waited too. She looked once towards the horizon and thought she saw, high on the next hill, a dark patch, shimmering and hazy in the distance – almost like a grove of trees, she thought. But she smiled and shook her head – hope was pointless now. This, too, must be a mirage.

  The vultures edged closer, one tentative step at a time, gauging her reaction. But there was none. She watched them too, without fear or panic, as she lay still upon the loose, barren soil. So be it, she thought. If this was God’s will, let it be done. Only let him protect her Punnu.

  She felt one sharp slash of a beak on her back. She cried, but no sound came from her lips. She made an effort to wave her hand to ward off the attack but she had no energy left to do even that. She buried her face in the sand, as a second beak slashed into her back, close to the first wound. She waited for the end.

  The dark patch Sassi had seen had not been a mirage. It was, in fact, a clump of trees that
she had seen, a thick copse of acacia growing around a little spring, Las Bela, the first oasis on this desert route. In this oasis, lived a hermit. He looked now, down from the shelter of the trees, and saw the ring of vultures, and in their midst what looked like a human form. He did not remember having seen it before when he had looked this way, a half hour ago. But there was no mistaking what he saw now and realizing that there was no time to lose, he ran down the slope, shouting and clapping his hands. The vultures fled at his approach. He saw the girl lying still upon the ground and lifting her in his arms, he carried her, as quickly as he could, back to the shade of the trees.

  He laid her gently, under one of the trees and, soaking a piece of cloth in the spring, he squeezed water into her mouth, a few drops at a time. She opened her eyes and looked at him and he saw in her eyes a flash of hope, which died as quickly as it had sprung up, as soon as she saw his face. She turned her head away. Her lips formed one single word, over and over again, and when he lent his ear close to her lips, he thought he heard her say: “Punnu, Punnu.”

  He tried to give her some more water, but it only dribbled out through the side of her lips. With his wet cloth, he wiped her face and marvelled at how beautiful she was. He wet her head, her hair, in an attempt to give her some relief, and then he turned to her feet. As he touched them, his heart filled with pity and compassion for her. She had been treated with brutal cruelty by the elements. As he washed her feet, the compassion gave way to admiration at her tremendous resolve.

  There was a restlessness about her, as she lay there and he tried, once again, to squeeze a few drops of water into her mouth. But unappeased, she tossed and turned and her lips formed endlessly that one word “Punnu”.

  From time to time, her eyes would open and search around her as if she was looking for something or someone, then failing in their search, they would close again. When the sun dipped, at last, over the western horizon, the restlessness passed from her, she lay still and he knew that she had gone to her eternal rest.