Love Stories from Punjab

by Harish Dhillon

  But then, when my enquiries yielded only a shake of the head, I learnt to curb my hope and my visits to my aunt became infrequent. Even when I did go, I stopped asking. I merely looked into my aunt’s face and could read the answer in her eyes. Finally, I stopped going altogether. If there were news or a message, she would send for me. I did not, then, suspect any perfidy on my aunt’s part. At night, when the desire for him became unbearable, I forced myself to turn again to my fantasies of Tahir. Perhaps he would be a better lover and would put to rest my hunger for Mirza.

  I sent a secret message to Tahir to meet me in Heer’s grove on the full moon night and when I reached there, he was waiting for me, his horse grazing close by.

  “You have come?” I asked.

  “He would be no man who would not come when Sahiban called.” He put his arms around me and crushed me close. He put his hand under my chin and lifted up my face and then brought his lips roughly down upon mine. After the most fleeting of kisses he bit deep into my lips. I winced with pain and tried to draw away. But he only laughed and pulled me close. In quick, brutal movements, he tore off my clothes and, without preamble, thrust himself into me. I could not bear the pain and tried to move away. But he laughed and held me firmly pinned to the ground.

  “You did not know that I would be so big inside you,” he panted into my ears. “Far better that you get accustomed to this now, than be turned away from it after marriage.” After he was done he drew away at once, and settled his clothes. “Send for me again,” he said, putting his foot into his stirrups. “You will need me often now.” He swung into the saddle and was gone, leaving me weeping the tears of helplessness and despair at what I had done and at what had been done to me.

  I crept stealthily back in the dark. The initial remorse I had felt, left me as I walked back and I was glad for what had happened. I knew, now, that Mirza’s lovemaking went beyond the flesh: it was a fulfilment of the craving of the spirit. I would never find another man to substitute for my Mirza and I knew too, that despite all the fantasies that I had built around Tahir, I could not, after this brief encounter, marry him.

  I went, the next day, to my Aunt Biro’s and when I was alone with her, I threw myself at her feet.

  “Help me, aunt,” I said between sobs. “Help me to meet Mirza.”

  She drew me to my feet, and burying my head in her shoulder, I wept brokenly. Caressing my hair, till my sobs were stilled, she said, “Hush! Don’t cry my child. I will send for him.”

  My head came up with a start. “No aunt, that is not enough. That is no longer enough. You will have to do much more than that. I only know that if he is not here within the next four days, I will abandon everything and go to him.” In the pale, shadowy light in the courtyard, I saw the fear come into her eyes. She looked into my face.

  “May Allah protect you, my child,” she said, and there was great tenderness in her eyes and in her voice. “Is it so bad?”

  “I cannot find the words to tell you how it is. It is like some ravenous beast that gnaws and feeds upon my heart. Oh aunt, I will die if he does not come to me soon.”

  “Do not utter words of such ill omen. May it be your enemies who die. I will find what I must do and find a way to do it. But I assure you that he will be here within the time period that you stipulate and all will be well.” As she spoke, she looked into my eyes and there was deep conviction, both in her eyes and in her words and I was sure that my Mirza would come to me before those four days were over.

  Yet, even with this certainty, time hung heavily upon me. The hours crawled slowly past, each hour seemed like a day and each day the equivalent of eternity. The sun, too, seemed to be conspiring against me. It stood fixedly in the sky and moved so slowly, that it seemed not to be moving at all and when, at last, it did reach the western horizon, it hung tenaciously onto the sky and refused to go. At night, it played still crueller tricks on me. When, after hours and hours of restless tossing, I waited for it to rise, it refused to do so and the glimmer of its first light came long after I had despaired and given up all hope of ever seeing the sun again. A strong restlessness gripped me. Yet, inspite of it, I did not dare wander far from the haunts that he knew were mine, for fear that our meeting might be delayed by a few, needless, moments. I never, for a moment, worried that he would not come. If he did not, I knew that I would go to him. It was this wait that I had imposed upon myself, that I chaffed at. At last, the fourth day drew to a close. My friends finished their gambols in the water and as the shadows lengthened, made ready to go home.

  “Come, Sahiban,” they called. “It is time to go.”

  “Wait just a moment more,” I begged, loath to admit to myself that the awaited day had come and gone, but my Mirza had not come. But no, I consoled myself, the fourth day was not done yet, though the sun, traitor that he was, now slid rapidly over the line of the horizon. But even as the last signs of the sun disappeared and I caught the furtive, apprehensive glances that my friends exchanged, I heard in the distance, the sound of galloping hoofbeats. He had come.

  I leapt to my feet, and for a moment, even as the hoofbeats drummed louder in my ears, my heart stood still. Then my conceit and pride overcame my desire and longing. How dare he bring me to this state! How dare he make me wait so endlessly! How dare he reduce me to begging for a glimpse of him! I sank down to the ground beneath my tree .

  “Sahiban,” my friends called in exitement as they caught the first glimpse of the horseman, “He has come.” I watched him as he swung off his horse and the sight of him brought a lump to my throat. My body shook with long suppressed sobs and I burst into tears. My legs gave way under me and I slumped to the ground.

  “I’ve come, Sahiban,” he said, reaching down and drawing me to my feet. He put his arms around me and drew me close and I felt the beating of his heart against my own. Yet I did not offer him a greeting. “Forgive me, Sahiban. I know how difficult it has been for you. But it was not easy for me either.”

  I pulled myself away then, and looked into his face.

  “And yet you sent no message to me?”

  “How can you say that? I sent you at least one message between one juma and the next, sometimes two.”

  “You lie. I got no message from you.”

  “Come,” he said and, grasping my wrist in a vice like grip, he pulled me towards his horse. There was fierce urgency in that one word and that grip, that would brook no denial, and I permitted myself to be dragged to his horse and lifted onto the saddle. He mounted behind me and we rode to his aunt’s house. Holding my hand still, in a grip so strong that it hurt, he pushed me into Biro’s presence.

  “Tell her, aunt,” he commanded in a loud clear voice, oblivious of the presence of the other members of the household. “Tell her of all the messages I have sent her over these long, weary, unending months.”

  My aunt looked at us, and I saw the guilt and the fear mirrored in her eyes. I knew that he spoke the truth and it was she who had failed me. She sank down upon the little stool, from which she had sprung up at our approach, and did not again look at us. I glanced, once, towards my Mirza, then going up to her, I knelt besides her and looked into her eyes.

  “Why aunt, why? Why did you do this to me? Do you not know how it almost killed me? Did you not know that I lost the desire to live, that I wished, at least a dozen times a day, that I was dead?”

  She put her hands to my cheeks and held my face in a firm steady grip so I could not choose but look into her eyes as she spoke.

  “No, my child, I did not know.” And looking into her eyes, I knew she spoke the truth.

  “I thought it was a desire of the flesh that would pass if it remained unfulfilled; a flame that would die if it was not fanned. There was so much at stake – bad blood between Shamir and Mirza, enmity and vendetta between Tahir’s family and yours, and I sought to avoid this by keeping Mirza’s messages from you. There were many messages, my child, many letters but I kept them all, because I did not understand the de
pth of your love.”

  She paused. Then she sighed and went on. “I will make amends now,” she said, “for all the pain that I have caused you. I will go to my brother’s house and beg for your hand for Mirza.”

  A hush descended on the courtyard as we entered my home and, in the pregnant silence, I saw the flash of anger in Shamir’s eyes, when he saw Mirza holding my hand. I also saw the look my father gave him, which made him hold his peace.

  “Come, come sister,” my father said with a show of affability, as he got to his feet. “I hope all is well with you.”

  “No, all is not well with me and that is why I come to you at this odd hour.”

  “Come, come and sit down. Tell me what troubles you.” Biro sat down on a stringed cot, close to her brother. “I have come to ask for Sahiban’s hand for my Mirza.”

  All eyes turned on us. I lowered my gaze and gently disengaged my hand.

  Shamir gasped at my aunt’s words, but he did not speak.

  “You do not know what you ask,” my father’s voice was kind and gentle. “Have you forgotten that Sahiban is betrothed to Tahir and Tahir’s family is pressing for an early wedding?”

  “No. I have not forgotten.”

  “What makes you think then, that we would prefer Mirza to Tahir?”

  My brother Shamir forgot his restraint, at last, and spoke. “Look at him – he is a total waster who has not done a day’s honest work in his life, spending all his hours in riding and wrestling and archery and wenching. Tahir is worth ten of him and Tahir’s family worth a hundred of his family.” There was such venom in his voice that it was like a physical onslaught, and I stepped back before it, till I was leaning against Mirza’s chest.

  “Quiet, boy!” my father said sharply. “Mirza is a guest in our house and we Sayals do not insult our guests. Forgive him, Mirza, he is overwrought and does not know what he says. And you, Shamir, hold your peace or I will order you into the house. This is between your aunt and me – leave it to us to sort out.”

  I could see that Shamir chaffed at this humiliation, but he had lived too long under my father’s shadow to stand up against him and I knew that there would not be another word from him that evening. “What Shamir says is true,” my aunt said. “Under normal circumstances, Tahir would be a much better match for Sahiban than Mirza. But these are not normal circumstances. Mirza and Sahiban love each other with an all encompassing, unsurpassable love, a love that demands fulfilment and will not be denied. And for this, even the enmity of Tahir’s family is a small price to pay.”

  My aunt’s words were greeted with silence, but I could see that my father was not inclined to brush them away lightly. My aunt perceived an advantage and sought to drive her point home. “Mirza is her cousin and you know that in such matters, cousins have first right.”

  “Yes, I know. But why was this right not exercised at the time when I was negotiating with Tahir’s father? Why did my sister Nasibo, Mirza’s mother, not come forward then? Do you not remember she took part in the festivities and gave Sahiban a silk suit, and a gold ring as a token of her blessings?”

  “We could not have forseen that he would grow up to be such a fine, handsome young man, a worthy match for our beauteous Sahiban.” There was silence again as everyone in the courtyard considered my aunt’s words.

  “I know that what I ask is difficult, I know the consequences of breaking off Sahiban’s engagement – the ignominy that it will bring to the Sayals and the bad blood that will ensue between the Sayals and Nasir Khan’s family for generations to come. I am aware of this, so I too did my bit to keep the lovers apart. I was part of Shamir’s conspiracy – we conspired to get Binjal to send for Mirza and to keep him in Danabad, and we conspired to keep all Mirza’s messages and letters from Sahiban. But now I know that I was wrong, Shamir was wrong and Binjal was wrong. There is no greater sin than to keep apart lovers whom God has brought together.” She got to her feet and, standing before her brother, she held up the hem of her shirt with both her hands. “Kheeva Khan, I stand before you as a beggar. You are my brother. We have shared a love which has never been tainted by motives, any desire for gain, any demands on each other. Yet, now I seek a favour on the basis of our love. I ask that you to give me Sahiban for my Mirza.” She sank to her knees and bowing her head, she wept.

  “Come, come sister,” my father said, holding Biro’s arm and drawing her to her feet. “You do not need to cry or to beg. I love Sahiban too, and would do anything to make her happy. But the request for her hand must come from Mirza’s parents, not from you. I give you my word that if such a request comes by the next full moon, I will break off her engagement with Tahir, no matter what the consequences, and she shall wed Mirza. But if no such request comes, then Sahiban shall marry Tahir within a week. Come, dry your eyes, my sister, and Mirza, why do you stand there like a stranger? Come, my son, come and sit beside me.”

  I looked at Mirza and he looked back at me, happiness and love shining in his eyes. He moved forward to take his place beside my father and I stole shyly into the house.

  Mirza went away the next morning and I watched him go with a light heart, sure that what my father had asked for was a mere formality and would soon be fulfilled. I settled down to wait. Once more, each day dragged past and each night. In the night sky, I examined the moving moon, as it grew a degree closer to its fullness. Yet I was sure of Mirza’s success in persuading his father, and I felt no anxiety in my heart. At last it was the night of the full moon and, as I looked up at it, shining down in all its splendour, I had to admit that my assurance had been misplaced. I could not believe that Mirza had failed to persuade his parents. I was convinced that something terrible had happened to him. Sick with worry, once again I went to my Aunt Biro. She was in her room, lying on her bed, her face towards the wall. I had never seen her thus, and my anxiety for myself and for my love was quickly replaced by worry for her.

  “What is it, aunt? Aren’t you well?” She turned and held her arms out to me and I went to her and she drew me close and wept.

  “My poor child,” she said, through her tears. “Your love is doomed. I have had a letter from my sister today – a letter brought by a special messenger. She says that your wedding with Mirza is not to be. She is afraid of the hostility that the broken engagement will cause. Nasir Khan’s family is an exceedingly proud family. They will not take this insult quietly. They are sure to retaliate in some way and my sister is afraid that this will put the life of my brother and the lives of your brothers at very grave risk. She will not have their blood on her head, she says, not even if it means denying Mirza the one happiness that he places above all the world.”

  I was too shocked to react to what my aunt had said, and after a while, she spoke again.

  “There is nothing more we can do, Sahiban. We have done all that we could. You must bow your head and accept what destiny has ordained for you. You must forget Mirza and accept Tahir and make the most of your life with him.”

  “It is not destiny that ordains what is to happen in my life – it is Mirza . If he is willing to bow before his parents’ wishes, then I must bow before them too.”

  I felt a strange calm within me – there was no anger, no pain, only a deep stillness. I got to my feet and walked from the room. But I stopped again, halfway down the courtyard and returned to the door of my aunt’s room.

  “You have been a true friend, Aunt Biro, and have done everything you could to help me. For this I bless you from the core of my heart and I know that God will bless you too, and reward you.”

  My aunt broke down again but the calmness remained in my heart, in spite of her tears and I turned and walked back again, through the courtyard. The other members of Aunt Biro’s family fell silent as they saw me depart and it was obvious that they knew of the message that had come from Mirza’s mother. I did not want their pity and without a word, or greeting, I hurried out of the courtyard and down the street towards the house that would be my home for another seven
days.

  True to his word, my father sent a message to Tahir’s father and the wedding was fixed for a week later. Four days of extended festivity and revelry to celebrate the coming together of two important families was planned. All through that week, the feeling of calmness never left me. I ate and slept and took an active part in all the decisions regarding the celebrations and it seemed to me that I had come to terms with my fate and accepted the fact that I would live out the rest of my life as Tahir’s wife.

  The bridegroom’s party arrived on the appointed day. The music could be heard long before the barat came winding its way up the village street. Cries of excitement went up in the house. The men folk put on their turbans and rushed out into the street to welcome the bridegroom and his kin, while the women climbed onto the terrace and peered over the balustrade to catch a glimpse of the action. When someone suggested that I, too, should go up onto the terrace to see what my future husband looked like, I did not have the heart to tell them that I had seen as much of him as I wished to. To keep up the pretence, however, I allowed myself to be persuaded to join the women crowding around the balustrade and listened to their exclamations of delight at Tahir’s strength and good looks. Then Tahir glanced up at the womenfolk and for a moment, our eyes met. In that tiny span of time, I saw the smug complacency on his face and all the calmness and stillness that had persisted through the week, melted away. I felt sick at heart. The memory of that night in Heer’s grove resurfaced sharply. I knew I couldn’t go through with this; I couldn’t bear the thought of living the rest of my days with him. I knew, with sudden and complete clarity, that I would rather die. I decided to make one last effort to reach out to Mirza, to persuade him to save me from this terrible fate. If that failed, I would kill myself.