Rani and Sukh

by Bali Rai

  Rani shut the door and opened the one at the back, getting in silently, her face red with embarrassment and fear. Mostly fear.

  RANI

  ‘GET LOST!’

  I was sitting in the living room with Divy standing over me, shouting at me like the Neanderthal wanker that he was. My dad was in the room too, along with Gurdip. My mum had been banished to the kitchen. My heart was in my mouth and I was feeling sick. I was in big trouble. I couldn’t believe that Divy had seen me with Sukh. We were both on such a high after meeting his dad that we had taken a risk. When Divy had pulled up in his bhangra-mobile I’d nearly fainted. My only saving grace was that he had no idea who the boy was. I shuddered when I realized what would have happened had he recognized Sukh. My life was turning into a nightmare before my eyes . . .

  ‘Who is he?’ asked my dad, calmer than my brothers.

  ‘No one – just a friend from school.’

  ‘You think that I am the stupid, Rani?’ said my dad. ‘School bloody finish—’

  ‘He’s just a lad that I know,’ I insisted.

  Divy looked like he was about to explode. ‘I ain’t takin’ that,’ he spat. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘If you think I’m telling you . . .’ I replied, trying to sound calm and unflustered. Inside I was more scared than I had ever been. Scared of my own family and what they might do.

  ‘Well – if you don’t then you’re gonna be stuck in here . . .’ Divy told me.

  ‘You can’t make me do anything,’ I said. Suddenly I forgot to be calm and burst into tears.

  ‘Cry all you like, Rani. You ain’t going out nowhere from now on – believe me . . .’ continued Divy.

  ‘This is a free country!’ I shouted. ‘How you gonna stop me?’

  ‘Think what you like, you slag!’

  I looked at my dad, pleading with him with my eyes. He caught my gaze and looked away. His face was drawn and almost white. Like someone had ripped the life out of him.

  ‘Dad . . .’ I cried, trying to think of a way out. Something to get me away from my brothers and out of the house.

  ‘When I asked you before,’ he said in Punjabi, ‘when I told you what would happen if I ever caught you with a boy, you looked at me with the face of an angel and swore that you were not one of those girls. Why have you done this to me, Rani? Didn’t I look after you, give you everything . . . ?’

  ‘Dad!’ I screamed at him.

  ‘Shut up! Khungeri!’

  ‘I’m not a whore!’

  ‘Then what are you? You have shamed me . . . cut off my nose,’ he continued in Punjabi.

  ‘Tell us who the boy is,’ said Divy, ‘and we’ll let you off—’

  ‘NO!’ I screamed.

  My stomach was turning over and over. My head was spinning and my throat was dry, like it had been sandpapered on the inside. I wanted to throw up.

  ‘OK – have it your way, Rani,’ Divy told me. ‘From now on you ain’t leaving the house. No phone calls, no town, no nuttin’, innit. You don’t speak to me or Dad and you definitely ain’t speaking to the goreeh friend of yours. I bet she’s the one put you up to this . . .’

  ‘You can’t . . .’ I said in a whisper, feeling the bile work its way up my foodpipe.

  ‘Yeah – we can. No college either. Nothing . . . You think I’m gonna let you make people laugh at me? At this family?’

  I looked at my dad, who shrugged.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said. ‘You did this, Rani. Not me. I don’t have daughter now. Your brothers will decide what happens to you. Do not ask me . . .’

  He walked to the drinks cabinet in the corner and poured himself a whisky, drinking it down in one and pouring another.

  Divy sneered at me and grabbed me by the arm. ‘Get to your room!’ he snarled, pulling me roughly from my seat.

  I screamed and shouted and kicked at him before the bile got too much and I threw up down myself. Divy looked at me with disgust and then laughed. Suddenly his hand shot out and he slapped me across my face, knocking me to the floor. Instinctively, my hands covered my stomach, protecting my baby.

  I screamed again and shouted for my dad but he ignored my pleas, and between them Divy and Gurdip – who had spoken to me only once since I had arrived home, telling me that I was dead to him – dragged me to my room. As they pulled me up the stairs, I caught sight of my mum, tears in her eyes, her face set in the same expression as my dad’s earlier. A cross between shock, anger and despair. As if their fate had poisoned them. I called to her but she scuttled back into the kitchen. I struggled to protect my belly as Divy and Gurdip threw me onto my bed.

  ‘You don’t come out until you reach marriage age or you tell me who that fucking bastard is – whichever comes first!’ said Divy.

  He walked out and slammed the door so hard that the frame split. For a few moments I lay on my bed, scared that they might have damaged my unborn child, before desperation took over. I looked around, frantically searching for my mobile. But it was in my bag and my bag was downstairs. I got up and wiped puke from my mouth. My face was stinging and my left eye was closing up. I walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Gurdip was standing in the hallway. He glared at me and left me in no doubt that I was going nowhere. I shut the door and returned to my bed, holding my stomach, the tears spilling down my face . . .

  Later I was woken by the sound of a drill. I opened my eyes and saw my father holding my door open, his foot behind it as Gurdip fitted a lock. On the outside. I jumped off my bed and ran to the door.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What’s it look like?’ said Gurdip, forgetting his vow not to speak to me ever again.

  ‘You can’t do—’

  ‘Shut up!’ shouted my dad, giving me a death stare.

  ‘I’ll call the police!’ I shouted back. ‘This ain’t the Punjab!’

  My dad turned suddenly and raised a hand, ready to hit me. I shielded my face with my arms but there was no need. He looked at me and then turned his head away, dropping his hand.

  ‘You call this love?’ I asked him.

  ‘This is for your own protection . . .’ he said softly.

  ‘Protection from what – you?’

  I could see that words hurt him. He looked away again and told Gurdip to hurry up.

  ‘You call yourselves my family? I hate you! I fucking hate you!’

  I was expecting a slap but all I got was a baleful stare as I returned, beaten, to my bed. I slumped on it and started to cry again. My dad just looked at me. I spat out the rest of my words.

  ‘You won’t ever see me when I get out of here,’ I told him. ‘You’ve already lost a sister, now you’re gonna lose a daughter too . . .’

  His face twitched at the mention of his sister and he hurried out of the room, maybe shamed, maybe saddened. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. Gurdip finished fitting the bolt and closed the door, leaving the wood shavings and dust on the carpet and locking me in. I thought about all those stories I’d heard about girls being kept prisoner by their families. I never thought that my family would ever stoop so low, take things to such an extreme. I was in shock, I think, trying to take in all the things that had happened to turn my world to hell. I sat there and wondered what I was going to do. How was I supposed to get out of there? How was I supposed to get back to Sukh?

  I woke again around nine p.m., going into my en suite bathroom to shower off all the tears and the vomit. In the mirror I saw the bruise down the left side of my face. I saw it out of my right eye because the left one was closed over. I looked like I had run into a wall. I got undressed and turned the shower on, wondering if Sukh or Natalie had tried to call or text me. I was sure they had and realized that they would be worried when I didn’t reply. I was hoping that one of them would figure out that something was up before my brothers searched through my phone for Sukh’s number. I swallowed hard at the thought of Divy calling Sukh . . .

  After my shower I gingerly put antiseptic cream on my brui
se, right above my eye where Divy’s hand had split the skin. The stinging sensation coupled with the sharp smell of the cream nearly made me throw up again. But I held it back and returned to my room. I sat at my desk, facing the bed. I had one of those swivel chairs and I span round on it, coming to a stop facing the screen of my computer. I cursed myself and my own stupidity. The computer . . .

  I saw that Divy had removed the phone from my room – the land line – but he hadn’t bothered to disconnect the modem of my PC. I doubted whether he even knew what the Internet was. I wondered if anyone was on the phone before realizing that if I logged on and someone tried to make a call, they’d realize that I was up to something. Instead I went to the door and listened as hard as I could. There was some noise from downstairs, the TV being the loudest. Probably Gurdip watching football or some other crap. My mum was usually in bed by ten and my dad rarely used the phone. Gurdip was the only one who might discover what I was doing. I looked at my clock. It was 9.45. I decided to give him another hour, lying back down on my bed and switching my TV on.

  At ten minutes past ten I turned off my television and listened at the door again. The TV was still on downstairs and there were loud voices, maybe Gurdip and Divy. Maybe even my dad and some of his friends. I looked at the clock, decided that I couldn’t afford to take a risk and settled back down to watch the telly. My intention was to e-mail Nat, who checked her e-mails every day, once in the morning and once at night. I’d probably missed her for the night but there was always the morning. I blinked at the TV, not really watching the late-night film that was on. I was busy concocting my future in my head, with Sukh and our baby. And waiting to get on line.

  I finally connected at just past midnight, figuring that if anyone called now it was likely to be for Gurdip, in which case they would probably ring his mobile so as not to wake up my parents. I listened to the computer connect and then went to the door to check for noise. The house was silent. Gurdip was probably out with Divy or in bed. I went back to the screen and logged on to Hotmail. Deleting all the spam, I hit the compose tab and typed in Nat’s address.

  Divy caught me with Sukh. Doesn’t know who he is though. They’ve locked me in my room. Please tell Sukh and get him to call the police. I’m scared . . .

  I signed it and hit the SEND button.

  THE NEXT DAY

  RESHAM

  RESHAM BAINS HADN’T slept a wink and the morning brought only fear and anxiety. And dreams of old. He had set off from his home at eight that morning, taking a long walk over to Clarendon Park to find Gianni Balwant Singh-ji, and his mind had been taken up with thoughts of Mohinder Sandhu.

  As he walked, the sun began to warm his bones. He remembered herding water buffalo and drinking lassi from metal cups that set his teeth on edge. Watching Kulwant Sandhu as she swayed along the dusty tracks that ran to and from the village, her forehead gently perspiring in the unforgiving glare of the Punjabi sun. The tall tales of witches and ghosts and snakes, as long as the Great Trunk Road and as black as night. Mohinder, chewing on a blade of grass as the two of them crouched by the side of a rice paddy, watching adulterous neighbours frolic. Carrying kindling home for the evening fires and listening to the old women chatter as they churned out one roti after another, and the insects buzzed around the oil lamps.

  He remembered too the way Mohinder had looked into his eyes on the night that Billah had met his kismet. It had been a look of pity, of hurt, and most of all a look of grief, fuelled, he was sure, by the realization that their childhood had been a mirage, one that had disappeared that night, overtaken by hatred and loathing. He had long waited for a chance to repair the wounds, to reach out to his best friend, whom he had never forgotten, with a hand of peace and healing and redemption.

  As he strode purposefully into the gurudwara and asked for the Gianni-ji, Resham prayed that he would be right. That Mohinder would see this second twist of fate as a chance to put the years of hurt and pain behind them. Yet part of him was ready to accept the worst. There was no guarantee that Rani’s father would be willing to listen to his words of diplomacy. Hence Resham’s desire to involve Balwant Singh, a respected elder in the community and a man of great wisdom and compassion.

  The Gianni welcomed Resham into an office and offered him tea. ‘It is a fine day to take a walk to the gurudwara,’ he said with a huge benevolent smile.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Resham, wondering how to break his news.

  ‘Is there some purpose for your visit this morning or are you merely here to give thanks?’ asked Balwant Singh, sensing the weight on Resham Bains’s shoulders.

  ‘What can I tell you, Gianni-ji?’ began Resham, his eyes beginning to water.

  ‘Come, come, brother – what is it that makes your heart so sad in the house of our Teacher?’

  ‘Gianni-ji, my kismet has conspired to put me in a very difficult position . . .’

  The priest looked at his friend and sighed. ‘It seems to me that such pain can only come from a loved one . . .’ he replied, waiting for Resham to compose himself.

  Resham took a sip of the spicy tea he had been given and remembered his brother Billah’s face at the moment his life had been taken from him. He steadied himself emotionally. ‘Gianni-ji, it is my son. My youngest – Sukhjit . . .’

  As Resham’s tale unfolded the priest sat back and listened. As was his way, he offered no interruptions, no judgements, allowing Resham to take his time and let the words ease his burden slightly. The tea was cold by the time the story had been told. The priest waited for a few minutes before speaking.

  ‘This is indeed a grave matter,’ he conceded.

  ‘I need your guidance, Gianni-ji. Your advice,’ replied Resham.

  ‘Your proposal is backed by sound intentions, brother, yet I am unsure whether Mohinder will see it so.’

  ‘Then you do not think that I should tell him?’

  The priest shook his head. ‘No, Resham, tell him you must. It is the only thing to do—’

  ‘Regardless of his reaction?’

  ‘Yes. I remember only too well the fate of your brother and Mohinder’s sister. It is not something I wish to see repeated. I do not wish to see members of our community in jail or in a grave over such nonsense as honour and pride. It is not the way of the Sikh.’

  ‘Yet if I do tell him, there is every chance that his rage will lead to bloodshed . . .’ pleaded Resham.

  The priest looked at Resham with a calming look on his face. He sighed and pushed aside a piece of paper on the desk in front of him. ‘I cannot let it come to that. I will go with you to talk to your old friend.’

  ‘When?’ asked Resham.

  The priest picked up the piece of paper and looked at it, thinking for a moment. ‘Today – if we can. What is the point of putting it off? If we do not plant the fields today, Resham, we will still have to do so tomorrow . . .’

  ‘Thank you, Gianni-ji,’ replied Resham, the relief evident on his face.

  ‘No thanks are required, Resham. It is my duty to try and bring your families together – if only for the sake of those two children. No matter what wrong our hearts tell us they have done – it is not for us to judge them. That is the preserve of our Lord . . .’

  ‘Even though they have offended our ways . . . ?’ asked Resham.

  The priest sighed again. ‘Perhaps we have never tried to find out what their ways are, my brother. The young people of today are not like us. Perhaps they have different values – who are we to judge? Perhaps the best thing we can do is try to understand . . .’

  Resham looked at the priest with a combination of shock and respect. He wondered whether Mohinder could be as empathetic. As forgiving. He would soon find out, he told himself. It was up to the Lord now . . .

  NATALIE & SUKH

  ‘YOU’RE NUTS, NATALIE – you know that?’

  Sukh shook his head as Natalie smiled at him.

  ‘We should have just called the police . . .’

  ‘We will . . . I j
ust want to see if I can talk them round first.’

  Sukh looked at her. ‘Talk them round? They’ve got Rani locked in a bloody room and you want to talk to ’em? Man, you’re off your head . . .’

  ‘We’ve just seen Gurdip being picked up by Divy. That only leaves her mum and dad . . .’

  ‘Oh well, that’s all right then – that’ll make it a piece of cake . . .’

  ‘Faith, fair Sukh. Faith.’

  Natalie adjusted her hair, looking in a compact mirror before putting it back into her handbag. She had picked up Sukh after reading Rani’s e-mail and driven him, in her mum’s car – illegally – to within five hundred metres of Rani’s house. They were waiting round a corner, ducking when they saw Divy’s car leave.

  Sukh sighed. ‘We’re gonna get caught, you know. I mean, you can’t even drive—’

  ‘I got us here, didn’t I, sweets?’

  ‘But you ain’t even got a licence,’ Sukh reminded her.

  ‘It’s an automatic, Sukh. How hard can it possibly be? I mean, I know driving is supposed to be this great coming-of-age malarkey, but please . . .’

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘She’s away for the week – what she don’t know—’

  ‘Nuts . . .’ said Sukh, more to himself.

  ‘Yeah – something you are obviously lacking . . .’ said Natalie.

  Sukh ignored her and looked at his mobile. It was 11 a.m. and they had been sitting there for two hours watching the driveway to Rani’s house. He looked at what Natalie was wearing and decided that he had to be as crazy as she was. He would have called the police himself otherwise.

  ‘So, why are you wearing that suit? You look like a trainee accountant or something.’

  ‘It’s Jasmine’s,’ replied Natalie. ‘The glasses too. They’re not real. Got clear lenses in them . . .’

  ‘And the point of the suit, the glasses and that clipboard is what exactly?’

  ‘And the hair,’ smiled Natalie. ‘Don’t forget the hair. It took me ages to get it into a bun.’