Shahni took her salwar off the peg, laced her kurta, gathered her hair and wrapped her shawl in a tight bukkal over her head and shoulders. Then, glancing at Shahji’s room and having looked her fill, walked down the mud steps.
She had just pushed the door to the deorhi when the huge door of the haveli drew open.
‘Salaam, Shahni!’
‘Salaam, Channa. A long life to you.’
It was Shahni’s habit to look into the stables every morning.
A diya glimmered, a pale light in the nook. Three horses. Each more ready than the other. Both the whites, Shahzada, the prince, and Badshah, the king, instantly alert, neighed out a challenge, like thunder daring the hawk. Lakha Gulkher, the dark one, saw Shahni and whickered. As if asking – So Shahni, want to go to the river?
Na re na! Shahni patted the horse lovingly. ‘Malla, this Lakha has the forehead of a true warrior.’
‘Shahni, don’t praise him. He is one stubborn devil. If he gets to know that a novice is sitting in the saddle, God help the fellow. Last year, the Shah of Alamgarh had to do hot fomentations for a whole month! This one went like the wind, knowing him to be a novice, and flung him over the Maujoki sand dunes.’
Shahni laughed. ‘That’s all right, Nawab, but he and you are together day and night. He knows you, doesn’t he?’
The new mother, a Veerkundi buffalo, wrestled to break free when she saw Shahni.
‘Why, you are an angry one! Nawab, has her colic subsided?’ Shahni asked, thumping her stoutly.
‘Yesterday I added some mango pickle and ajwain seeds to her feed.’
Then Shahni caressed the calf. ‘Malla, this one also seems restless. Give him mustard oil in sour buttermilk. That should shake out any stubbornness.’
The new jhoti, the female buffalo from Begowal, lifted her head.
‘Is she still sad, this queen, this Malka Maharani of ours? She gave milk yesterday, na?’
‘A little. The calf was suckling her but as soon as we pulled him away, she pulled back her milk.’
Shahni went to the corner to check the cow’s manger and ran her hand lovingly over her. ‘This is our Kapila Gai, our gods’ gift.’
‘Don’t get taken in by her demure looks. She is a hot-blooded, heartless one. If her calf is not in front of her for even a minute she turns green and yellow with anger.’
Shahni patted the calf lovingly: ‘Sadke jaoon, be happy with your mother for two days or four, then God willing, you will go to the fields.’
‘May God will so! He has already begun to gallop. He will be a bull the moment he leaves his mother.’
As she walked out of the stables, Shahni looked at the row of huge five-ser brass pots shining in the courtyard, and bowed her head. Your munificence, O Lord.
The stars were still visible in the sky when she neared Miyankhan’s stable.
Ditta, the nightwatchman, coughed discreetly.
Shahni walked out into the village common.
The old Banyan tree was alive with birds.
Suddenly Shahni’s feet froze on the spot! Shahji’s first wife, Ambaryalwali, stood right there in the flesh, herself, incarnate! Replete with red wedding dupatta, a gold gota-rich salwar kameez and her sparkling gold nose-pin.
Shahni was stricken with fear. Today, after so many years – Vaheguru … Vaheguru …
She bowed her head and prayed with folded hands: ‘Ancestor mine, beyond life and death, yet mistress of this home and hearth. I am your servant, yours to command.’
Shahni opened her eyes, just in time to first glimpse Ambaryalwali’s receding back, and then her footless shadow, disappear in thin air.
Shahni’s feet had turned to stone, as if someone had yanked the very life force from her body and mind.
The first red rays of the sun were anointing a tilak on the forehead of day when Shahni finally reached the beriwala well. She bowed her head and folded her hands. ‘Your glory, O God; only you could have created this union of day and night. Created this leela, this sacred play of the spheres and the universe.’
Ladda, sitting on his seat, saw Shahni going towards the open bath, and immediately covered his face and head with the thick dottahi cloth lying next to him.
Quickly disrobing, Shahni put her clothes on the ledge and, sitting down, scrubbed herself clean. But as she was splashing her face, the vision of Ambaryalwali came back to her. She untied her hair and, speaking in her mind, beseeched, ‘Behna ri! Please don’t cast the evil eye on me. I’ve never sullied your name in either speech or thought.’
After bathing, Shahni went to the prayer hut to worship. Her heart found solace listening to the recital of religious scriptures. Vaheguru, you know what is in the heart of each living being. You are the life of life:
‘Pen in hand, You write our destiny on our foreheads
The beauty we see in the universe is through eyes given by You
But I have no voice to sing Your praise
Blessed I am when I attain a glimpse of You
Only in the company of saints does my soul know virtue
With joy I dedicate all my shringaar, my adornments, unto You
And am fulfilled only thus.
With great longing I prepare the bed for His arrival
Blessed is one who begets her Lord; a diamond on her forehead,
Decked in her finest
With all sixteen shringaars,
Kajal-eyed, betel-stained lips, a necklace around my throat
I await Him.
If my Lord deigns to come, I shall be fulfilled
And all in vain, without Him
If my adornments are true,
This home is blessed.’
Satvachan, truly said! Finding peace, Shahni bowed her head in the guru’s darbar and then touching a pinch of dust from the front door to her head, started for home.
Arais of the vegetable-selling caste, had laid out their stock of fresh greens in front of the dharamshala.
‘Come, Shahni, come.’
‘Let her come this way, ri, Jawaharan, let me make my first sale. Take these, Shahni, these radishes are sweet as they were grown alongside wheat!’
Hukam Bibi proffered some sarson ka saag. ‘Take this, Shahni, the fruits of the season, greener than green.’
Fateh showed her shiny black brinjals. ‘Shahni, take these for the guests at least.’
Shahni bought the vegetables and greens and as she gathered them in her jholi she glanced at Aliya’s daughter, Fateh. White as milk, Kashmiri skin. Taut, ripe-bodied. Her fulsome breasts straining under the folds of her odhni. Just looking at her could whet your appetite.
‘Fateh ri, come to the haveli at noon.’
‘Halaa, okay, Shahni!’
Nazam Bibi of Uttari Vand – the northern quarter of the village – teased, ‘Go on, girl, now is your chance to ask for more. If you can get more then why settle for less?’
Fateh’s laugh was coy, sweet as mishri. ‘Le lo ri, soft and tender squash, sweet radishes grown alongside wheat!’ she simpered.
Nazam bibi cackled: ‘Ari sahelri, my friend, don’t go selling all that is salt and sweet, raw and ripe today itself. There’s a lot of time to go yet!’
Reaching the janjghar, the community centre, Shahni covered her head, walking fast as she took the ironsmiths’ street to reach the haveli.
Climbing the steps to her home, she saw that the diya was still alight in the nook. Afraid, she called out, ‘Mabibi, are you all right? The sun is up and you have left the lamp burning. After sunrise, don’t show disrespect to the deepak! Maharaj have mercy! Without the sun no day is beautiful; without the lamp, no night!’
While Shahni started work in the kitchen, Kartaro washed the brass pots and lined them on the ledge.
Shahni picked up a burning cowpat from under the pot in which the milk had been left on slow simmer through the night, and used it to light the stove to start the day’s cooking.
Putting the milk to boil, she admonished Kartaro, ‘Keep an eye on
it, Kartaro, don’t let smoke spoil the milk.’
Shahni sat down to churn the milk and the sound of it swishing about the pot resounded off the walls and doors.
Beads of milk shot out from the pot.
She dipped her finger into the milk. It wasn’t ready yet.
‘Kartaro balli, give me some warm water. Let me add some to the milk so that the butter separates nicely.’
She had just gathered the butter into the taulbaaz and covered the chati with a cloth when Shahji arrived. When he sat down, Shahni said, ‘Maine kaha ji, during winter you can bathe by our well.’
‘Na, Shahni, I’ll always bathe in the river our ancestors bathed in. Why don’t you bathe by the small storage tank near the well? When Bebe was alive, this well was used a lot.’
Shahni guessed that Shahji had been remembering his mother. Revered is she who now resides in heaven. Oh, the radiance of her when she bathed! And she had been as beautiful as she had been accomplished.
‘Right here, where you sit, Shahni, every morning at sunrise, my mother’s heavy bangles kept time with the milk churn. Kashi and I would lie in the pasaar, the inner room, learning our tables. And the moment the churn stopped, we would leap up for our share of makkhan-mishri. Bebe would sprinkle almonds and sugar crystals on the butter, and give it to us; we would down it with a bowl of buttermilk, then rush to the stables and take the horses for a gallop!’
‘Ji, where have those good times, those sweet images of the past, gone? But, may God will it good, Shahji, I had a real fright today.’
Shahji stared at her.
‘I saw the elder one by the corner of the masjid. Clothes all ashimmer. Standing there in flesh and blood …’
Shahji got up abruptly. ‘Finish with the milk and curds, Shahni, and then come inside.’
Shahni filled the kneading bowl with gramflour, added some ghee and a pinch of salt and ajwain.
‘Kartaro, knead the besan firm. Then heat up the tandoor. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Shahni, I thought that you’d take it the wrong way … so I didn’t tell you about it. Last fortnight, Gauraja came to me in a dream as well,’ her husband confessed the moment Shahni appeared before him.
Shahni started trembling with fear. ‘Shahji, how did she look in the dream? Did she say anything?’
Shahji stared at Shahni with strange eyes, as if he were in two minds about whether to speak! ‘She lived with me for only a short while, and I was insatiable. Trishna. Whenever she appears in my dreams, she mouths the same taunt: “Shahji, where is my son, my jatak? Who will secure the bloodline, the kul-vansh?” and saying so, she laughs and disappears.’
Shahni started to cry. ‘God has blessed this house with plenty, it’s only I who haven’t measured up.’
‘Shahni, no one can win over fate. Perhaps, if you gave away a girl from Ambaryalwali’s family in marriage, we might be able to break the jinx.’
Shahni’s heart missed a beat. Then quickly rallying her strength, she said, ‘If you agree with me, then adopt a son!’
Shahji understood Shahni’s heartache. ‘These decisions, the final word, is all yours. Do what you like,’ he said gently.
Shahni’s heart was gladdened by her husband’s assurance. She protested, ‘No, you are the wise one, what am I worth.’
Shahji was about to say something, then stopped, a smile playing on his lips.
‘Shahji, why hold back, say what you were going to say.’
‘Shahni, after one is dead, who cares if it is your own blood or another’s? Tradition simply demands a son to secure the lineage.’
Shahni wanted to cling to her husband, to weep out her heartache, but she held back.
‘You will have a besani tandoori roti, na?’ she asked quietly as she walked out through the doorway.
Shahji stood watching his wife as she crossed the doorstep. She walked with a determined gait, as if resolving to take fate head on. A deep one. This daughter of the Alamgarhia clan – her mother, a soft tender bark; her father upright, like the unbending trunk of an ancient banyan tree.
When Shahni organized Trinjan, the cotton-spinning day before the festival of Lohri, in the cold month of Poh, the whole village could talk of nothing else. The basement hall was meticulously cleaned, freshly coated with clay and whitewashed with lime. That an event so auspicious was to be held here had the household abuzz. In the evening Shahni put oil and wicks in all the diyas. Then, first lighting one, she used it to light the others and with folded hands bowed her head in prayer:
‘Lamp lit
Enemy thwarted
Good fortune
Reside
Inside.
Lamp
And oil –
The separate
Unite.’
Chachi Mehri folded her hands before the glow and then touched them to her forehead.
‘Twilight descends
And cleanses the soul
Of all its failings.’
‘Shahni, child, check if there’s enough space downstairs for the girls’ spinning wheels, their charkhas. Mabibi, bring some thick spreads from the quilt store. The girls shouldn’t freeze in this cold.’
Mabibi had been listening to Chachi’s orders since noon. ‘I don’t trust my own intelligence, Chachi, but I do trust your supervision!’ she snapped back irritably.
‘Halaa ri halaa, we shall see what you’ve done with your intelligence as well! Come, child, let’s take a look.’
When the three of them went down the stairs, the long corridor glimmered in the glow of their hand-held diyas. The beautifully painted walls of the cold room had come alive with the fluttering of green and pink colours.
Shahni was pleased. ‘How wonderful, Mabibi!’
Chachi took a closer look. ‘Waah ri waah! Here’s a peacock with his mate, and here, the leader of birds, the pigeon with his mate. And here, a row of birds!’
‘Chachi, look, there is more. This, the motiya plant with flowers of pearl. An ox. A buffalo. And look, the pair of sun and moon!’
A sudden longing flared in Shahni’s eyes and she sighed deeply.
Chachi Mehri put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Child, it seems to me, this moment, that your son will play in this very room before next Trinjan.’
Shahni turned to leave. Mabibi spoke to Chachi, ‘I swear by God, Chachi, I didn’t sit to think before drawing. These beautiful figures have drawn themselves though the hands were mine. Allah Beli will listen to our prayers too, isn’t it!’
‘Pray in His service that children may play in this home too.’
‘Chachi, why won’t the family who is watched over by the ancestor Baba Farid be blessed? Why wouldn’t their wish be granted?’
Shahni called out from the verandah above, ‘Mabibi, do check my spinning wheel and fix the spindle if it’s askew!’
‘Halaa, Shahni.’
Mabibi turned to Chachi Mehri. ‘Chachi, take Shahni to some wise pir or fakir. I don’t know what the matter is but these last few days, Shahni has been crying to herself during the day’s work … sighing long and deep … then walking as determinedly as if she has a boundary to scale.’
Chachi nodded, her chin in her hand.
When both of them went back upstairs, they found Kartaro giggling as she held a marigold, looking deeply pleased with herself.
‘Kyon ri, have you delivered the invitations?’
‘Not finished yet, Chachi, the whole of Uttari Vand remains.’
‘Sir-sarhi, you spoilt brat! If you are peckish, eat something and then go and finish the invitations!’
‘If Shahni were to soak some makhanas and dried fruits in hot milk, even my soul would be satisfied.’
Chachi grew angry. ‘Kyon ri, where did you get the marigold from?’
‘From the prayer hut nearby.’
‘Silly, whom did you go there to invite?’
Kartaro’s laugh brought a shine to the vessels. ‘I had gone to the temple to worship. Bhaiji lit the lamp, opened the
sacred book. When I bowed my head at the altar, this flower fell into my lap. I tell you, Chachi, this means something good is about to happen to me, something in my favour!’
‘Rein in your tongue, you cheeky girl!’
‘You are cursing me! Other girls my age already have families and a brood of kids!’ Kartaro grinned.
‘Shut up ri, you haven’t touched your twenties yet. Have patience. Your groom will arrive one of these days.’
‘Chachi, I am long past marriageable age!’
Nawab and Muhammdin carried up brimming pots of milk. ‘Lo Shahni, with the grace of God, the buffalo didn’t create any problems today. Well, well, sister Kartaro, you look pleased! Drinking milk, no less; have you travelled far today?’
‘Veera, you might not like me but don’t cast an evil eye on my milk!’
‘Come on, Kartaro, dusk has fallen. Take Dilbaag and complete the invitations,’ Shahni coaxed.
‘Who will have patience with Dilbaag, Shahni? He has a squint in both eyes.’
‘Shut up ri. So what if he’s cross-eyed, he’s not writing the invitations, just delivering them. Go.’
‘Chachi, if you send Muhammdin with me, I’ll be as fast as the wind.’
‘Is Nawab your enemy or what?’
‘Please, Chachi, today is my lucky day. Nawab’s stars are slow. I mean, his engagement falls through every winter.’
‘If he gets his nikah read before your marriage, you’ll have to hide your face,’ Chachi laughed.
Nawab’s soul began to sing at the mention of marriage. ‘May what you say come true, ghee-shakkar and all things sweet in your mouth, Chachi!’
‘I say, Mabibi, find him a match in Daulatgarh. Shahni will take care of the jewellery, and Shahji will provide the feast. If one has the money, one can get married before night falls!’
Nawab’s face was a picture.
‘Nawab often visits the weaver family of Jammi. Is there any hope there?’ laughed Mabibi.
Nawab blushed. ‘Mabibi, Syeda is one skittish filly.’
‘Shame on you, re! You’ve grown old handling horses and you can’t control a girl!’ Chachi scoffed.
Zindaginama Page 3
