Zindaginama

by Krishna Sobti

  ‘Shahji, you have heard about the Virks, haven’t you? That was the time when trains had just been introduced. The wife noticed that her husband’s turbans were worn out. When he sat down to eat, she said, “Arrange for some new safas. Both are torn.” Leaving his food untouched, the son of Virk stood up saying, “I’ll just be back.” A train was standing on the platform. Taking a long, hooked bamboo pole the Virk put it in through the window, and started lifting off the passengers’ turbans! By the time the bare heads turned around to look, he had six or eight! Before they could react, the Virk was back sitting before his plate. His wife grumbled, “O husband, left your food midway. It’s not as if some auspicious moment was being lost!”

  ‘Virk got irked. Said, “O wife, be quiet. Your mind only works when your plait is pulled. The train was in the station, your man finished his errand, and his soul is free as air. The next train will come in the evening. Do you want me to wait there, with my eyes peeled in anticipation?”’

  Guffaws erupted in the gathering.

  ‘Badshaho, what a novel method of collecting turbans!’

  ‘And why not, Virk sons are most resourceful. There’s a saying among them: “Son, if you don’t steal, what will you eat?”’

  Munshi Ilmdin asked, ‘Kyon ji, is there thieving and stealing in the platoons too?’

  ‘Of course. Towards Dera Ismaelkhan, Ghazikhan and Quetta Chaman, pistols are often stolen. Want one? Pick one. When 40 Punjab was stationed at Quetta Chaman, there was practically one theft every day.’

  Sahib Khan said, ‘The Baloach mind is very sharp in these matters. Till he doesn’t exact revenge, he seethes like a smouldering dung-pat.’

  Jahandad Khan said, ‘Let’s hear the coffin incident, Sahib Khan.’

  ‘Badshaho, in those days 40 Punjab was stationed at Chaman. One Baloach soldier sent an application that a relative had died, and that he had to go to Tarih for the burial. Leave was granted. Had to be. British officers tried to keep on good terms with their soldiers. It so happened that when the Baloach was having the coffin loaded onto the camel, the command-captain was passing by. He got suspicious and ordered the coffin to be opened. The Baloach came up to him and said softly but firmly, “Withdraw your order, Sahib. I will either give my life or take a life in the coffin’s honour.” The captain immediately ordered that the Baloach be granted a gate pass. Later, the guns were counted in the evening. One less. Anyway, when the Baloach returned from leave, the gun was on his shoulder. When brought before the captain, he didn’t flinch. Said, “It was an old enmity, Sahib. I had to kill my father’s murderer. Whatever punishment Sahib Bahadur gives, I accept.”’

  Hearing this, Guruditt Singh’s blood boiled: When his son Prithi Singh comes home on leave this time, they too must resolve to do something. High time that Katha Singh of Tanda was dispatched! He’s still sitting pretty, having rubbed our family name and honour in the mud …

  Ganda Singh looked on gravely as Guruditt Singh’s nostrils flared with rage. Then gently cautioned him, ‘For them, exacting revenge is just a matter of custom. A Baloach’s grudge has dire consequences. Listen to this: Attar Singh of Bannu wounded one Nabi Shah in rage. That was it, the Baloach’s heart and mind began to fester with the wound. When he recovered, the first thing he did was to wipe out Attar Singh and his entire family. And then he declared to all and sundry: Blood for blood!’

  Jahandadji turned to Shahji. ‘Shah Sahib, army life has its own dangers and delights.’

  ‘Jahandadji, did our guests arrive straight, or did you make some halts on the way?’

  ‘By Rabb’s grace, we were fortunate to be present at Lakhandata Sakhi-Sarwar’s darbar.’

  ‘Waah-waah, if one makes it to Sakhi-Sarwar’s, what else does one need!’

  ‘It was my good luck. Sahib Khanji had promised a visit if his wish were granted. With him, my luck too opened up.’

  Chhote Shah was delighted. ‘That is good. A man’s roti and rizak, eating and earning, always go on. But nazar-niyaz-mannat – offerings, oblations and spiritual vows – are ways of worshipping the All Merciful.’

  ‘Shah Sahib, at Lakhandata’s high sanctuary, there is bliss upon bliss. Zahira darbar of Sakhi-Sarwar!’

  ‘It is a huge place of worship. In one corner stands the Garibnawaz Sarwarshah. In the other, Baba Nanak. Badshaho, when one sees the spinning wheel and seat of Sakhi-Sarwar Sahibji’s mother, Ayesha, one’s eyes find peace. There is also a Thakurdwara nearby. And even a Bhairon mandir.’

  Kashi Shah nodded. ‘If one hasn’t seen it oneself, it’s difficult to believe. This is proof that all these divisions and diverging religions came much later. Man himself created them. Rabb-Rasool and Karta-Karanhar is one and only one. The One who acts and the acted upon are all one.’

  Karm Ilahiji thought of something. ‘Badshaho, here the Panjpir, there the Panj Pandavas! Here Panj Auliyas, there the Panj Pyare!’

  Maiyya Singh also grew wise on the number five. ‘Barkhurdaro, this Punjab of ours, too, must surely have some understanding and partnership with Rabb. Ask why? Because Rabb has also given five rivers to Punjab. What can one say of that land, my good men, which nature herself has blessed with a five?’

  Kashi Shah was delighted with Taya Maiyya Singh’s observation. He got up and touched his knees in respect. ‘Tayaji, the right comment is that which is made at the right time, in the right manner!’

  Mauladadji agreed, ‘Shahji, so our Punjab is a land of proud and accomplished people, isn’t it? It has seen the coming and going of many brave warrior races down the ages. It has also seen great pirs, auliyas, devotees and martyrs.’

  ‘Shah Sahib, there is another strange story about Sakhi Sarwar. Three castes serve there – Kulang, Kaheen and Sheikh. The descendants of all three mujawars have to be present in His darbar. It is said that Sakhi Sahib decreed that of these three branches, the total number of men who serve Him will always remain a thousand and fifty. Not one less, not one more.’

  ‘Badshaho, Rabb’s wisdom to His servant.’

  Jahandadji told Nawab to fetch a pot of Lakhandata Darbar’s choorma prasad from his home, and then handed it over to Kashi Shah. ‘You distribute, let everyone have some. May Rabb will it so, one day everyone sitting in this gathering will present himself in the Darbar of Garibnawaz.’

  Ganda Singh gestured to Jahandadji. ‘Faujiyo, you were to announce some good news to the village as well. Do it today itself. Don’t take a week like I did. When I returned after voluntary retirement, my mouth wouldn’t open to tell anyone. Every night I’d go up on the roof and fire my gun. The village thought it was a habit from the platoon. One morning my cousin Jhanda Singh called out, “Oye Ganda Singh, take heart. All faujis retire. You are not the only one who has taken his pension. Who can stop the wind that you fire your gun every night!” Then he announced loudly for all to hear, “Listen people, Nayak Ganda Singh, 33 Punjab, has come home after retirement. Convey your good wishes and congratulations at his house today.”’

  ‘So, Jahandad, don’t feel awkward. Khairon se, each early morn has to reach its high noon.’

  ‘Absolutely. Badshaho, by Allah’s grace, we have come home after receiving honourable discharge from the army.’

  The gathering was struck dumb for a moment. Mauladadji supported his younger brother. ‘You could have easily stayed five-seven years more if you so wanted. But good that you have returned home. There will be good times ahead.’

  Shahji bridged the awkward gap. ‘The truth is that man must also make way for the younger ones. Secondly, wives and lands left behind long for their masters every moment. Some day, one has to heed their call too. Am I wrong, Jahandadji?’

  ‘Shah Sahib, absolutely right and true.’

  Chaudhary Fateh Ali capped the matter. ‘Puttarji, enough of pomp and glory and brave deeds of the army. Now go look after your fields. Grace the gatherings and grace the village.’

  ‘Baba Farid’s munificence!

  Congratulations and felicitation
s!

  May Allah Beli bring good luck

  To Chadhat Singh and Bhag Singh’s grandsons.

  May they enjoy golden nights,

  May their tribes multiply

  And expand before their eyes.

  He who holds the writ over millions

  Is the lord of plenty.

  May that Sahib Singh’s blood bear fruit.’

  Shahji’s fair, impressive-looking sisters, Nandkauran and Chandkauran, arrived, bearing wicker baskets full of jaggery and sugar batashas.

  ‘Congratulations, Ji, congratulations! Khair mubarakein!’ Maulu Mirasi’s voice echoed from the threshold:

  ‘Nawab Dhiyan’s lineage

  Bebe Dhiyan’s lineage

  May the newborn’s aunts rejoice a hundred times!

  May the newborn’s aunts live a hundred years!

  May the Seven Shields wash the baby nephew’s face!’

  Nandkauran and Chandkauran put silver coins on Maulu and Fattu’s palms and with joyful tears distributed the jaggery and sugar batashas as Babo’s rich voice resounded through the haveli:

  ‘Green is the colour, O mother, green, O sisters

  Green is the colour of abundant fate

  The day my son was born

  That day was the blessed day.’

  Listening to the sweet notes of Ghodi, young and old alike gathered for batashas. Chhoti Shahni distributed fistfuls. ‘Here, sweeten your mouth. Your little companion has arrived. Rejoice and play.’

  When the newborn’s tiny cries were heard from Shahni’s room, Nandkauran and Chandkauran smiled at each other. ‘Listen, he hasn’t stopped crying yet. He’ll be a stubborn one, he will. Yes, Rabb’s grace that showed us this auspicious day.’

  When Shahji came upstairs, his sisters sweetened his mouth. ‘Badhaiyyan, Veerji, congratulations!’

  Shahji gathered his sisters close and laughed. ‘Now who will ask after me? More than their brothers and sisters-in-law, it is nephews that aunts adore!’

  Babo Mirasan opened her jholi wide. ‘From High Darbar of the Most High, the Shahs have received the desired boon. Shahji, now Babo must get her bangles!’

  Shahji nodded his consent and said while going downstairs, ‘Nandkauran, make everyone happy.’

  Babo and Jainab sat cross-legged in the courtyard and raised their voices in song.

  ‘Listen friends

  Listen sisters

  The son of a weaver

  My son’s friend is he

  His mother’s darling, he

  Has come to trade his heart.’

  The group of Arais called out from the threshold: ‘The Shahs’ gardens are green. They are the lords of riches and wisdom! They are the lords of high name and respect.’

  Old Rehmat raised his hands in joy and gratitude, ‘Thanks be to You, Khudavanda! May the gardens of the Shahs always flourish!’

  Nandkauran put a silver coin on a piece of jaggery and offered it to Rehmat. ‘Khair sadke, Rehmat Chacha, congratulations to you!’

  Chachi Mehri bustled out of Shahni’s room, took a glowing ember from the kitchen, lit the milk boiler, smoked some herbs and spices and scurried back inside. Meanwhile, horse hooves approached below. Mabibi leaned over the balcony, watched Shahji’s older sisters Vazeerdayi and Parvati dismount from their horses and called out happily from upstairs, ‘Ari badhaiyyan ri, Shahs’ daughters and sisters! In peace and joy, it is your hour of wish fulfillment! Ask your heart’s desire! Let your brother first promise, only then plant a foot on the stairs. If Bhai and Bharjaaee go back on their word later, how will you face your in-laws?’

  Basra Dai, the midwife, emerged from Shahni’s pasaar, walking on air. When the newborn’s aunts handed her a bowl of almond milk, she grew fulsome. ‘Only ten almonds won’t do in this precious hour. Your nephew has arrived after much yearning and prayer! Demand heartfuls, and grant heartfuls, I say. Heirs descend upon homes after many years and lives!’

  As per custom, the sisters each gave Basra separate gifts for severing the umbilical cord. When they performed her sirwarna, Basra couldn’t desist from teasing, ‘Ari, you high and tall sisters, five of you, by God’s grace, counting the youngest and eldest. Whenever I would see Shahni, my heart would sink. Girls abound in the Shah family. May Kashi Shah’s sons live and rise every morning, when I saw them my heart knew hope. Allah, I prayed every day, at least send a cousin to fight and play with Kashi Shah’s boys. So daughters wise, the One above heard my plea! Do plead my case with bharjaaee and tell her that Basra Dai should get a string of pearls.’

  ‘Why not, Ma Basri? You gave a hand to the hidden life and put it into Shahni’s lap. Anything you ask for is less.’

  ‘Pearls are for the delivery. And for the joy of a son, I’ll ask for a buffalo that yields ten litres a day. I’ll milk her every day and drink to my heart’s content.’ Then Basri called out to Chachi while leaving, ‘Don’t forget to keep the customary iron weapon near the new mother’s pillow.’

  Chachi Mehri’s heart was brimming with joy, ‘Whatever you say! Today, we are all yours to command.’

  Basri feigned anger. ‘Enough, Chachi, enough. Now don’t you go about pacifying me with mere talk, let me collect my dues properly. A little baby has cried in your home after a very long wait.’

  Chachi scolded Jainab and Babo, ‘Why my talented ones, why are you so quiet? Have you lost your voice in all the celebrations? Come now, sing something sweet and pleasant.’

  ‘Dadi Sarkar has ordered. Now we won’t stop. If you say, we’ll sing till we drop!’

  ‘O you wearing bangles of nine colours

  O my proud new mother

  Resplendent in new clothes

  Pearls in the parting of your hair

  Grace the courtyard with a boy in your lap

  Live, my son,

  Live a million years!’

  Sukhnahan! Shahni bathed with a plough under her feet and entered the kitchen amid sacred rituals. It was as if many auspicious constellations had coincided to join the celebrations in the Shah household. The easterly winds ushered in the sun’s first glorious rays to descend upon the haveli while the evening star played hide and seek behind the minarets of the masjid.

  Chachi Mehri wrapped Shahni in a baag phulkari dohar, spat on her palm to ward off the evil eye, and put a spot of kohl on the little one’s temple, before opening the doors of the pasaar. As Shahni took her son in her arms and walked slow, motherly steps towards the kitchen, the house resounded with congratulations. Mother and son graced the yellow woollen mats as though the earth had lain the moon in her lap.

  Calling Agnidev as witness, Bhagwan Panda made offerings to the fire god and began the chanting of sacred mantras in the freshly clay-washed kitchen.

  When Shahji arrived, he bowed his head and remembered the Giver in his heart: Whatever I asked for, I got from Your Darbar.

  Shahni looked upon Shahji with the proud gaze of a son’s mother. Caressing the head of the child asleep in her lap, her breasts grew heavy with milk. Rabbji, you saved this hapless woman from shame!

  As Pandaji mixed the panch ratnas – milk, curds, honey, Ganga water and tulsi leaves – and sweetened the child’s mouth with this charanamrit, friends and relatives began to crowd upstairs. Sagun offerings began to pile up before Shahni. When Pandaji finished chanting the mantras and anointed Shahji’s forehead with a saffron tilak, his fair-handsome face shone. Shahni watched, and lowered her eyes, seeking Vaheguru’s protection: You know what is in each heart, Sahiba. You are jani-jaan. You have bestowed this blessed time, this prestige upon me!

  The sirwarnas began. Nandkauran placed ten silver coins on a pink turban for the pandit and said, ‘Pandaji, it was my heart’s desire to listen to you chanting shlok-mantras upon the birth of a son to my elder bharjaaee.’

  Chandkauran placed some rupees on a green-edged woollen wrap. ‘Do wear the dhussa, Pandaji. Little Lali’s aunt shall be pleased.’

  Bhagwan Panda glanced around. ‘Call the newborn’s uncle,
aunt and older brothers. They too should be blessed.’

  Chachi sent out summons for Kashi Shah’s wife. ‘Go call Bindradayi. Let her come and do the sirwarna. Bhagwan Panda shouldn’t lack for anything!’

  Head half-veiled in a pink dupatta, a string of pearls around her neck, when Bindradayi came in walking demurely behind Chhote Shah, Chachi Mehri indulgently remarked, ‘Why, our younger one is grace herself, so well-versed in attending celebrations!’

  ‘Double congratulations to you, Bindradayi! The next generation of cousins has come together! Gurudas, Kesholal, come here! Pandaji, anoint the children.’ When both the boys’ foreheads were anointed with saffron and rice, Chachi did sirwarna and put an eight anna coin before the pandit. Giving the charanamrit to Kashi Shah, Bhagwan Panda chanted Sanskrit shlokas. Bindradayi leaned over Shahni’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Jithani, just watch. Now Panda is going to ask for a silver bowl!’

  Bhagwan Panda made offerings to the fire, chanting in Sanskrit all the while. Then said in a grave voice, ‘It is the Shah family’s custom to give a silver bowl full of milk upon the birth of a son. Bring some hot milk in a bowl.’

  When Chhote Shah gave the silver bowl to his wife, Bindradayi got up and filled it with milk. She first brought it for Shahji to touch, then Shahni, and then offered the bowl to the pandit. Keeping her veil in front of her, Chhoti Shahni teased, ‘No other rituals and formalities remaining, are there, Pandaji?’

  Shahji was pleased with Chhoti Shahni’s observation. Whatever one might say, the daughters of Jalalpur were most discerning! When both mother and son’s wrists were tied with the sacred red mauli thread, Shahji stood up from his seat as Pandaji showered blessings on them. Descending the steps, Shahji wiped grateful tears with the end of his turban. He had just reached the threshold when he noticed Rabeyan entering the door, her face glowing like a daughter of the gods.

  ‘Salaam, Shahji!’

  ‘Rabeyan balli, go upstairs. The celebrations are on.’

  ‘Ji, Shahji!’

  But Rabeyan neither moved nor blinked. Her crescent eyes were riveted on Shahji’s face. He, too, stood there looking at this young maiden with strange astonished eyes. She’s young, but not that young. After a few moments, when Rabeyan finally moved towards the stairs, Shahji felt as if some divine being had just flitted by, having granted him an auspicious vision.