The Shahs’ ancestors now came and sat upon Bindradayi’s tongue. ‘Don’t be so naive, sister! If we Khatri Shahs don’t maintain our dominance, these Jatt Muslims will never return a single coin. Jithani, they don’t have the Hindu patience to use some and save some for the future. They eat as they earn. Their thinking and nature itself is like that. If no new clothes on Eid, then none at all!’
Chachi Mehri was reminded of Anokhan Bibi. ‘Bachchi, Anokhan’s son went to Kabul to serve with the Daryayi cloth-makers. By His grace, he started earning a fistful of rupees as salary. Here, for Anokhan, it was still the same old grind, the same routine. One day I said to her, “Anokhan Bibi, send a letter to your son. He is earning well abroad. Let him also save some for the house.” She said, “Mahia, this son of mine is a slave to his nature. As long as he earns, he will eat his fill and enjoy. If not, he will recite Rabb’s name and forbear.” I scolded her, “Anokhan, leave such talk. Get some jewellery and rings made. They will stand you in good stead.” Anokhan started laughing. Said, “The Jatt son thinks money too is grain. He’s not some Parachha-Arora trader after all, Chachi!”’
Shahni said, ‘Anokhan spoke the truth. There’s no big difference between their Parachhas and our Aroras. Both walk on a needle’s point. No spending, no eating. Only saving.’
‘Hain ri, who enjoys scrimping and saving? Only that which you eat and use, only that is yours. Who sees and who cares once the eyes close!’
‘Dhiyo, if someone says that one’s nature changes upon changing religion, that is false. The Khojas and Parachhas were Aroras and Karads before accepting Islam.’
‘Absolutely. The Gakkhars also converted to Islam, but in marriage they have the same rituals as us. And both qazi and pandit are present at all their auspicious occasions. Barring the Muslim ritual of sunnat, they have the same jhand-mundan, the same giving and receiving of gifts, the same invitations, distribution of sweets, same weddings and ceremonies.’
‘But, ri, why did this lineage convert to Islam? Why did they go down on their knees? The boy Hakikat, too, died for the sake of his religion. He is still revered in people’s hearts.’
‘It is heard that Hakikat was the son of the Puris of Siyalkot. He picked an argument with the maulvi in the madarsa. The qazis got him arrested and made him stand trial in Lahore. Who can teach them cruelty! They got after the child’s life. Sentenced him to death.’
‘Malla, who can tolerate an insult to one’s religion before one’s own eyes? But this is our Panchnad, ri – the land of five rivers. The land of both punya and pujj, good deeds and plenty. Drawn by the abundance of our harvests and rivers, there were new attacks and new armies every day. Some came forward, fought bravely, and got killed. Those who would not die admitted defeat. Converted to Islam. Village upon village, hamlet upon hamlet read the kalmas. That’s it, they grew estranged from their own lineage and clans.’
‘Chachi, if you ask me, there’s plenty of good in favour of the British Raj. At least people can breathe easy now. And all the upheavals and bloodshed that took place every other day have ceased.’
‘Behna, that fat-cheeked empress whose stamp you see on the rupees, it is she who was the head of the British state. And it is her family that rules over us.’
‘It is heard that even though she was the empress of a country, her own husband, too, was under her command. This moustachioed lord is one of her descendants.’
‘Let her be the empress-queen! Sister mine, even she must need a man’s protection.’ Just then, Chachi heard a sound. ‘Bindradayi, Gurudas is crying. Is he asking for a sweet?’
‘No. He cries and cries because of ear ache.’
Chachi scolded her, ‘Stupid, will he be cured if you let him cry? Burn garlic in oil and put that oil in his ear. He will get relief. If not, then get fresh milk from the new mother of a daughter. Pyari of Uttari Vand’s Arakashas has taken the fortieth day bath just yesterday.’
‘A Jatt cannot rule
A balled fist cannot work
No pomp without a horse
No caravan without a camel.’
Early morning at namaz time, Haji Shah was stretched out on the rim of the Khattewala waterwheel well when, hearing voices draw near, he removed the quilt drawn up to his eyes. Hmm! Who comes singing this way? It is our own Sikandara and Ghulam Nabi! Ask the good-for-nothings why they want to tell us so early in the day that the Jatts can’t rule? Is it a secret? Our rule is over our lands and fields, and if one of us were to make the leap, he’d at best land up in the police or the army.
‘Kyon Sikandar-e-Azam, how come you both are up so early today? This is not some exacting sanyasi’s high place of worship that Shah Sikandar must stop here and stand in respect!’ Haji Shah belted out.
Both boys started laughing. Sikandar jumped closer. ‘I say, salaam Ji! When we left the fields, we thought of meeting Haider Shah on the way. Khairon se, he will be here for a few days, won’t he?’
‘Your friend is going back tomorrow, he’s on leave from work,’ Haji Shah said and called out to his younger brother, ‘Haider Shah, come to the well. Your friends are here!’
Haider strode out, looking grand in a chequered tehmad and patterned khes. As soon as he saw Sikandara, he lifted him up in his arms. ‘Oye, you spoilt son of a queen, couldn’t sleep at night, is it?’
‘Na yaara. How could I sleep when my heart is given to your friendship!’ Then loudly for Haji Shah’s ears, Sikandar said, ‘Oye you Daroga of Pind Dadankhan, we have heard that you have acquired a largesse of cattle. Why don’t you do something for our benefit too?’
Haider Shah came down some way from the well boundary, and softly asked, ‘O bashey, what are your intentions?’
‘I have understood this much, that without a camel there is no profit. Yaara, if I can get one for a night, I will finish my work and go home with respect.’
‘My share?’
‘One-fourth, no more, no less. Agreed?’
‘On one condition – before daybreak, my camel should be back behind the masjid of Momadipur.’
‘Sealed and signed.’
‘Rest of the goods?’
‘Four equal shares.’
Haider turned his back and said aloud for the benefit of his brother sitting by the well, ‘Sikandarey, if you take the dachi from the stake, then tether her back there when you’re done.’
‘Of course!’
Returning from the fields with stars in their eyes, both boys were in high spirits. They could hear the girls giggling and teasing each other at the Shirinhwala well. Both were delighted.
Newly married Habibo of Uttari Vand was sitting barebodied in the open bath, splashing her face. Reshma had a dupatta over her breasts. ‘Move ri, Habibo, move up front!’ When Habibo splashed her naughtily, Pyari pulled her plait from behind. ‘Ari, you go about like one luscious apricot. So tell us, has your Ranjha taken your boat ashore?’
‘Fitte moonh ri, have some shame!’
‘Tell me the truth now, where did you drop your earring?’
‘Hai, I’m dead!’ Habibo said, frantically searching for it among the pebbles and broken pots: ‘Aunt won’t forgive this!’
Sloughing her heels with a piece of a broken clay pot, Shirin laughed. ‘Ari, your heights and highs! Did you perhaps drop it in the hayloft?’
Reshma and Pyari bent double with laughter. ‘Left the whole house and rooftop to the four winds and got busy in the cattle hayloft!’
As Habibo stretched out an arm to lift her clothes from the thorny hedge, Reshma caught a glimpse of her bare chest above the water. ‘Saheliye my sweet, ah these little bites, these little mementos of love!’
Habibo pulled on her jhagga. Came out of the bath and climbed into her salwar. Gathered her wet hair on top of her head and covered it with a dupatta. ‘You won’t have to wait long. You will soon find out for yourself – the day the plough gets to work …’
‘Get off ri. As if love and loving are nothing but tilling the soil!’
/> Habibo chuckled in delight. ‘You’ve got to water the soil, run the plough, flatten the soil, till it, plant the seeds in the soft earth …’
Noori swung Habibo’s long plait entwined with a colourful paranda. ‘Kyon ri, any seeds sown in your furrow yet?’
Listening to them, Ghulam Nabi and Sikandara’s hearts and mouths watered. Sikandara nudged Ghulam and said, ‘Yaara, if only we didn’t have this business to wrap up tomorrow, we would’ve shown these docile goats a thing or two …’
‘Jatt talk! Does this healthy herd of cows look like goats to you? Open your eyes, khalifa, these are not goats, these are Jattis, no less!’
‘Halaa! The elders have said, “Jattis, just like buffalo kattis!”’ Sikandara sang a few lines from Heer in a high and lusty voice, and the fresh breeze of the morning grew festive.
‘You are the spring and its bloom
In joy aglow …
You’ve set your sight on the skies above
Not mortal man below.’
Giggling, joshing and splashing each other, the girls got out of the well. ‘Why, that creep Sikandara is in a lover-like mood early morning. Loverboy has picked up a refrain from Heer, and that too from this stanza!’ said Noori, throwing her arms around Shirin. Then she continued, ‘But he’s lost out to Barkhurdar. Listen to his voice! Oh, the torment! It is for you, Shirin – you went and got married!’
Bought from Baloach traders, the pure asafoetida being heated in copper pots was spreading its aroma through the village evening when the news spread like fire.
Fateh of the Arais hadn’t come home!
‘Hai re, shrouds on such youth! The girl left home at daybreak, and hasn’t returned yet.’
‘Malla, hope someone hasn’t taken revenge, cut her up and thrown her into some field!’
‘Not possible. The girl’s in the full swing of youth, the whole world’s in her face. Before showing her the knife, wouldn’t any cruel one have his fun first?’
When Goma heard, she took the lead in naming names. ‘I think that cursed gripe-water-selling Baloach has abducted the girl! His kohl-rimmed eyes were hypnotic like a snake’s. So dashing in that short velvet kurta on his broad chest that our innocent lasses would lose their hearts a hundred times!’
Husaina Lohar of the ironsmiths spoke next. ‘Last night, the Baloach slept in the yard. Early morning, both camel and camel owner were gone! It is said that the Baloach’s legs are strong as iron. One hour here, far away the next.’
‘No one saw them leaving.’
‘God’s injustice! Don’t know whose cursed shadow has fallen over our village, making a ripe young mutiyar besmirch her parents’ name.’
Mohra’s mother started muttering, ‘Lost her senses, what else? Doesn’t take a girl long to lose her head. The fault is Aliya’s. His girl had grown tall as a pillar; he should have tied her odhni to someone in marriage. Pots brimming full, why wouldn’t they spill? And why wouldn’t someone crave a sip?’
Shahni, sitting on the tandoor, said in a small voice, ‘Bad tidings, Bebe, bad tidings. But what applies to Aliya applies to us too. His respect and honour is ours too.’
‘Swear by the Gurus, daughter, it is Aliya that I too suffer for. Can one stand such shocks in old age? His wife is already dead and gone. He never remarried for the sake of these useless girls.’
‘Bebe, what can you say of bad times? Who knows when they will fall upon you.’
That evening, upon returning from the courts, Shahji called for Aliya.
As Aliya crossed the threshold of the haveli, his tall imposing frame seemed to have shrunk by a foot, his turbanned head, lifeless. He said in a hoarse voice, ‘This father is as good as dead.’
‘Sit down. Have courage. Nothing is gained by losing heart at such a time. Speak freely, whom do you suspect?’
‘Shahji, she talks and laughs with everyone. Whom do I name? My younger girl, Rabeyan, is completely different.’
Chhote Shah joined them. ‘Kashiram, if the foolish ones have crossed the river, then it’s either Ambaryal or Sambaryal. And if they’ve reached Gujrat, then they’ll head to Lalamoosa by train.’
‘Seems unlikely. There are a hundred eyes to recognize and stop you in broad daylight. As regards the Baloach – that he would dare to abduct a girl in foreign territory so brazenly – impossible! I suggest that before making the whole thing public, let’s first look around our own homes and fields.’
Aliya’s heart began to thump uncomfortably on hearing this.
Chhote Shah looked at his older brother, and in an even voice, cleared all doubts and fears, ‘One evening I saw Fateh with Shera of the Dhadiwalias near the river. Both had emerged after bathing in the river.’
Aliya caught his breath. ‘Were they together?’
Chhote Shah shook his head. ‘Fateh came running out of the field and dove into the river. Then I saw Shera emerge from the river and take up a song. The boy has a rich, sweet voice. I stood there listening for a while.’
Apparently, that evening Chhote Shah had been returning from Bhagowal. The sun, inching through azure skies, had come down to lean upon the goat paths. He had just turned his horse towards the village from the riverbank, when he heard laughter from the fodder field, and halted. From afar, he had seen Aliya’s older daughter emerge from the kikar thicket and run like a gazelle towards the sands. She had taken off her kurta-odhni, thrown them on the bank, and dived in, swiftly swimming midstream.
Don’t go any further! There’s a whirlpool there, Chhote Shah had wanted to call out and warn her, when seeing another shadow, he grew alert and withdrew. Shera had come out of the river and stood glistening on the sand, tightening his tehmad and stretching luxuriously. Then flinging his arms wide open, as if to call out to the river itself, he had lifted his voice in song, his notes pure and true.
‘Stepping into love’s palanquin, my heart beats apace
Hajis go to Mecca for hajj, I need only see your face.’
Listening to him, Chhote Shah had gone into a divine trance. A trance so deep, so vast, as though Guru Pir Himself had come and stood before him.
When he returned to himself, the stars were glimmering in the sky and a half-moon had risen, illuminating the horizon. In front of him the river, flanked by its two shores, flowed like the God-given stream of life itself. In that one moment as he stood there, Chhote Shah saw the door to that final shrine where each suffering being longs to be united with his Khuda, his supreme love.
Shahji stood up. ‘Aliye, God willing, if we find Fateh there, then a marriage with the son of the Dhadiwalias should be possible, shouldn’t it?’
‘Why not, Shah Sahib! If the daughter is so fortunate.’
Shahji turned to his younger brother. ‘Let us take along Maulviji from the masjid. And Mauladadji or Fateh Aliji as well.’
Aliya’s heart sank. Parvardigar, this poor man had to live to see this hour.
When Maulviji came along, he smiled to himself at the Shahs’ tact. Whether abducted by a Jatt or a Baloach, Aliya’s daughter was now a solved case.
The horses left the village and climbed down to the river. Shahji ran his eyes through the tall sheesham trees, to the clump of bela trees beyond. There he spotted the glow of a fire beyond the pilchh scrub. Under open skies, it had to be either those good-for-nothing Kanjar nomads, or the new lovers.
Shahji had guessed right. They were in the pilchh grove, wrapped around each other, deep in sleep, oblivious to the world. The elders waited, avoiding each other’s eyes.
As if he’d heard something in his sleep, Shera opened his eyes and gently woke Fateh from her brocaded slumber. ‘Ay ri Fateh, listen. See that crack near the polestar? I say, when Paigambar Sahib went to meet Khuda, his galloping horse raised clouds of dust. This is that Milky Way.’
Struggling to free herself, Fateh stretched her arms wide and dug her nails into Shera’s arm. ‘Let go, let me sleep.’
Shera gathered her close to him. Then it was she who took the lead.
The wise ones called out to save their honour, ‘Get up and rise. Get up. Dhiye Fateh, such imprudence, such utter disregard …’
‘Hai, I’m dead! … Hai Allah!’
Both sat up in panic. Fateh grabbed Shera’s hand. ‘I swear by Allah Pak, if you dare back out now, I will kill you and then drown myself in the river!’
Shahji’s voice was hard and clear, ‘Being a daughter, you didn’t once think of family honour? This crime has a harsh punishment. But the fates have it in them to reward you children. Shera, we will have your nikah read tomorrow – do you agree?’
Shera bowed his head. ‘Ji, Shah Sahib.’
‘Maulviji, go with Shera and explain to his family-clan why the bridegroom got such orders.’ Then he turned to Shera. ‘This ungrateful, unwise and disgraceful deed has no face to it. But barkhurdaro, you are being given a chance to save face. Thank your stars.’
Aliya’s throat choked with tears. Putting a hand on Shera’s shoulder, he said, ‘Don’t go back on your word, puttarji. I have no tongue with which to speak. I’m a daughter’s father …’
When Shera lifted a hand in salaam to Aliya, Fateh began to sob.
Aliya scolded, ‘Why cry now, daughter? The world knows your secret. Ask Rabb for His grace that this alliance decreed by Shahji be blessed and bear fruit. Otherwise, your deed is such, my daughter, that we should have cut you both into pieces and thrown you into the river!’
The next evening, neighbours, friends and relatives, the janj, gathered for Aliya’s older daughter’s wedding ceremonies. The women took the lead in song. Bebe Karmo raised an audacious sitthani, affectionately teasing the groom and his family.
‘Uncle never went to school, grandpa never went to school
The lazy son, he too turned out to be a fool
This is most unfair! O this will never do!’
‘Not uncle and grandfather, Bebe, sing a sitthani for the groom’s father! He has dyed his hair to flaunt his youth, and has turned up at the wedding as his own son’s brother!’
When the nikah was read, the whole village trooped in, pushing aside the bride’s friends and companions to get a look at the saucy Fateh. The boy, by God’s grace, shone handsome as a lamp. The wretched girl possessed more than her share of beauty. Rasooli went near and teased, ‘Kyon ri Fateh, as Rabb is your witness, tell us, is this truly your first time as a bride?’
Zindaginama Page 24
