‘Balle balle! A big Khoji indeed! And why not, he is Sawal Khoji’s son. Keen-eyed by birth.’ Seeing that the wise heads of the Chaudharhatta had also arrived, Taya Tufail Singh stood up, and so did all his bundles, swinging about his neck. There followed a warm exchange of greetings, sahib-salamats and pairipaunas. Mauladadji wouldn’t let go of his hand. ‘Badshah, your intent was made amply clear to the whole village. That if at all, the whole village should come to receive you or else Taya Sahib would have lain here till evening.’
Fateh Aliji came forward. ‘Kyon, Khalsaji, were you the sole in-charge of trade for the whole of Bengal, or was it just that reaching the village was so difficult?’
‘Tayaji, you are richly laden. Looks like you made a good profit.’
‘Just thank God, Muhammadin, that I came out alive in one piece from this upheaval!’
‘Kyon ji, is there really a mutiny in Bengal?’
‘Badshaho, what do I tell you! Such swelling crowds on the streets, and as much noise and chaos! Garrisons in every station! If the government is hell-bent on showing off its army and police forces in uniform, a man would automatically conclude that something is certainly brewing.’
For the next two days, Taya Tufail Singh burnt with high fever. Body on fire. When Bebe Dessan suggested Aitbar Singh’s name, Tufail Singh rejected the idea outright. ‘I believe if a man has to go to his next dargah, he may just as well take pills from Aitbar Singh as from Fazal Ahmed. Isn’t Fazal around?’
‘Na, he’s gone to the canals to visit his daughter and son-in-law.’
Tufail Singh was reminded of something and chuckled. He wouldn’t stop.
Dessan frowned. ‘Will you say something or go on laughing?’
‘Listen:
“Fazal Ahmed’s pills
Like Lakshman’s arrows fly
Just pop one of them
And lay down to die.”
‘In peace and joy, Nasib’s father, what is this you remembered? If the fever has risen, it will drop. Of all things, you are thinking of cussed Fazal Ahmed’s pills.’
‘Bholiye, Fazal Ahmed may be a useless hakeem, but he is my childhood friend. Why shouldn’t I remember him? I swear by you, the soul finds much peace remembering old friends and friendships.’
Meanwhile, people lost their appetites, anxiously waiting to hear the latest news about Calcutta from Tayaji. Every day, the majlis would gather expectantly, but Taya would not show up. Finally a request reached him from the haveli, ‘Khalsaji, don’t act difficult. Do come and give us your darshan! Kashi Shah will keep a dose of medication ready for you.’
So Taya downed a bowl of milk and arrived at the haveli.
‘Thank heavens! Lo ji, at long last, Sardar Calcutt Singh himself has arrived. You have learnt many airs and graces from the city-folk, it seems!’
Mauladadji remembered a long forgotten couplet from his salad days:
‘On one side is my heart, sick of a hundred,
And on one are you, sick of me.’
Tufail Singh bent and gripped Mauladadji’s knees. ‘Believe me, I managed to escape only because of the prayers of my friends and family. Otherwise, I swear by the Gurus, it was absolutely terrible in Bengal.’
‘Sit. Be comfortable. What news of Hindostan?’
Sitting cross-legged on the cot, Tufail Singh took on the mien of Calcutta’s governor. ‘All right listen, badshaho, the new laat has brought out a new wedding calendar.’
Silenced by Tayaji’s advanced age, it was only Karm Ilahiji who could scold him. ‘Quit this stupid Sikh talk. Have the laat’s daughters or sisters suddenly come of marriageable age that, forgetting the affairs of state, he is running about getting auspicious dates from pandits and pandas?’
Taya Tufail Singh was reminded of his childhood games of gulli-danda, and played a fitting reply: ‘The order that was issued for Bengal was a bit like saying to one’s beloved that give a kiss, and take this piss.’
The gathering bent double with laughter. Peeved, Guruditt Singh said, ‘Tayaji, do tell us, if someone gave a kiss then who did, and if someone offered piss in return, then who?’
Tufail Singh assumed his trading airs, touched his headcloth lovingly and said, ‘Badshaho, strain your brains a little. I will tell you, of course; after all, I saw it with my own eyes. But you too must try.’
Muhammadinji removed the hukkah pipe from his mouth. ‘All right, we admit defeat. Now come to the point.’
Tufail Singh looked at Shahji and conspiratorially said, ‘The new laat has shown the door to Bengali Muslims.’
Munshi Ilmdin sat up bolt upright. ‘Don’t talk in riddles.’
‘The thing is, it has been ordered that the torn dhoti of Bengal shall be restitched – in other words, an order to revoke the earlier partition will be issued shortly.’
‘Lahaulvila, what on earth is the Sarkar thinking of? Neither Hindus nor the regime could ever digest the possibility of a separate Muslim existence there.’
Tayaji said impressively, ‘This is precisely the whole problem, badshaho! In Bengal, men in tambas are poor and those in loincloths are rich. A confrontation was inevitable. Remember my verdict, though – it is the richest of the rich who will win.’
Kriparam was mortified. ‘Injustice and disagreement on both sides! Now what can the Sarkar do even if it wants to help?’
Tufail Singh glanced at Shahji. ‘But otherwise, if you see, the Bengali brain is so sharp and quick, they could rock the government on the strength of their words alone. And they’re rebellious by nature. Their only weakness, though, is that the bhadralok is not hard-working.’
‘Who or what are the bhadralok?’
‘People like us call themselves bhadralok there. The bhadralok devote their lives to fish and music. Shirk work. Worse, the snuff habit has hooked the people.’
‘Badshaho, this is not new. Don’t our people like meat-fish and music? The real thing is getting solid work out of your bones.’
‘Absolutely. If a man is a pretentious good-for-nothing and doesn’t toil hard during the day, can such carefree gatherings take place? Even supposing for a moment that they do – that the hukkahs are bubbling and that the fragrant smoke of tobacco spreads all around – still, Shah Sahib, if the fields weren’t tilled and ploughed, pray would we come and sit here?’
Shahji was pleased. ‘Waah-waah, Muhammadinji, you have spoken most wisely.’
Maiyya Singh grew excited. ‘I say, the patola weavers of Multan work with their eyes glued to the loom, weaving raw silk the whole day, churning out the finest pieces of gulbadan daryayi light and shade-work one after the other. They don’t even stop to wave off a fly when they’re weaving. They work their guts out. Then they go watch a mujra dance at least once a week!’
Fateh Aliji applauded: ‘Haiyyi shabash. This is the due of the pir-mard – the man for whom work is worship. A man should also have some weekly entertainment along with his work, just like the British officers.’
Hajiji’s mind was still on Bengal. ‘So then ultimately, what happened in Bengal? Has Sarkar passed a new order?’
Tufail Singh puffed up. ‘Badshaho, let there be no confusion. The newspaper said that the Sarkar plans to recover the principal amount of the treasury of the Nawab of Dhaka – which Lord Curzon had filled overnight – with full interest.’
Fakira and Najiba’s hearts found great solace. Najiba couldn’t stop himself from saying, ‘Only that happens which pleases Allah. So now the nawabs are in the same boat as us common folk, aren’t they? If they take a loan, they, too, must count out their cash and return it with interest just like us. Even then, Paighambar Sahib has forbidden Muslims to charge interest. Whatever you say, badshaho, these knots and tangles are all Laat Curzon’s doings. Everything was running smoothly until now. Now there is unrest upon unrest. And ultimately, what was achieved?’ Najiba lifted his coarse face as if he was about to say something of great import. ‘This is the same as herding cattle, isn’t it? Taking a stick in hand, poking t
his one’s rump, and prodding that one.’
Munshi Ilmdin chided. ‘Najiba, stop this foolish talk. But Shahji, if one thinks about it, Laat Curzon was a man of purpose.’
Jahandadji said, ‘Munshiji, what you say is not wrong. The laat made roads for the Afridis. It is said that he had every intention of making roads right up to China and Russia.’
Chhote Shah said, ‘At least he raised the salaries of the police before he left.’
Guruditt Singh added, ‘Lala Vadde’s son-in-law had come to attend his son’s head-shaving ceremony. He said Laat Curzon was a complete debaucher.’
‘Badshaho, who can match Lala Vadde in conversation!’
Karm Ilahiji said, ‘Lala Vadde’s baithaks and gatherings were famous even across the river. He would tell such tales of Lawrence Sahib, one after the other, that the night would run out but not the conversation! Such a polished turn of phrase, like a learned man from Iran or Persia.’
Vazeera was still thinking of Laat Curzon. ‘Shahji, Ramzan says it is well known in Lahore that the laat used to like the game of pachisi. And that he was a womanizer to boot! He would get dancers to dance naked in the Red Fort during the Delhi darbar. Also – that the laat’s wife used to drink bone soup every day.’
Maiyya Singh said, ‘How unfair! The administrator of such a big country, and he’s not even allowed a little enjoyment! If such a man was a simple Sufi, his subjects would think their king had no balls.’
Guruditt Singh went further. ‘And then the vaid-hakeems and doctors would keep arriving at his doorstep!’
The baithak resounded with laughter.
Muhammadin teased, ‘Shahji, let’s clear the matter of the bone soup as well.’
‘Ask me! I will tell. If the laatni drank yakhni of bones, she did quite well. After all, she was Laat Curzon’s mem. It’s not a small matter for a woman to bear with the brute force and machismo of a husband like that. A woman needs some strength for that!’
‘Taya Maiyya Singh, at least tell us how do you know of this bone soup business?’
‘Patience, gentlemen, I’ll tell you in a moment. My friend’s brother-in-law’s nephew, he is a granthi-preacher in a platoon. It was he who told me.’
Shahji smiled. ‘Badshaho, for now it is prudent to agree with Taya Maiyya Singh. Whenever one happens to go to Jhelum next, one can always find out from the Army contractor, Adamji Pir Bhai Bohra, whether he used to send chicken for the laat-laatni, or soup-bones.’
Munshi Ilmdin was tired with the discussion. ‘O leave it, ji. Laat Curzon is history. Let’s talk of the new laat.’
Najiba said, ‘Munshiji, this is the way of the world. The new one is lauded, and the last one abused.’
Mauladad had heard much on this topic from Jahandad Khan. ‘Once Laat Bahadur and the Jangi Laat were at loggerheads. The Jangi Laat was in favour of the natives. No nepotism, he has given commandership to native men.’
Shahji agreed emphatically, ‘True. The Sarkar has accorded high status and honour to our platoons.’
Guruditt Singh threw in a new angle. ‘As soon as Laat Curzon set foot in Punjab, he went straight to Darbar Sahib to offer prayers!’
Munshi Ilmdin jumped into the fray. ‘That’s naive talk. He must have had an ulterior motive for going to Amritsar – must have wanted to check if the Khalsas had hidden arms and ammunition inside the Harmandir Sahib premises.’
Shahji started laughing. ‘Munshiji, what you say has truth, but the times of cannons and swords are now long past!’
Chhote Shah said, ‘That is true, Bhraji, but the climate in the whole country is one of inquilab. Hand bombs, hangings and life-terms everywhere. People are laying down their lives for the motherland. Let us see how this culminates.’
Ganda Singh said, ‘The time is hotting up for the overthrow of the British. The Sarkar is on the defensive, and the people are rising. Kyon, Tayaji, you have seen the scenario yourself in Bengal.’
‘Absolutely. A much bigger conflict is waiting to happen. Ask me how. After the talks and settlement in Bengal, the inquilabi tempers will be further inflamed. And once the processionists and freedom fighters have their way with the government, the future course is decided. Now consider the other side. Why won’t the Muslims rebel too? After all, taking back a state after granting it once is not a small insult, is it?’
A fierce red dust storm blew in, and the whole village ran helter-skelter. Tall high trees – shisham, bodh, toot, pipal, lasoodhas – danced and swayed, as if perched on swings in the sky. Mothers and sisters called out frantically from rooftops and balconies, ‘O children, return home at once! If you get caught in the dry sandstorm, the gale will throw you ten miles off!’
‘Hai-hai re, looks like a blood-red sandstorm!’ The girls got a spate of abuses. ‘Ari khasam-khanio, come home immediately! Come running, or you’ll be found in the fields!’
A voice called out from the Nai household of barbers, ‘Sons Vazeerya, Nazeerya, come home! Nothing is visible inside or outside the house. Recite Hazrat Suleiman’s name. Only He is the master of these storms and sandstorms.’
‘Suleiman Padshah, only you can control this calamity!’
Doors and windows of mud and brick houses slammed and banged in the wind. Bindradayi and Shahni wrapped their faces and went downstairs to the deorhi. They clanged the chain bolt shut and asked Nawab, ‘Are all the cattle tied to their stakes?’
‘Khairon se, all are in their place. Bolt the door and go upstairs. And don’t forget to shut the attic door.’
By the time they reached Shahni’s room, billowing swirls surrounded them, howling and moaning. Chachi quickly doused the fire in the earthen chulhas. Said to Chhoti Shahni, ‘Bindradayi, go to the children. Bolt the door and fix the wooden bar across it. Mabibi, take Rabeyan and sit in the room near the well. See to it that no window remains open. Such a day, and the men are not home.’
Shahni gathered her son close and caressed his head. ‘Shah Suleiman, protect us.’
‘Bachchi, pray that the brothers don’t get caught in this midway.’
They bolted the door and sat down on the cot, taking down the lamp from the niche and placing it on the floor. ‘Chachi, if Kashiram is there, there is no need to worry.’
‘Bachchi, your devar has lived with Jogi Rammal of Siyalkot. His eye recognizes all the signs and can predict whether there will be rain, sandstorm or black clouds.’
‘Chachi, people say that the wandering Rathbaney jogis can stand a sword on ripe crops and control storms.’
When the small window of the room suddenly burst open with the force of the gale, Chachi leapt up and shut it back firmly. Outside, the sandstorm howled and raged, now accompanied by thunder and lightning. Inside, it grew pitch dark.
‘Chachi, we had the same blood-red sandstorm last year too. The Syeds of Sambaryal lost their female buffalo then. She was carried away in the storm.’
‘I have often heard this, but have never actually seen buffaloes fly off in a storm!’
Shahni started chanting the evening rehras. Hearing the beads move in song, her little one fixed his infant gaze intently on his mother’s face.
‘Vari jaoon, sadke jaoon. Look child, such a tiny life, and such devotion in his eyes.’ When Chachi caressed the child’s head, he gurgled happily and pulled at her odhni. ‘Seems to be a saint or a great spirit from another age. The power of your good karmas, their punya-pratap brought him to your womb.’
Shahni bowed her head before Sachche Patshah and sang in her sweet voice:
‘Moonshine, moon-bright,
Awash in His glow,
Without and within
Hari Hari I sing
Only His name I invoke
Casting aside, anger and greed
Asking only this joy, this joy of Hari.
That is all I ask of the Gurus,
Every moment I live I awaken for Hari,
Awakening only His praise to sing.’
‘Satnam, Satnam! Only His name is true!�
� Chachi Mehri bowed with folded hands. She looked out from the chink in the door. The billowing gusts of sand had turned southwards.
As soon as she opened the door, loud voices were heard, ‘God’s injustice, O people! Mai Kichhi is lost! She had left home to go to the prayer hut.’
Bebe Kichhi’s sons and grandsons set off in search of the old woman. Guruditt Singh’s cousin Maha Singh implored, ‘Children, go and find Bebe, or the whole clan will die of shame!’
‘Hai-hai! Bebe Kichhi of the Aroras has been lost in the sandstorm!’
‘These dry sandstorms have the force of a hundred elephants!’
‘It seems that her son Pooran Singh’s wife had talked back to her. Bebe got up and left for the prayer hut. Ari, sons rule, and mothers are bereft.’
‘She couldn’t bear it. Took it to heart, what else.’
First hour after midnight, everyone was woken up. ‘Bebe has come! Bebe has come back!’ Maha Singh climbed up on his rooftop and roared, ‘Sachche Patshah, Your mercies! Bebe was carried off three miles and fell near the house of the Charayas. We have brought her home!’
Apparently, Bebe had been walking briskly towards the prayer hut when she had been caught in the dry sandstorm. When sand got into her eyes, she squeezed them shut. Then her feet were lifted off the ground as if Suleiman Pir’s unearthly powers were carrying her along. When the sandstorm subsided, a worker of the Charayas going towards the stables saw the wizened old body lying crumpled near the manger. Hearing him shout, the other Charayas came running. They checked her limbs. No wounds, not a scratch, just unconscious. The whole family surrounded her, and as soon as the news spread, the whole village joined them.
Satwanti, the Charaya housewife, brought some warm ghee and started rubbing Bebe’s hands and feet. Bebe opened her eyes, looked around and put an emaciated hand to her lips. She tried to speak, but no sound came. She opened her lips and gestured – water. A wise woman in the crowd spoke up, ‘Ari, don’t give water. Bring hot milk.’ Satwanti put a lump of ghee in hot milk and put it to Bebe Kichhi’s lips. Milk is pure nectar. One sip, and the colour returned to Bebe’s face. She nodded and said, ‘Puttar, send a message to my sons. They will come and take me home.’
Zindaginama Page 31
