‘Shah Sahib, he is my son, but doesn’t seem mine. Either I am not his father, or he is not my son.’
‘Take it easy, Farman Ali, going to Lahore is not such a big crime. What is the son worth if he doesn’t outdo his father?’
‘Shah Sahib, how should I say this? I apologize on his behalf. The silly boy’s got it into his head that the mortgaged lands are ours by right. I have explained to him a million times that, son, we owe the Shahs. But he insists that if he has to eat, he will eat his fill, otherwise he’s better off hungry!’
Mauladad thought for a while, then said, ‘Shah Sahib, it would have been better if we had made the boy study up to class five or ten. He is much too sharp and intelligent.’
‘Absolutely, Chaudharyji. I will tell you exactly what happened. One day while looking at the haveli, Mehar said, “Abbu, if one has a house tall and sturdy, stables full of cattle, a horse tied in front of the house, and one’s own lands, what else does a man need?”
‘I was exasperated with his spoilt and resentful attitude. I reined in his imaginary horses and said, “Puttar, if you really will it, why won’t it come true! But channa, it will take time, won’t it! I won’t be there to see it, but my sons and grandsons certainly will. If Allah Beli has created this spectacle for your eyes, then you will also want a guldodo, a rosebud of a wife. And if she comes, then so will children. And if, with the passage of time, you rise and become Nawab Mehar Ali, then you will want a riyasat to rule over. Puttara, desires have no end. This today, that tomorrow, still more the day after. One loses the gift of patience and contentment.”
‘Shahji, some jinn came and sat on the boy’s head. Enraged, he spat out, “You are welcome to plough and till the mortgaged lands. You raise crops and heap mounds of harvest. From this day on, I am neither going to do this work, nor try to cross this bottomless ditch of debt!”
‘I tried to reason with him that, barkhurdar, I don’t understand the reason for all your smarting, your bitterness. After all, it was we who asked for money from the Shahs. There was never any ill-treatment from their side. We went to ask, and they gave to help us. That is all, isn’t it? Shahji, the boy crossed all limits of decency. His mother also reasoned, that mehra, learn to earn and spend with patience. This bad-mouthing and arrogance never turned any Jatt into a nawab or a shah.’
Kashi Shah sneaked a glance at his brother. His brow was growing ominously dark.
Jahandadji asked, ‘So then it follows that he has gone with your permission?’
‘You could say that. He fretted and fumed the whole night.’ Sitting on his haunches, Farman Ali sidled up to Shahji and said, ‘What my son says is wrong, Shahji, a hundred times wrong. But I say one thing – that the boy is in his prime. The youth’s attitude is one of a wilful horse who thinks that if I have to reach someplace, I will reach the high mountain, or else I will jump off the cliff. The braggart has donned the coolie’s red uniform just to taunt his hapless father.’
Munshi Ilmdin grew provocative all of a sudden. ‘So the real frustration in the boy’s mind is that he doesn’t own the land. And that if his father-grandfather took a loan, what is his fault! It is this he has quarrelled over and left.’
Fateh Aliji gestured with a hand and said, ‘Well, if he has gone, then khair sadke, let him also get a taste of Lahore’s colours and seasons.’
‘If someone asks me, both have been drawn by Bibi Anarkali. This entire rigmarole was rigged by Ramzan. He would keep describing Lahore’s beauty and its bounties to the boys. If a man is thirsty, he himself goes running to water. And then these are youths in their prime. Even the river wouldn’t have enough water to quench their thirst!’ Mindful of Shahji, Mauladadji studiously kept his eyes averted.
Shahji asked Najiba and Kakku Khan, ‘So how is your well working? You’ve got good ropes and the wheels fixed, I hope?’
‘Ji, Shahji. The rope is of Dibb, and the wheels were given by our Fatta. They are fully oiled.’
Najiba wanted to express his gratitude to Shahji. ‘I say, Shahji, neglecting the wells, the Sarkar has become obsessed with canals. What is wrong with our rehat wells? By Allah’s grace, one well with a water-wheel can service acres of land. But the Sarkar has laid a vast network of canals, thereby rendering hundreds of wells redundant. Just some unnecessary complications, right?’
‘Why complications, it’s a miracle! Never before has such a miracle been wrought by the human hand. Lush greens now grow upon fallow, barren lands!’
Suddenly they heard footsteps. ‘By the stride and the sound of the juttis, that must be Dhonkalmalji.’
‘It is indeed. Come, Patwariji, come. Patwariji, our rivers are earning high name and praise because of the canals.’
‘That’s right. Our Chenab has surpassed Egypt’s river Nile. The canals of Chenab alone can irrigate three lakh acres of land.’
‘Haiyyi shabash! Water in abundance! Munificence it is.’
Maiyya Singh sat up. ‘This is God’s munificence bestowed upon the state of Punjab! If rivers did not flow upon this land, would the firangi Sarkar pull water from sand?’
Shahji said, ‘There is another secret linked to it. When the British Sarkar decided to build canals, the Chenab and Jhelum competed for preference. There was a face-off. Now our Chenab is one mighty impressive river, but the experts said the riverbed was not strong enough. On the other hand, Jhelum too is a heavyweight with muscle. But ultimately the decision favoured Chenab.’
Karm Ilahi said pleasantly: ‘The Sarkar is no less in benevolence. Built a bridge eight miles long on the Chenab.’
Deen Muhammad said, ‘The Sarkar built canals so that the Jatt farmers’ lot could improve. I mean, it’s not as if it is going to carry these massive bridges to London upon its head!’
Shahji dove in a little deeper, ‘There was another reason. The Sarkar wants to save agricultural workers from the stranglehold of Shahs and moneylenders. The law of land ownership was presented for this very reason.’
The hearts of the Jatts present began to beat faster, but Mauladadji spoke up to save Shahji’s face: ‘Shahji, it is laudable that the Sarkar has turned the waters around for our state. But it is not the British alone who have achieved this singular feat. Earlier dispensations also routinely got wells and canals dug.’
Kashi Shah said, ‘Ali Mardan got many a canal built and constructed during the times of Shahjahan.’
‘Ali Mardan was a most able man. Even before foreign education came to the land, he had rainwater harvested and collected in the Delhi canal. What is more, he built a canal out of the Raavi to water the Shalimar Gardens of Lahore.’
Shahji caught the thread. ‘Take the Hajivah canal, for instance. It was constructed by Diwan Savanmal’s executive, Ghulam Mustafa Khan to irrigate his lands. Others also benefited. After Ghulam Mustafa’s death, the government took over the canal. His sons took the government to court. The quarrel lasted years. Went to the supreme court in London. Some years back, there was news that Ghulam Mustafa’s family had won the case.’
Fateh Aliji prodded his chillum with tongs, took a pull and said, ‘Whatever you may say, British government’s justice is not bad!’
Guruditt Singh started on his favourite subject. ‘Maharaja Ranjit Singh renamed the Shalamar Baag of Lahore as Shala Baag. Decreed, Why Shalamar? Why not simply Shala Baag! And there’s more! As per the maharaj’s order, the Hansali canal was extended till Amritsar. So that the water tank of Harmandir Sahib remained filled the year round.’
Meeranbaksh turned to Ganda Singh. ‘What’s the matter, Khalsaji, you are rather quiet today?’
‘I’m listening, I’m listening. To maintain their reigns in due grandeur, badshahs have to make these strategic moves from time to time. Some build mausoleums, some Buland Darwazas, some raise high forts, some palaces and water tanks – it’s all work as usual for every hukumat.’
Dhonkalmalji nodded. ‘This is the usual pomp and splendour of dispensations. The real issue is that if the Jatt farmer doe
s not have his seeds and water, who will farm the lands and who will deposit revenue?’
Karm Ilahiji was pleased. ‘Very true. If you ask me, the hukumat’s pomp, splendour and crown, its saj-baj and taj, rest safe only on the hard toil of the Jatt farmer.’
Ganda Singh spoke up, ‘I say, leave some room and right of way for the army too. Agreed that Jatt farmers are the hukumat’s hands, but its face and forehead are its armies and soldiers.’
Jahandadji was delighted. ‘Army-platoons are the impressive mien of a government, and farming and farmers its food and nourishment! Both are equally necessary.’
Mauladadji touched a new topic. ‘Dhonkalmalji, the Sarkar has built so many canals, built dams on rivers, but why does it neglect shipping? At least the Sarkari fleet would ferry our goods back and forth.’
‘Quite true. The Sarkari fleet used to charge one rupee per maund for ferrying goods from Lahore to Karachi. And eight annas per maund from Multan to Karachi. From Lahore to Karachi it was a journey of full thirty-five days. What’s more, goods could be delivered from Peshawar to Karachi too. From Atak, they were laden onto smaller rafts to Makhad, then to Kalabagh, and from Kalabagh to Sakkhar. At Sakkhar, the goods were again laden on to Sarkari boats to Kotri, then from Kotri to Karachi by rail.’
Chhote Shah said, ‘Lala Vadde says that in those days, the permit for goods was granted at Mithan-Kot. And there were five famous freight boats – Jhelum, Chenab, Napier, Raavi and Beas. Raavi was especially reserved for the Punjab governor. The first time Raavi travelled, it was from Makhad to Sakkhar and back, in a total of fifty-eight days.’
‘What, two months only?’ Fakira said. ‘Shahji, the boats of Jhelum are also famous.’
‘That’s right. Abu Ali Bu Ali built countless boats. Earned high praise.’
Allah Rakkha couldn’t help asking, ‘How much would a Jhelumi boat cost?’
‘About five or six hundred.’
‘And how much does a boat carry?’
‘Four–five hundred maunds. The ones that ply on our river are a bit smaller. They run between Madi Khokhariyan, Kulluwal, Bhakkharayali, Sodara, Khanke, Sadullapur and Kadirabad. At reasonable rates too. Man and child three pai; horse with saddle one anna three pai; cows and buffaloes six pai each; and sheep, goats three pai each. These are the joys of boat travel – jump aboard and you are across. If one is to reach Siyalkot or Jammu, reach the other shore, walk a little distance, and you are there by sunset. If a man went by rail, he would start today, but wouldn’t reach before tomorrow!’ Shahji turned to his brother. ‘Kashiram, get another boat made by Jhelum. It will stay on the sands. Be useful in good times and bad. Kyon, Jahandadji?’
‘Shahji, good intentions, certainly. Our village should also have some pomp and splendour to welcome marriage parties and processions in style!’
Kriparam laughed throatily: ‘I say, our Ganda Singh and Jahandad Khan are already available for firing guns in the air! What do we lack then?’
‘Oh, we will see your fireworks too! Lala Vadde’s younger granddaughter’s wedding is due to be fixed. We will see how you bring the house down at her wedding.’
Maiyya Singh began: ‘I will tell you one I heard from Vadde Lala himself. Pack Sahib was the commander of the Jhelum fleet. Fairer than fair, and moustache golden. One Jatt sailor was recruited on the fleet. It so happened that whenever the captain came before him, the sailor would just stand and stare. Wouldn’t lift his hand, wouldn’t bow, or salute. Sahib waited a few days. Finally one day he asked, “What is it, don’t you have the habit of saluting?”
‘Jatt was prompt and frank like his kind. Said, “Sahib, the fault is in your moustache. So tiny, it is barely there; it has no awe, no manly might. Don’t mind, Sahib, your moustache is like someone pulled out and pasted a wisp of hair from a cob of corn!” Pack Sahib couldn’t stop laughing. Jatt sailor grew bold. Said, “Sahibji, if the moustache be black, the hand itself lifts in salute, and if grey, the head bows a mite. But what does one do with this wisp? The moustache itself looks like a child of the face!”’
Laughter broke out.
‘Taya Maiyya Singh always has some interesting story tucked away in his belly!’
When Shahji saw Farman Ali and Allah Rakkha rising to leave, he asked quietly: ‘If the old debt is cancelled, will Mehar Ali return to his lands?’
Farman Ali froze where he was, unsure if his ears had heard correctly.
‘Farman Ali, call the boy back from Lahore. He wants to own the land, isn’t it? So be it! If he is being adamant about this, let us grant him his wish this time.’
Mauladad and Fateh Ali were ecstatic. ‘Waah-waah, may Rabb keep you, Shahji! What a decision!’
Farman Ali had no words with which to speak. He raised his hand in salaam to Shahji, looked at both Shah brothers for long moments with tearful eyes, and quietly left the haveli.
Karm Ilahiji stood up, hukkah in hand. ‘Waah, Shah Sahib, you deserve to be applauded for this decision! The boy Mehar Ali has gone off his axis. Neither the boy nor his thinking is in old Farman’s control. And your magnanimous heart let him off so lightly! Waah, that is how it should be done!’
One afternoon, a money order of seventy-one hundred rupees arrived in the name of Bhai Bhag Singh, the priest of the prayer hut. Country of origin, Canada, and the senders, cloth merchant brothers, Gajjan Singh and Darshan Singh.
‘See people, what a beautiful thing to do! The brothers went abroad and sent an offering to the Vaheguru’s darbar.’
‘Must have made a good profit. That is why they have sent hundred and one rupees for building a water tank at the prayer hut.’
‘Blessed is the mother who bore them. Say what you like, Taya Rurh Singh’s family has really flourished.’
‘Taya Rurh Singh and Chacha Devi Singh used to hawk combs and parandas from village to village. When Gajjan Singh and Darshan Singh grew up, they started selling simple fakiri lungis and anardani print cloth. Then on someone’s advice, they went to Multan. Brought back bundles of jallakhori and lungi chautani cloth. That was it, their luck smiled. Established a nice cloth shop. Chheent, boondri, moosi, satkani, gumti – they had all varieties and patterns of cloth, and soon the whole area came shopping for cloth at their shop.’
‘What did they lack for here? But both brothers followed their fortunes, and see how far it took them – all the way abroad!’
Morning and evening, the women bathing at the Shah’s well would talk of nothing else. ‘Santo and Banto must be congratulated. It’s not a small thing. I will go give the auspicious sagun of coconut and dates.’
‘Certainly, devarani and jithani must be congratulated. But if someone asks me, if the men were going across the seven seas, they should have at least taken everyone’s blessings before going.’
‘You are right. But whenever one asked the housewives, they always said the same thing, “They have gone abroad to buy goods.”’
‘Both are very secretive. Didn’t breathe a word.’
Channi’s bharjaaee, scrubbing her daughter Nikki’s back, said, ‘If a man has gone far to buy goods, at the most he might go up to Lahore, otherwise Peshawar. If one goes even further, then Kabul-Kandahar. But these two went straight to foreign lands!’
‘Our Taya Bhag Singh’s sons have been in Shanghai for years now. They never returned. Once the doors of their house shut, they never reopened.’
‘The Singh wives already clang gold bangles and choodas, now their necks have reason to be proud too!’
‘Naturally, if their men bring home guineas by the bundleful, why would Sardarnis walk on the ground!’
Lah Bibi passed by the well. Henna red hair, black dupatta on head, and cat-like hazel eyes on a fair, mature face. She stood below the high platform and said, ‘You fishes of water, how come you are so late for your bath? Girls, you come and sit under the water, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Do your bodies get soiled overnight or what!’
The Hinduanis laughed it off. ‘Ma, you are our e
lder. You only tell us, do we have any face to explain?’
Lah Bibi answered her own question, ‘Mahiya, if you’re so shy, then don’t share your guiles and wiles. I’m not going to go ask your men, am I?’
The women playfully splashed each other’s faces.
Lah Bibi said to Chhoti Shahni, ‘I’ve been upstairs. Shahni and Chachi must have gone to the dharamshala. I’ve given a pot of ghee to Barkati.’
‘Ma, you should have kept some ghee for the little ones. You’d brought ghee just last week. Come, let me give you some grain at least.’
Lah Bibi categorically declared, ‘I won’t take grain this time. I bring the pot of ghee at some cost. Tell my son I will take at least a hundred. Can’t do with less.’
Pyari of the Lasoodhewalas was preoccupied. Leaning towards Dhandayi, she grumbled, ‘Oh, don’t ask about these Aroras! They hold coins in their teeth. If they so much as sniff a prospect abroad, however meagre, they will go cross the seven seas for it! Money is their God. Isn’t there a saying, when Aroras make their minds to go, Lahore is just a mile away.’
Bebe Kichhi’s middle daughter-in-law, Laj Kaur, lifted a pot of water onto her head, balanced two smaller pots in the crook of each arm, took a step and said, ‘Why all these taunts and jibes? A man should work like a slave and eat like a king. And if truth be told, these brothers are not the only two who have gone abroad. Shahs’ sister Vazeero’s husband is in Africa.’
Chhoti Shahni gracefully sided with her brother-in-law. ‘Laj Kaur, if you don’t tie the rope and lower the pot into the well, how will the water reach your lips! And he who is gutsy enough to decide to go abroad, then by God’s grace he must go. Why should we crib and burn in jealousy if someone earns well?’
When Laj Kaur had descended from the steps of the well, Mohra’s bebe rubbed her palms in consternation. ‘Just see the pride of this bride! Looks like they made a good profit on dates.’
Zindaginama Page 34
