Zindaginama

by Krishna Sobti

  Fakira’s thoughts were stuck on Dada Sahib’s fistful of rupees. ‘Shahji, so you took your reward and reached the city. And what did you do there?’

  Shahji glanced at his younger brother and smiled. ‘No sooner had I got the reward than I got obsessed with law. Left my horse at the station, took the train to Lahore, and bought a book on law.’

  ‘That was it, Shahji?’

  Ganda Singh raised his voice, ‘You keep on asking, “That was it, Shahji?” “That was it, Shahji?” Don’t you know the difference between the descendants of cerebral elders like Todar Mal and mere Jatts? Where does this gentleman go upon receiving his first reward? To buy a book of law! Some song-mujra too …?’

  ‘Na!’

  Ganda Singh glared at Shahji. ‘See, this is the difference between Todar Mal Khatris and Jatts. The first reward of youth, and where does Shah Sahib go? To the book of law! Now hear about the Jatt as well. Got a fistful from somewhere. Went straight to kunjahwali’s nautch-house. What anklets and what feet, what divine rhythm and infinite grace! A man would want to kiss them and die there itself!’

  Jahandadji’s youth descended before his eyes. He pulled on his hukkah, relishing old memories. Deen Muhammadji couldn’t contain himself. ‘Khalsaji, did you ever even climb up those stairs?’

  ‘Na, I couldn’t. Fresh, untried girl. Green and soft. I didn’t have the heart. I gave her a fistful of my reward, kicked my mare on its flank, and galloped home.’

  Mauladadji laughed and went back twenty years in time. ‘Khalsaji, that was not very brave. After all, the green bud should also have been valued!’

  ‘Absolutely, badshaho, I kept my word – once every year, on every harvest, yours truly has visited the beauties!’

  Guruditt Singh said, ‘If you ask me, this was no profitable deal. If one gets nicely high, one enjoys the hangover too. This is like chasing a hare. Neither the heart that gave was appeased, nor the hand that took!’

  Ganda Singh grew an inch taller as he pulled himself up to his full height. ‘Listen, just last year, I went to the Baisakhi fair of Vazeerabad. There was much gaiety and festivity – wrestling, saunchi, kowries, all the customary fair amusements. I met Kabool of Marhi. First we ate crisp jalebis, downed with hot milk. Then we moved towards the tents of the fair ones of high learning. Badshaho, Kabool had seen the mujras of all the dancers of the area.

  ‘As we neared a tent, we heard the soulful strains of an athwara. “This has to be Ayesha,” I said, “Noora’s younger sister.” We went inside. All was awash in light. A delicate young lass in anklets was dancing. With her was Ayesha, singing the athwara, tormenting and teasing hearts! I said nothing to Kabool, but I would now glance at the innocent dancing girl, and now at Ayesha. My heart was confused and torn. When the girl offered salaam, I gave her eleven rupees. Ayesha also came up to offer salaam. My eyes were riveted to her face, her beauty, and wouldn’t return! I took out another eleven rupees and gave them to her. Now listen further. What does Ayesha say? She took the rupees, touched them to her forehead and said, “Singhji, today I no longer have the right, but khair sadke, I accept your reward. From now on, this girl is in your service.”

  ‘Mauladadji, my heart was heavy. The changing colours of time! When I had first come to that balcony, Ayesha had been a little girl. Today, her daughter was the little girl! I said, “Ayesha, life is a cycle of giving and receiving, it goes on, but to me, you both are one and the same.”

  ‘Ayesha lowered her eyes, raised her hand in salaam, and said, “Your gifts are always munificent. May Rabb give you a long life, Singhji.”’

  ‘Waah-waah! What a beautiful thing to say!’

  Jahandadji also nodded in appreciation. ‘No doubt, a man turns into a gentleman even as he climbs to that place. These ladies have no dearth of sophistication and manners, music and poise. Naturally, when they speak, their lips are nectar itself.’

  Shahji laughed like a past master of the game. ‘There is only one thing that lacks there – the deep and hidden satisfaction of home and hearth! All the rest, pleasures and pleasing of hearts, are of course available there to excess.’

  Chaudhary Fateh Ali kept looking at Shahji intently. He pushed the hukkah towards Muhammadin and said, ‘Shah Sahib, you truly own and enliven these gatherings. Is there any field you haven’t mastered? A boon of the Siyalkot madarsa, one could say. From nautch-mujra to high court, district courts and the royal court, there is no place beyond your reach, and nothing beyond your depth.’

  When Kashi Shah saw the shadows of wistful dreams and desires flit across Najiba’s eyes, he patiently explained, ‘These are not the bounties of wealth or money, Najibe. These are the blessings of a fine education.’

  Hotter than heat, June. Heat scorching itself. Behold the awesome strength of Dhamm Dev! He has the whole earth baking from top to bottom. Before the arrival of the summer solstice, Grishma Sankranti, family potters began delivering earthen pots and vessels to every home. Housewives tied sacred red thread around pure untouched clay pots. Placing jaggery, flour, and sweet revaris on the lids, they carried the pots along with hand fans to Brahmin homes.

  ‘Jai Dhamm Dev! You make the sunbeams blaze and dazzle! Cool the burning eyes, O Lord! Be quenched and quench others with water. Offerings at your feet, pots and vessels brimming full. Quench the parched universe with an abundance of water!’

  Shahni, Chhoti Shahni and Chachi Mehri were returning home after handing out the monthly rations of jaggery, flour and provisions to the Brahmin women when Chachi Mehri stopped in front of the shops and, turning towards the prayer hut, said, ‘Daughter, go get started with the cooking, I’ll just have a quick darshan and return. And don’t let the jaggery rice pot get too hot. Keep the heat low.’

  The two sisters-in-law began laughing. ‘We will do some work, at least, while you’re away, won’t we!’ Both the Shahnis pulled their dupattas low over their foreheads as they passed the shops. Careful to avoid the drain, Shahni glanced up and saw her younger sister-in-law chuckling to herself. ‘Why Bindradayi, what makes you laugh? Did you see someone? Shouldn’t be that it’s someone deserving of pairipauna, and we just walk straight on.’

  ‘Na sister, I laughed seeing Jioon Halwai’s shop. I remembered something from times long past!’

  ‘Tell me, I swear if you tried to hide from me …’

  ‘Jithani, my Gurudas wasn’t yet conceived. One day, pleased with my frolic, Shah kept looking at me fondly for a long moment. When I was about to get up, he said, “If you’ve set your heart on something, Bindri, then ask.” And the naive woman that I am, brainless idiot – should have asked for some jewellery or fine clothes – but no, just guess, sister, what it was I asked from your brother-in-law?’

  ‘Ari, some trinket-trifle, or a son or daughter?’

  ‘No, and don’t you laugh now, sister, I asked him for a leafful of Jioon Halwai’s barfi!’

  Shahni doubled over with laughter. ‘And what did my devar say?’

  ‘He thwacked me lovingly on my head and said, “Bindra, you may have come to your in-laws, but you’re still a child at heart.”’

  ‘My Bindradayi, so sharp and discerning otherwise, but just think, was it something to ask for? Our house overflows with milk and cream. If only you’d once asked Bebe, she would have filled a huge clay pot with khoya for you. And then, you were her favourite daughter-in-law! But come, as that blessed day has returned to your thoughts, I will treat you to barfi today!’ Shahni looked around carefully, lifted her dupatta a little and pointing to a platter of barfi, said, ‘A quarter kilo of barfi, please.’ She took out the coin tied into her odhni and proffered it to the halwai.

  Bindradayi’s eyes suddenly misted over. ‘For your heart’s happiness, sister, you asked, and I told. So be it, on this day that comes once a year, even I have received from your hands. On today’s Sankrant, I, too, am a Brahmin woman who has taken alms.’

  Shahni got irritated. ‘Stop it, what nonsense you speak on this holy day! A Kshatriya wo
man, and a Brahmin? Why, have our good deeds so diminished that we are reduced to living off others while sitting idle?’

  ‘What can I say, sister-in-law, all your younger sister’s joys and intimacies are over.’

  ‘Chup ri, rein in your tongue! Don’t utter such inauspicious words.’

  ‘Jithani, your brother-in-law is so devoted to Him that this luckless one’s joys of love and companionship are all gone.’

  Shahni’s heart stood still. ‘Are you in your right mind, ri? Have you fought with him or something?’

  ‘Swear by the Gurus, why would I lie to you? My elder bharjaaee had taken me to Miya Mast, for black magic last year. But, jithani, the cursed spellbinder told me such a fix that this damned heart just wouldn’t agree. My husband is a godly man. That this wretched sinner should put her menstrual blood in his food so that his heart and mind are forever stained in red, so he would only think of me – Na ri, I couldn’t! Never!’

  ‘I would die, Bindradaiyye! Such a terrible burden upon your heart! Shri Ram! Shri Ram! My devar is a truly enlightened soul. Who knows whose good karma made his soul reincarnate in our homestead. Seven protections upon him! May our lives lengthen his, devarani, but what strange games God is playing!’

  Chhoti Shahni softly said, ‘Sometimes I just can’t help crying and cursing my fate.’

  ‘Bindradayi, desire and longing set this body–soul on fire; there is no escape from those flames. Pray to Dhamma Dev that He should send cooling showers to soothe your heart, and that evergreen times should stay with men, stand by them.’

  Climbing up the stairs of the haveli, Bindradayi once again became her children’s loving mother. ‘Jithani, your Gurudas has a real sweet tooth. If you look for it at night, you’ll always find a lump of jaggery concealed somewhere in his bed! He will be overjoyed with the barfi!’

  For long moments, Shahni stood on the kitchen threshold, pensive. Rabba, why should a man lose the thirst of desires before time? O Merciful One, look kindly upon this home!

  Chachi Mehri was returning from the prayer hut when she was joined by Goma, of the clan of Chiras. Seeing Fateh coming their way with food balanced on her head, Chachi mock-scolded her, ‘Kyon ri, darling daughter, are you happy now? The one you set your heart on is all yours! How is he, our dear son-in-law?’

  Fateh swung coyly this way and that, laughter burbling out of her.

  ‘Ari, be modest now. Contain yourself. If you spill all over with your swinging ways, the village will devour you with its eyes! Keep something black tucked on you to ward off the evil eye.’

  Fateh pulled out her long tassled black plait from beneath her dupatta and swung it upon her breasts. ‘Is that better, Chachi?’

  ‘Listen, girl, you’re not the only one to ride this horse of youth. Take care, if you keep the flame burning high night and day, you will burn out fast.’

  Fateh balanced the pot of food on her head with one hand, and steadied the clay pot full of buttermilk with the other as she turned her back to Goma and whispered, ‘Chachi, the vairi, he just doesn’t let go of me! Tell me, what do I do?’

  Chachi’s cold eyes warmed with a reluctant smile. ‘Chup ri, don’t put the whole blame on his head! He is a son of man, and you a daughter of the earth. You only will be ploughed and given seed. You should take care of yourself.’

  Fateh blushed.

  ‘Girl, you are married and it is good, but don’t forget your father! You are both on the Beriwala well, isn’t it? Aliya is not far off. Go give him hot rotis sometimes.’

  ‘Shame on me, Chachi, I’ve not even glanced that way in ages. Chachi, how is my sister Rabeyan?’

  Goma said, ‘Rabeyan is very well. Ari, daughters are better off in their own homes. Don’t you worry about her. Just reminding you that if you are not feeling companionable, you can spend a night or two at Aliya’s sometimes.’

  Fateh laughed lightly and moved on, saying, ‘All right, Chachi.’

  When Fateh had gone, Goma said, ‘That girl’s got it made. Got tied to the same man she set her sights on. That leaves Rabeyan, who struts around playing little Lali Shah’s companion.’

  ‘Such a fine-mannered girl! So wise and mature, one can keep singing her praises.’

  ‘Chachi, if you ask me, the girl burns in a secret fire of her own. Her songs are so full of longing, so bewitching, as if teasing a lover.’

  For a moment Chachi Mehri stood rooted to the spot. Then she glared at Goma and lashed out, ‘Hain ri, are you in your senses? Pure as clear water, Rabeyan has God’s gift! Goddess Saraswati herself guides her in song. The listener’s mind is lit up when she speaks!’

  Goma the gossip-monger didn’t budge. ‘Chachi, you speak as if she’s not flesh and blood. You are wise a million times over, but take this from me – this body and its maya makes everyone spin and dance alike.’

  Chachi lost interest. ‘Stop wagging your tongue! Now turn your steps homeward, I will come after praying at the dharamshala.’

  But Goma – bless her – persisted in the same vein. She leaned closer and said, ‘Don’t mind what I say, Chachi, but you only tell me – who can resist the pull of attraction, which son of God? Let Rabeyan frolic with Lali for the rest of her life and string dohras and kafis to her heart’s desire. But know this, Chachi, she is no sadhu-saint.’

  ‘Thrashed by your husband every day, you have lost your mind and reason! She is a fresh innocent lass, and you are one warped and evil hag.’

  Goma neither retracted, nor hesitated. She was pure venom, fearless and direct. ‘Chachi, has cataract clouded your eyes? Can’t you see that the girl blossoms into gul-sanobar just looking at the elder Shah?’

  ‘Shove off! Vanish from my sight.’

  ‘I said what I had to. Don’t reject my words out of hand.’

  Chachi’s legs lost all strength, lost the will to go on. She slowly climbed the steps of the dharamshala, her thoughts in turmoil. When she closed her eyes and bowed her head in Vaheguru’s darbar, she saw Rabeyan, her eyes locked on Shahji’s fair face.

  Chachi began to tremble. With folded hands, she beseeched, ‘O Giver, this union is not possible in any way. O Life of Life, one is a new mother, the other, an innocent girl. Don’t make us pawns in this cruel game, Rabbji! The Shah name has never been besmirched!’

  The arrival of Gosain Vakpati Brahmin of Baddoki in the Shahs’ haveli meant that all the Khatris of the village were invited for a katha before evening. The women quickly got their kitchen chores done and came with their kids to sit on the thick dhurrie spread for the holy discourse.

  Silk turban, long dhoti, shawl thrown over his shoulders, a grave-faced Gosainji sat cross-legged on a chequered khes. As women went up to him one by one with bowed heads, he spoke words of blessings to each. The low dais before him was covered with a pure silk phulkari folded twice. On top of it was placed the sacred text, lit by a lamp. When Gosainji opened the treasure of wisdom, the large letters shone on the pages.

  Shahni took a flame from the milk boiler and lit the havan samagri – the mixture of dried sacred herbs and spices – and the holy smoke spread its piquant scent through the hearts and minds of those present. Shri Ram! Shri Ram! Heads covered, mothers and sisters sat cross-legged. Some fed their children on their laps, some patted them to sleep, one thwacked a crying child and handed him to his grandmother.

  ‘Mothers and sisters, now pay attention. It’s not every day that householders get to hear God’s name. The Name is most powerful. So heed your mind. In this transient, momentary world, the Name is all you earn.’ Bowing his head, Gosainji recited a Sanskrit shlok:

  ‘Sandalwood soothes, so does the moon,

  Yet more than the moon and moonlight,

  The proximity of wise men soothes.’

  ‘Dhanya hai, blessed is the sacred language of the gods!’

  ‘Mothers and sisters, one in a thousand is a true pandit, a learned one, and one in a million, a true giver. Now listen attentively to the katha of Gaura-Mahadev. Once upon a ti
me, atop mount Kailash, Mahadev and Parbati had a meeting. Gaura asked Mahadev, “Shri Mahadev, you are clad in deerskin, smeared with poison and ash, wear a snake around your neck, and a necklace of skulls. There is nothing sacred in any of that. Please enlighten me in words of knowledge; tell me, with what wisdom-meditation are you the Antaryami and know what is in the heart and mind of each being in this universe? Your soul is pure in its wisdom. That wisdom is why those living in this world worship you. But externally you manifest yourself in so many actions.”

  ‘Mahadevji replied, “Gauraja, listen most carefully to my words of wisdom. That wisdom, because of which external actions make no mark upon me. Parbati, it is the Gita’s wisdom that I have settled in my heart. Like the potter’s wheel that keeps turning, and upon which clay takes shape, so too is the wheel of mind. Its turning gives form to the material world; and so long as the mind is caught up in this cycle, the world burns itself in fire. When this cycle ceases, there will be no more suffering. O Parbati, when you remain constant in activity and in inactivity, then you will be freed from attachment and envy.”

  ‘Parbati spoke: “Mahadevji, what Maya is this of your divine self? In the human world, bodies take birth. And they die. As if only to witness this world. O Bhagwan, I am saddened upon learning this world to be without meaning. Those who have been born many times in many births. And die again and again. Why does jeev, the soul wander forever lost like this?”

  ‘“Parbati, it is the body that wanders lost. The bodyless soul is nirvikar, without emotions or flaws. And this peaceful manifestation remains unaffected in its place. So everything is Bramh, the divine source. And is fixed, centred in itself. Gauraja, when this self-realization comes, all wordly illusions will dissolve. Just like ignorance makes a rope seem like a snake and upon knowing the reality of the rope, the illusion of the snake is dissolved.”’