‘What do we need to get ready?’
‘First you need to lie down and then you can be impressed by how skilled I am at everything around here!’
After they finished their discussion, they decided that the guest and Shekhar would both sleep on the floor in Shekhar’s room—if the guest wouldn’t agree to taking Shekhar’s cot and letting Shekhar sleep on the floor by himself. Shashi insisted that she could sleep on the floor and that they could take her cot, but she didn’t really press the issue. The guest would bring his own bedding—if he didn’t, they would borrow some from someone. They would work out details about food after he arrived—it was possible that he would eat elsewhere. After they had decided all of these things, Shashi laughed and asked, ‘So what do we need to get ready?’
It turned out that there was only one thing to arrange, and that was to move the books and notebooks from Shekhar’s room into Shashi’s, and to take a small table from there and move it into Shekhar’s room where it would do the work of a table, a place to have tea and a desk . . .
The guest arrived and settled in. He brought bedding for himself, but he had no other luggage. They learned that he would eat dinner with them, but they shouldn’t wait for him during daytime; he would be wandering around town making arrangements to leave Delhi and would eat whenever he got a chance . . .
He went to bed very early after dinner. The next day, when Shekhar woke up, he saw him ready to go out. He said that he would be back in the evening and then left. As he was leaving, Shashi quickly said, ‘Look, if you are staying out all day because you are worried that I am here all by myself, then let me reassure you that I have no problem with that; you can stay here throughout the day. I won’t be able to host you properly, for which I am definitely sorry. But I don’t have Shekhar’s permission—’
Shekhar added, ‘Yes, it isn’t really because of that is it—’
The guest quickly blurted out, ‘I was a little anxious, but—’ and then he looked at Shashi, ‘I’m grateful to you. If it makes sense for me to come back here, then I won’t hesitate any more.’
Shekhar was alone in the workshop. He became busy with the job as soon as he received it, but his mind was not in it; the image of Shashi’s exhausted, yellowish face appeared to him, and again and again he would think that both Shashi’s problem and his were merely internal, but also external, not merely about spiritual love, but also about worldly life; and not only that, but also that the problem was not merely theirs, but belonged to the whole collectivity of life that knew them . . . And going further, that it wasn’t just their love, but all love—mere love—was basically one problem and it didn’t end with two individuals . . . There were so many sayings—durable and flimsy, crude and nuanced, straightforward and indirect—that were tangled up in this problem and made it overwhelming . . . The real problem was compatibility; love is an attraction, a force, that moves life out of its inertia, and it is this movement that is the source of the problem because it is pervasive, and fundamental, on the edge of life’s dagger—on countless edges!—it upsets an established balance . . . The problem persists as long as an equally compatible object is not found . . . It is a problem and an accomplishment, and a penance . . . And after getting this far in his investigation of the problem, his mind would return to Shashi’s jaundiced face and there would immediately be smaller issues to attach to the knot of this very large issue . . .
He hurriedly closed up shop a few minutes before 5 p.m. and went home. The days had grown quite long. By the time he got home these days, it was already time to put out the mat and the pillow on the balcony for Shashi, bring her out and stand next to her waiting for the water of the Yamuna to turn red . . .
When he was still at some distance from his home, he saw Shashi standing at the door, watching the road and waiting for him. When she recognized him, she immediately went back inside and sat down on the cot. Shekhar came in and asked her, ‘What’s the matter, Shashi?’
‘Nothing—’
‘Is something bothering you?’
‘Not at all; I’m quite well.’
‘You were standing outside just a moment ago—I saw you—’
‘Oh, that was just because. I was wondering when you were going to come and whether it might be very late—’
‘Why?’ As soon as he said it, Shekhar realized that she was worried because the guest was in the house. After a while, he said, ‘I will start coming home earlier from now on—’
‘No, you have work to do. Unless you would be coming home to write something—’
As if revealing a secret, Shekhar said, ‘I’ve been writing a little at the workshop—I didn’t have anything else to do—’
Shashi became slightly excited, ‘Really—you didn’t tell me!’ She paused. ‘Why don’t you bring it back here—you could finish it up quickly—’
‘No, Shashi. I won’t write here any more. I don’t want to do anything when I am with you—not even write. I can’t concentrate—’
Quietly, Shashi said—‘Crazy!’ And then she was silent.
The guest arrived a short while later. He came inside and carefully closed the door. Then he looked at Shekhar and said, ‘It’s good that you’re here.’
He went into the room, took out a couple of bundles16 from underneath his coat, put them on the cot and then sat down. He said to Shekhar, ‘I think that you should lock the door.’ After Shekhar had done so, he slowly began to unpack the bundles. At the same time, he said, ‘I’ve almost completed the arrangements to leave town. I will leave in the morning the day after tomorrow—if nothing happens in the meantime. But there’s something important that I have to do tomorrow—and I will need your help. I have to evaluate these—’
Shekhar looked. There were three pistols in one of the bundles, and two revolvers of different sizes in the other, and the third had bullets of various calibres. Taken aback, Shekhar managed, ‘What will I have to do—’
Caressing one of the revolvers with his hand, the guest said, ‘This is my faithful companion—I know this one well. The rest are new. They have to be tested. We’ll find some place near the bank of the Yamuna to do it. It will be safer there. But we will still need a “lookout”,17 so—’
Shekhar understood. ‘When will we leave?’
‘Can you come in the afternoon?’
‘Fine.’
After dinner, the guest excused himself and went to bed early. Shekhar lay down but was distracted and wide awake, and then when he found it impossible to sleep he got up to see if Shashi hadn’t gone to sleep so that he could sit with her. But there was a light on in Shashi’s room—he went inside. Shashi was lying down quietly, staring at the ceiling. Next to her cot were an inkwell and a pen, and next to the head of the cot were a few pieces of paper—
‘Were you going to write something? Let me write for you—’
‘No, they are just there in case I remember something—I have become very forgetful.’
Shekhar looked at her critically, and asked, ‘Are you sleepy? Can I sit with you for a while—’
Shashi gathered up the blanket on one side of the cot to clear a space.
‘I’ll sit here, by the head of the cot,’ Shekhar said and then moved towards the pillow.
‘No, I can’t see you there. Sit in front.’
Shekhar sat down near her arm.
He had come looking for company, and he had certainly found it, but it was a mute companionship! He didn’t say anything and neither did Shashi, and now she had even closed her eyes.
‘Are you going to sleep?’
‘No, I can’t with the light on—’ And then silence . . .
To continue the conversation, Shekhar said, ‘There’s no news from Aunt—who knows how she’s doing or what she’s been thinking . . .’
‘We haven’t written to her either—does she have our address?’
‘We’ve only given her the address to the post office. I’ve contacted the post office and given them our information,
but we haven’t received any mail.’
‘It’s probably right. What would she write, anyway—I’ve broken her . . .’
Shekhar gently put one hand on her arm.
‘I’ve been thinking that I should write to Gaura and ask her to send us news regularly. She could do it—she’s older now and understands things.’ And then as if following up on some unspoken thought, ‘She idolizes you.’
‘Me—why?’
‘Ever since you went to jail. She doesn’t say anything, but she thinks a lot.’ And then silence descends. Suddenly Shashi asks, ‘What were you doing in there behind locked doors?’
‘Nothing—he’s leaving the day after tomorrow.’
‘Is that why you locked the door? Keeping secrets in your room? And there are still two days to go—’
He paused for a moment and then told her everything. ‘Shashi, he’s probably thinking about keeping you safe—he’s hiding pistols and the like.’
‘Why did he bring pistols?’
‘He keeps them with him—he could have need for them.’
After a little while, ‘When is he leaving the day after tomorrow?’
‘At dawn.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know—he’ll leave from here. It didn’t seem right to ask Brother—the fewer insignificant details we know the better—’
‘Hmm.’
The conversation topic ended.
‘Shekhar, do you ever carry a pistol when you are in trouble?’
‘. . .’
‘It doesn’t seem right to me that one should be prepared to kill someone at any time just because one could be in danger . . .’
‘Those are the rules of war—’
‘Is war a good thing? But there’s also a difference—war is an exceptional thing, and a person knows that as soon as it is over he will return to an ordinary, peaceful life. But this is a matter of daily life in the city—for everyone to be armed and ready to kill anyone at any moment—’
‘Why—only our enemies have something to fear—it’s not like you or I are in any serious danger? And if you want to talk about exceptional times—’
‘That’s fine. I’m not saying that they will kill anyone, but it must have a damaging effect on someone’s psyche—it can’t be good for any man.’
‘Perhaps he would say that he pays the price for his plans with his life. If it’s an expensive transaction, then it’s one that only he has to pay, and he’s willing to pay it.’
‘All right, let it go—when are you going tomorrow?’
‘Where—to the workshop? Same time—’
There was silence again and it lasted for a long time. Shekhar began getting up very slowly but it made Shashi suddenly open her eyes. Before she could say anything, Shekhar said, ‘No, I won’t leave yet—’ He got up and blew out the candle and then came back and sat by her head. He put one hand on Shashi’s forehead. Shashi closed her eyes.
From a distance came the muffled cry of a man guarding a field somewhere. A little later, the laughter of jackals and from the north the barking of dogs, and then the violent screams of some aquatic animal twice or thrice, and then a silence in which the internal quiet of the darkness echoed . . .
Shashi had perhaps fallen asleep—she never slept straight, always turned to one side or another with her legs pulled in. She was sleeping like that now. Shekhar’s hand wasn’t on her forehead, but just above her ear, and the hand above her ear could feel the gentle pulse of Shashi’s veins . . .
Suddenly, Shashi called out, ‘Shekhar!’ She took his hand—Shekhar responded calmingly, ‘What is it, you’ve woken up—’ Shashi didn’t respond. She kept a hold of his hand and pulled it over her mouth and she slowly moved his fingers across her perfectly still lips . . . After a while, she let go of his hand and said, ‘Shekhar, you should go to sleep now. It’s late. I just woke up for no reason. I’ll go back to sleep soon.’
Then she became perfectly still, which is when Shekhar got up. He leaned down close to Shashi’s face as if to smell Shashi’s hair and then walking softly, he returned to his room.
The first thing in the morning, a young man came and asked, ‘Where is Brother—’
‘Brother who?’ Shekhar said drily. In the meantime, the guest entered and said, ‘Oh—good. Shekhar, he’s come for me.’
Brother kept his revolver and bullets and gave the remaining firearms to the young man and gave him some instructions and then sent him off. Then he left, too, but as he was leaving he said to Shekhar, ‘Be ready this afternoon—’
At first Shekhar had thought that he wouldn’t say anything to Shashi, but she would ask questions if he came home early that afternoon and then left again, and it was better to explain things sooner rather than later. He came to that decision and told Shashi that he would be back in the afternoon because he had to go somewhere with Brother.
‘Where? To do what?’
‘Somewhere on the other side of the Yamuna. I don’t know why.’
‘You mean, you didn’t ask?’
‘No, Shashi; I really don’t know what he wants me to do.’
Shekhar came home earlier than necessary that afternoon and waited for Brother.
Brother didn’t come. Around 3 p.m., the young man from the morning arrived and said, ‘Brother wants you to come to him. He can’t come here now.’
Shekhar quietly got ready and went with him. As he was leaving, Shashi asked, ‘When will you be back?’
Shekhar estimated, ‘I’ll be back before it gets dark—don’t worry.’ And he left.
Both of them crossed the bridge and stood on the other bank of the river. After they passed one village and had walked a mile, they found Brother in a thicket of reeds. As soon as he saw them, he asked the young man, ‘All clear?’18
‘I believe that we are fine. I saw someone on the bridge, but everything seems to be fine here.’
Beyond the thicket was a sandy slope that made something of a dry trench, and beyond that was higher ground. In the trench, a person could remain unseen from all directions, and it was as if the sandy walls on both sides had been especially made for target practice. The thin course of the Yamuna was on one side—and it shocked Shekhar to realize that his house was directly across on the other side of the river.
Shekhar was given the task of keeping watch on one side; the young man on the other. Brother went into the trench. A little later they heard gunfire; and then at short intervals, the sounds of single and double rounds, some loud and crackling, some serious . . .
Brother returned in a little while; he said, ‘Everything works. But some of the cartridges are old—they might let us down.’
The three headed back. But when they got to the road, Brother stopped unexpectedly. Shekhar saw a khaki-coloured truck coming from the bridge carrying several police officers. The truck didn’t stop, it was slowly moving towards Shahadara, but Brother said, ‘Something smells fishy,’ and they made a big loop and came back to the clearing. Shekhar and the young man followed behind.
There was another path out of the clearing. That’s the one that Brother took.
‘Where does this go?’
‘It must go back towards some settlement or another—it’s not as though we can wait here until evening.’
Shekhar wanted to ask why they had to wait until evening, and what would happen next, but he left everything to Brother and remained quiet. After they had gone about three miles, they came to a village; the sun was about to set, so Brother felt it pointless to go into the village and they went around it.
‘Shekhar, do you know how to swim?’
‘Yes, more or less. Why?’
‘We’ll cross the Yamuna from over here somewhere—the bridge will be dangerous.’
‘All right, the river shouldn’t be too high now—perhaps we won’t even have to swim—’
‘That would be great, but if we have to—and we have to protect these things from the water, now, don’t we—but I will take care of that.
I know how to swim with my hands above water. How far do you think the river is?’
‘About a mile—two miles by road.’
‘Why bother with the road. We’ll cut straight through here—’
‘It looks like there are canals in between—it will be muddy—’
A doubting ‘hmm’ from Brother who turned and walked around a field.
From the edge of the field in front of them, a young peasant girl was walking towards them; she had a bundle on her head that she held one arm up to support but her arm didn’t touch the bundle; it swayed with her gait, and the girl was gently humming a song.
Brother stopped for a moment to ask, ‘How far is the Yamuna?’
The girl was taken aback. ‘Eh—Jamanaji? Turn around and walk straight in the other direction. It will be about two or three miles. Why are you going this way—’
‘Can’t we get there this way?’
‘No.’
Shekhar asked, ‘Can’t we go this way—if we can save some time—’
The girl looked at Shekhar once and then once again, carefully observing Brother from head to toe. Then she turned to face Shekhar and said, ‘It’s muddy. And there are some steep hills. You’ll be fine, but I don’t know about fatso over here.’
Shekhar was stunned. Brother was definitely heavyset, but Shekhar didn’t know if he had ever had anyone so frankly critique his body before. He graciously smiled at her sidelong glance and said, ‘Daughter, time makes everything possible, watch—’ and he walked on.
As the girl walked on, she said, ‘You’ll get stuck!’ and she burst out laughing as if she were imagining the situation.
The three of them walked towards the canals. When the sand began to give under their feet they took off their shoes and held them in their hands. The mud really was as bad as a swamp . . . The sun had set; the embankments of the canal in front of them were barely visible and the evening wind made the tamarisk bushes rustle . . .
When the embankment was directly in front of them, Brother thoughtfully said, ‘I walked more than sixty miles at one stretch and the girl calls me fatso!’—then laughing a little,—‘I have indeed become a little fat.’ And as if to challenge the stigma the girl had given him, he began climbing first . . .
Shekhar Page 58
