Once Upon a Curfew

by Srishti Chaudhary

  Minutes went by relating the horrors of Partition and finally, it was time to end the discussion. Indu thanked profusely everyone who had made the effort to go back to those haunting memories and find the courage to relate them. Formally, the discussion ended, but many women stayed back and Rana immediately got to work, noting down the new registrations. Many others walked up to Indu to say that they would be joining the library, and would be telling others about it too. Mrs Bala also came to congratulate her, telling her they would feature it in the college magazine, and that they would interview her. Indu almost laughed at the idea, but agreed.

  Many of them sat about chatting, relating stories from their time. Indu’s parents got nostalgic as well. The little Sardar boy’s mother, the woman who identified herself as Parminder Chadda, found Indu and put her hands on her shoulders, thanking her for organizing the event.

  ‘No, of course . . .’ Indu said, putting the lady’s hand on her hand, and then couldn’t help adding, ‘We see your son quite often.’

  Parminder Chadda laughed, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Yes, I sometimes tell him to have a peek and see who all are there. You see, I have learnt some baking recently, and I was thinking, so many people come here every day, I could invite some of them to see if they would like to buy it.’

  Indu stared at her, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

  ‘If you want,’ Indu began, ‘you could bring the cakes here. I mean, we can think of some arrangement, to make it more regular, if you’re willing . . .’

  She looked at Indu in delight and thanked her profusely, promising to discuss it in more detail.

  ‘Of course, Mrs . . .’

  ‘You can call me Pammi,’ she told Indu with a delighted smile, and was still smiling when she walked out.

  Indu wanted to go up to Rana and tell him about Pammi, but noticed that he was standing with Runjhun and another woman who had just appeared. So she walked away to her own parents.

  ‘Where is Rana? We want to congratulate him too,’ her mother said, and then Indu had to bring him over. He greeted them cordially, striking up an easy conversation. He complimented both their daughters, causing Indu to remark that he was nice only in front of the parents.

  Most people had left by the time Indu’s mother decided to leave too. She wanted to pack everything up and then return with Natty; Amita had already left to see Govind. Rana told Indu that Fawad would come over in a bit, so they decided to bring lunch from outside and have it together in the library. Esha and Sunita put everything back in its place, with Indu instructing them. Fawad came in after some time with another man, whom Runjhun seemed to know. Indu wanted to ask who in the world these people were, but refrained from saying anything.

  ‘It was horrible, of course,’ Indu heard Runjhun say. ‘We heard it today, the stories are horrifying. Yet, I mean, I can understand why Partition was necessary.’

  They were sitting on the sofas—Rana, Indu, the other man that Indu didn’t recognize, and another girl, one of Runjhun’s friends who had come for the talk.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rana asked.

  ‘I’m not sure a “united India” would have even been possible, you know. So many people of such different faiths living together.’

  ‘Lakhs of people died during Partition,’ Rana said quietly. ‘No speculation or possibility can justify that. And those people had already been living together!’

  ‘I’m not justifying it, of course,’ Runjhun said quickly. ‘What happened was inexcusable. But suppose there hadn’t been a partition; wouldn’t there be frequent communal outbursts? Tension? More than even now? How would that have been handled?’

  Indu sat down with them, breaking up her rhetoric. ‘What’s the point of thinking about what would have been? The fact is it happened. What we must think about is the action and consequences it invited.’

  Runjhun nodded at her. ‘I agree with that. I just can’t help thinking whatever happened was for the best, even though it wasn’t done in the best way.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Rana asked. ‘After hearing all this, what went on . . .’

  ‘But I’m not saying what happened was right, Rana,’ she protested. ‘I’m saying it should have been done better. Tell me, would our democratic institutions have survived with that constant fighting? Would the Muslims have jobs in the government, the equal opportunities they demanded—’

  ‘Of course they would have!’ Indu said. ‘We are a secular country.’

  ‘In name only,’ Runjhun responded darkly. ‘In practice, we can’t say for sure what would have happened if such a large section of the population, with adequate political representation and groups, wanted to separate—and couldn’t.’

  ‘So you are saying we couldn’t have lived together if the separation hadn’t happened?’

  ‘The way the situation was, there were already two disparate nations, and to try and bring them together would have been foolhardiness. I just wish it had been done better. And we would have avoided the whole trouble over Kashmir as well if it were.’

  ‘Walked in at the right time, haven’t I?’ Fawad asked, appearing at the door. Rana got up to greet him. Indu found this to be the right opportunity to avoid an argument with Runjhun.

  Fawad folded his hands at Indu and she grinned at him, raising her eyebrows. ‘Where have you been, mister? Why haven’t I seen you in so long?’

  ‘Because I’m always stuck on the road,’ he said. ‘I spend more time in the bus than at my own home.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Campaigning is on in full force. On one side of the road they say garibi hatao, on the other side they say Indira hatao . . . then people start yelling inhe road se hatao.’

  They couldn’t help laughing as Rana chimed in, ‘I heard another one a few days ago . . . what was it? Yes, Jan Sangh ka saath do, beedi peena chhod do; beedi mein tambaku hai, Congress waala daku hai.’

  Indu raised her eyebrows but laughed anyway. ‘What are they against, tobacco or the Congress?’

  ‘I’d say both are equally fatal,’ Runjhun said.

  ‘Speaking of tobacco,’ Fawad said, looking at Indu, ‘I’d like to smoke some. May I?’

  Indu nodded, and when Fawad went out to the balcony, she accompanied him there instead of sitting down with the others.

  Fawad lit the cigarette and held it out to her. She was about to refuse when she glanced at Rana and Runjhun deep in conversation at the other end of the room and accepted it. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and gave it to her with a smile. She held it in her hand awkwardly.

  ‘What do I . . .’

  ‘Take a deep pull, as if you’re drinking from a straw . . . yes, well done.’

  Indu inhaled the smoke and coughed slightly. She took a couple of drags more and though she did not cough this time, she felt her head spin. As she handed it back to Fawad, he said, ‘Don’t do it too often though. It’s a terrible habit.’

  Indu nodded at him, looking around. She didn’t want Sunita or Esha to see her, but obviously, she did want Rana to notice.

  ‘What are you working on these days? Rana acts like it’s some top-secret story that he’s not allowed to talk about,’ she said.

  ‘It is,’ he answered, grinning.

  ‘Tell me what it’s about!’

  ‘Well, pretty much about how the party is a hotbed of corruption currently, and how we discovered official documents incriminating some officials. I’ve also allowed advertisements for the morchas. We are planning one of our own.’

  ‘Are you even allowed to print all that?’ Indu asked him.

  ‘Of course I am—the free press of a free country.’

  Indu stared at him, shaking her head, telling him he wasn’t going to be let off easy if important people started having major problems with it.

  ‘And who’s important?’ he asked. ‘Your father?’

  Indu gave him a hard look. ‘He is. He is the Chief Advocate, and if there is trouble coming, he smells it from a mile awa
y.’

  Fawad laughed.

  Indu wasn’t sure how to react, and was saved the trouble of answering when Rana walked up to them. Runjhun and the other man seemed to have left.

  ‘Since when do you smoke?’ he asked Indu, raising his eyebrows sceptically.

  She shrugged. ‘Since when do you care?’

  He looked even more surprised at her answer, but then shook his head and turned to Fawad, asking him when he wanted to go back home. She was annoyed there hadn’t been more of a reaction.

  ‘Where’s Runjhun?’ Fawad asked her. ‘I’d like to talk to her about India and Pakistan separating, and the disaster that it was.’

  ‘Ah, she’s insistent that it was for the better.’

  Fawad shook his head. ‘Earlier, you had a commie for a girlfriend. Then you introduce me to Indu, and now this one. What’s wrong with you, man? Why can’t you choose girlfriends from one ideology?’

  Rana contorted his lips, trying not to laugh at himself.

  ‘He’s a typical man, you see,’ Indu said to Fawad, dropping the cigarette on the ground and stubbing it with her foot, giving Rana a derisive glance. ‘Looks over books.’

  * * *

  Dear Indu,

  It seems as if spring has finally sprung up here. There are roses everywhere, along with magnolias and dahlias. I wonder which ones you’d like. When you come here, I’d like to buy you these flowers sometimes.

  When I have to spend hours in the library here, I think of you and your little library there. I wonder how it is faring. You haven’t told me in the longest time. Unfortunately, I have some distressing news.

  My brother Roshan—I don’t think you’ve ever been formally introduced—got into a spot of trouble recently a few days ago with his friends but thankfully a family friend was able to sort it all out for us. I don’t know all the details yet and will tell you more when I know.

  There are some quaint little locales here that I’ve been looking at, with gardens in the front of houses, and it will be great to live here. I hope you wouldn’t mind travelling by train sometimes, within the city—it’s called the tube and it’s always efficient and on time. And they never have strikes!

  Pass my greetings on to everyone,

  Love,

  Rajat

  She kept forgetting to reply to Rajat the next couple of days. Her conversation with Fawad continued to trouble her, both what he had said about his magazine as well as how easily he had referred to Runjhun as Rana’s girlfriend. But even if there were no Runjhun, Indu still had another life waiting for her.

  It was hard for her to imagine that life, especially if she would have to live elsewhere. She couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning her library, especially to settle in a cold place where she would be nothing more than the wife of a man who was ‘someone’ there. She wondered what she would do all day. Would she have a job, and would Rajat even agree to letting her get one? She realized she had never asked his opinion, for their life together seemed so far away, and she still couldn’t imagine the day when it would be a reality.

  She thought of talking to her sister about this, but what would she say? Didi, I promised to marry a man who is courteous, well-settled and approved of by everyone in our family. But I’d rather cry about another man who already has a girlfriend, partakes in seditious writing, and whose best friend might lead a march against the Prime Minister . . .

  In any case, Amita had enough troubles of her own. Her exams were drawing nearer every day and she had much at stake. Every day that she had spent living with Indu and their parents, the expectations increased. She had left her husband’s home to study. Now she’d better do well, otherwise she would not be forgiven.

  One look at Esha was enough to convince Indu that they had done well starting the library, and she was sure that she would want to find out how it all turned out. If Esha was thriving, one could imagine that others were also deriving some benefit from the library, even if it couldn’t be assessed quantitatively. She thought of Sangeeta studying every day, passing her exams, which might have been, Indu dared to think, harder if she didn’t have the library space. She thought of Mrs Leela finding an avenue to display her skill, which otherwise might have been lost in the monotony of household chores. Hadn’t all the women who had spoken about their troubles during Partition found a place to make their voices heard?

  She found Esha sitting in a corner of the kitchen floor, bent over the work Sangeeta had given her.

  ‘What did I tell you about tying your hair when you work, hun?’ she asked. ‘If I see your hair spread about your face another time, I swear on your Sai Baba I will cut it off myself.’

  ‘Sorry, didi,’ Esha replied hastily, tying her hair into a braid.

  Indu walked up to Sangeeta and whispered to her, ‘Don’t you think it’s better to make her sit beside you?’

  Sangeeta looked uneasily over her shoulder at the other women working. ‘I mean, we could, but I am not sure everyone will be fine with that.’

  Indu looked around the room and had to agree that someone might object to Esha sitting beside them. She looked at Sangeeta. ‘Well, as long as she is studying, I guess it doesn’t matter where.’

  In the evening, in the car, Indu impulsively asked Natty what he thought of Rana.

  ‘I don’t think of him as much, madame,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

  When Indu stared at him sharply, he nodded before answering, ‘He’s a good man, madame. I like him very much.’

  She didn’t reply immediately and heard him humming a song, but didn’t know which one it was, and so was forced to ask him.

  ‘“Yeh shaam mastani”, madame. Rajesh Khanna.’

  ‘That was really toneless,’ she told him. ‘I couldn’t even recognize it. And I heard it in the theatre when I watched the movie.’

  ‘We all have our talents, madame.’

  She and Rana had sung ‘Yeh shaam mastani’ under their breaths while watching Kati Patang. She remembered the obnoxious way he had laughed and said, ‘I’m as close to Rajesh Khanna as you’ll ever get.’

  ‘So what do you think should be done, Natty?’ she asked him plainly.

  She knew he wouldn’t ask her what about.

  ‘I couldn’t say, madame,’ he said.

  ‘But what if you had to.’

  ‘I couldn’t say,’ he repeated, ‘but you could.’

  12

  It was late April and already the weather was too hot for a walk, but Indu and Rana went for one anyway when they found themselves alone and free one evening.

  At one point, Indu went on ahead and he caught up with her a minute later. He held out his palm, which had a jasmine in it. She looked at him, touched.

  ‘It’s just flowers, not my love,’ he said, looking embarrassed, and ran his hand through his hair.

  She stared at him for a couple of seconds and then shook her head, letting out a tired sigh. ‘Why do you have to be like this? Why can’t you be more like Rajesh Khanna, hun?’

  ‘Are you joking?’ he replied, pointing at himself. ‘Have you seen this? If I were also romantic like him, uff, that would be very unfair.’

  She shook her head again. ‘I want to see some amaltas trees now.’

  ‘You deserve it. You’ve been a good girl today,’ he said, smiling cheekily.

  They walked in the outer lanes and the trees seemed to pop out in a burst of yellow among the green, as if planted there deliberately by someone to break the monotony. They stood beneath a big one and found a few of its flowers on the ground, brightening up the concrete. They gazed at it for some time and then walked slightly farther away as Indu wanted to look at it from afar, when its yellowness wasn’t that pronounced.

  ‘Next year, though,’ he said, looking at Indu, ‘I don’t know if I’ll be here to see them.’

  ‘Why, where will you go?’

  ‘I don’t know where a job might take me.’

  ‘But most likely Delhi, right?’

 
‘Could be Bombay. In fact, it’s more likely it will be Bombay, that’s where all the jobs for me are.’

  ‘Really? And you don’t mind?’

  ‘I don’t know. It would be even more crowded, I’m sure, but I think I would like how fast-paced it is, with so much happening all the time. I’d like to live in that pace for some time.’

  They walked back slowly towards the library, and she tried to imagine him in Bombay. She had never been there, but she could imagine him fitting in, making a life for himself, walking by the beach. She wondered if she herself would be here to see the simal and amaltas bloom next year, and knew at least where her life was headed. She’d definitely be married. She couldn’t imagine herself in this new life, especially when she thought of Rana living in Bombay, making new friends, meeting girls. She had heard everything was more relaxed in Bombay, that all the girls had boyfriends, and that they went to discos together.

  She looked at him now as he walked next to her, his hands in his pockets, looking ahead but clearly lost in thought, probably musing about next year. She saw the uncertainty, but also the excitement on his face. She tried to think of herself in Bombay, pursuing some kind of career with Rana by her side. It seemed impossible.

  Entering the library, they looked at each other and smiled, and he seemed warmer than ever, his eyes the lightest shade of brown, looking into hers. Indu felt like grabbing him by the shoulders and asking him why he wouldn’t ask her how she felt.

  But the next morning, he smiled just as easily when he saw Runjhun arrive. His words repeated themselves in her head. ‘It’s only flowers, not my love.’ He had his life and she had hers.

  She watched him through the day and when she couldn’t bear it anymore, she went out again, wandering the street alone this time, coming across Natty, who had parked the Ambassador a little way off. She sat on the bonnet of the car, and neither of them said anything to each other when she put her head in her arms and hated herself for crying again.