She looked at him doubtfully. ‘What did you pick?’
He laughed to himself before meeting her dubious gaze. ‘Rajesh, ha.’
Indu couldn’t help the smile on her face.
‘Soon, we began hearing pretty disturbing stuff. So many people that we knew had been arrested without warrants or explanations, picked up in the middle of the night, tricked into coming to the police station or blackmailed. Little did we know that was just the tip of the iceberg. We joined a kind of underground resistance, where we constantly tried to pass around information about what was actually happening instead of all the doctored news.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, at first it was just the whereabouts of important leaders, meetings to discuss what was going to happen, the future, et cetera, but then we realized that it was important to print and circulate material about secret arrests, torture and blackmail. Soon, it grew into a full-scale operation, and we, of course, started Goonj again. But it was very dangerous work.’
She stared at him. ‘Why did you keep doing it, then?’
He shook his head. ‘You would have too. Anyone would have—once you see the injustice happening in front of your eyes, you cannot un-see it. It’s impossible.’
‘You did all this on your own? Joining this “resistance movement”, publishing material for it?’
‘No, of course not. This movement—’ he paused. He scanned Indian Coffee House once again, looking carefully at each person dining there. Indu’s stomach twisted in a knot as she remembered the sign above their table. ‘This movement has its own political affiliations, of course, and lots of people come into play here, but we, Fawad and I, came under the charge of this one Leader. We discussed all our plans with him and did as we were told.’
‘Who is this guy?’
Rana shook his head.
Indu felt hurt. ‘Do you still not trust me?’
‘No,’ he said quickly, reaching out for her hand, which lay on the table, but she pulled it away. ‘No! It’s for your own good. You don’t want this kind of information. It immediately puts you in danger.’
Indu looked away. ‘Are you staying with him now?’
He gave a small nod. ‘It’s a kind of a safehouse. It’s not just me, there are probably a couple more people there as well, they come and they go. Anyone who needs to stay safely in Delhi for some time can stay there.’
‘Do they know that you’re meeting me?’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t tell them. I’ve done enough for them. I want to do what I came here for.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, once we started doing this kind of work, and some months went by, I came up with the idea of making fake identities.’
‘What?!’
‘These were dangerous times, and it seemed to me the best way to save people. Of course, we couldn’t do it for people who were already known, but we could for small-timers, the “collateral damage”, as they were called—the fake identities could save them. These people were either able to buy enough time to hide or convince the authorities they were someone else. And it was quite a success, this scheme of ours. Soon, we had to expand.’
‘Expand?’
‘You know about all the forced sterilizations?’
Indu shook her head. ‘I mean, I heard some vague rumours, but I was not sure it had actually been done.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to begin. There were stories everywhere, of people, old or young, married or unmarried, being forced into sterilization. Incentives, schemes, they were all coercions to fill sterilization quotas. We decided to forge sterilization certificates.’
Indu nodded as he continued, ‘Men couldn’t claim benefits, receive their pensions or even their salaries if they weren’t sterilized. Everything depended on meeting the quotas, and even the officials appointed to implement the scheme couldn’t help it. So we started making the certificates, identical to the ones given out by the government, so that people could carry them around to show that they had already been sterilized. They were an insane hit; I mean, we started making more than fifty a day.’
‘Oh God, but how?’
‘We had printers—unlicensed, of course. I collected data and put them in identical cards that we got printed. Fawad got them laminated, and there was a Kishore bhai who distributed them. It might have been the most dangerous thing to do in the country then.’
‘And you still continued?’
He looked at her, shrugging. ‘There was nothing more satisfying. To feel that you’ve been able to save someone’s life, their family, in this regime, there was nothing else like it.’
She didn’t reply and looked away. It was hard to believe he had done these things, none of which she had been privy to.
‘It was then that everything started going wrong.’
She looked at him.
‘We were still printing stuff in Goonj, but then there were reports of problems in Lucknow. The camps there were pathetic, apparently, and truckloads of people were being taken there every day. The authorities did not care who they were, if they wanted to go or not. The government apparently wanted to achieve that one million mark. One million sterilized. We thought we would get pictures of it. It was also a chance for me to go home. I was sure that by now, I had dodged the people who were watching me, otherwise the two of us would already have been arrested.
‘But it was a mess in Lucknow. Some people attacked the officers and doctors in a sterilization camp near the city, and in retaliation, the police, of course, opened fire. Hundreds of people died, none of which was reported. It was very volatile for some time.’
Indu put a hand on her mouth, unable to believe what she heard.
‘But we got pictures of it all. It was incredible. The lathi charge, the tear gas, the injured people, we got it all. It was like sitting on a gold mine, and we would publish it in Goonj, of course, but we knew we needed to take it to a wider publication. The only way those people would get justice was if the world got to know about it, if those who did it were held accountable.’
‘And you tried to get it published?’
He nodded, somewhat dejectedly. ‘We got in touch with some BBC journalists and had to carry these pictures with us to Delhi to give to them. For safety, Fawad and I travelled separately. We said goodbye when we left, but I haven’t seen him since. All I know is he made it to Delhi.’
Indu didn’t know what to say. ‘But where do you think—’
‘I am pretty sure they’ve found him somehow, and if I was with him, they would have taken me as well. They already had a warrant out on him, they didn’t need any other reason.’
‘And the pictures?’ Indu asked quietly.
‘I have them—I think.’
‘Hun?’
‘I mean, I have reason to believe Fawad hid them before being arrested. I just have to figure out where he would have hidden them.’
‘Oh dear God.’
‘It’s been a few days, I have no idea where he is. I’ve nobody here who I can approach or trust. I dare not write to or call anyone. It’s with great difficulty that I even got to you.’
Indu noticed again how careworn he looked. His eyes seemed like dark hollows. His smile still had the same crinkle, but his skin seemed creased, older and more fragile. The jasmine lay broken and crushed on their table. Someone had picked up their coffee cups and the plate of masala dosa, and Indu hadn’t even noticed. She checked the time and realized they had been sitting there for almost three hours, while outside, the sun threatened to turn fiery and red before setting.
Rana again leaned towards her and extended his hands, touching Indu’s, and she didn’t pull away this time.
‘Please help me find him,’ he said, his eyes pleading.
She stared at him and wanted to cry, but she pulled away.
‘How can I help you? I didn’t even know these things were happening.’
‘If there is someone who can help, it’s you.’
&n
bsp; She shook her head and really began crying this time. ‘You didn’t bother to contact me for a year. How do you think you can walk into my life like this and demand miracles from me?’
He hung his head again, unable to offer any comfort as she continued crying.
‘I’m going to go now,’ she said, suddenly getting up, picking up her bag. He didn’t reply, and sat back, staring at her. ‘Rajat is coming back to India in a few days, and so it would be better if you didn’t see me again,’ she said, walking out of Indian Coffee House.
16
Summer had arrived, bringing a crippling heat that was interrupted by the occasional thunderstorm. The sun was enveloped by the foggy air that sat heavily over the city, refracted through the clouds, and cast a reddish-pink glow ever so slowly. A part of the sky was midnight blue while the other part was still on fire.
Indu sat on a steel bench at the edge of the walking path that encircled the park, looking at the flocks of birds that twittered and circled endlessly. Only a few people were still walking. The sky got darker with every passing minute. She knew it would soon be time for the park gates to be locked, but she didn’t have it in herself to get up and move, and so she kept sitting and staring ahead, focusing on the dome that lay quiet and ominous in the gardens. She had once told Rana that it was the tomb of Mohammed Shah, and he had nodded, impressed that she knew.
When all movement ceased around her and she was sure that they would lock the gates if she didn’t leave, she got up and walked towards the exit where the chowkidaar had begun blowing his whistle. As she walked out, the waft of sweet potatoes being roasted hit her. She looked around for the white Ambassador and walked towards it. Natty leaned against the front door, munching on a bhutta.
‘Chalein, madame? Had a good walk?’ he asked her.
‘Won’t you ask me if I want bhutta?’
‘The world is yours, madame, bhutta kya cheez hai! But you never eat it because it gets stuck in your teeth.’
‘Today I want one,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest. An old woman was fanning the corn on a tray of coal, which lay on a jute mat. The pallu of her sari was wrapped around her head and her face was dark and scrunched, her smile revealing crooked yellow teeth. The corn crackled as the woman fanned it, and Indu looked at Natty, who stared ahead in contentment.
‘Are you worried, madame?’ Natty asked her.
‘About what?’
‘Amitabh Bachchan.’
She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.
‘That he is taking the place of Rajesh Khanna, especially after Sholay.’
‘What have I told you about Rajesh Khanna, Natty?’
‘That there never was anybody like him, and there never will be.’
‘So why are you asking me this silly question?’
‘Amitabh Bachchan is also tall, madame.’
She snorted. ‘He may have done well with his couple of hits, but Rajesh Khanna is the ultimate superstar. Didn’t I tell you? Form is temporary, class is permanent.’
Natty nodded wisely as Indu tried to remember where she had heard this.
‘Still, madame, I think this Bachchan hero will go somewhere. Kuch baat hai isme!’
The woman handed Indu her bhutta, wrapped in its own green leaves. Indu carefully kept one hand beneath it and took a bite, crunching on it slowly, staring blankly into space.
‘What do you think I should do?’ she asked him quietly.
Natty had finished eating, so they both got into the car.
‘Do you remember, in Kati Patang, madame, when Rajesh Khanna finds out Poonam is actually Madhuri and she was lying all along?’
She gave him an incredulous look; had he not realized that she had changed the topic?
‘Do you remember, madame?’ he asked her again.
‘Of course I remember, Natty.’
‘Rajesh Khanna finds out that Poonam is actually Madhuri, that Poonam had died some time ago, and that Madhuri had been lying to him all along. It was quite a big lie, madame.’
‘What’s your point, Natty?’
He laughed. ‘There are many points, madame, but the most important one is that Rajesh Khanna forgave Madhuri because it was something she had done under difficult circumstances. Her choices were not easy, and in that moment, she did it believing it was the best course of action. Rajesh Khanna understood that, and that’s why he still went back to help Madhuri.’
Indu now looked out the window, and Natty said no more. She knew she shouldn’t have turned her back on Rana, and therefore on Fawad, like this, but couldn’t bring herself to accept that he had just walked back into her life like this after a year and demanded help from her. And it was help that she couldn’t even provide. How was she supposed to find a missing person at a time like this? How was that a realistic expectation from someone who didn’t even want to talk to you?
She knew that talking to Amita would provide a better perspective. When she reached home, she told her mother that she would visit her sister at the hospital the next evening and that Kittu would lock up the library.
Amita had started working at the City Hospital after she finished her studies; when she had picked up studying again, the last and final part of her MBBS had been pending, which she had left before getting married. That out of the way, she was allowed to practice, and so she moved back to Govind bhai’s house. The same people who had sniped at her sister when she was studying were now quick to comment on her success and tell Amita they were proud of her.
* * *
The walls of City Hospital were as sombre as ever as Indu walked toward her sister’s office. Nurses bustled about as people sat worried in the waiting area. Entire families were squatting and camping in the corners. ‘Ae mere watan ke logon’ played faintly on the speakers, dispersing its sad, melodious tune throughout the hallway. Her sister, though, smiled widely upon seeing Indu, and the off-white colour tones suddenly seemed less sombre. The peon brought them tea and her sister proceeded to narrate the ordeals of the day.
‘Ten times as many patients as we are equipped to handle, of course. Everyone beats their chest and cries that their turn hasn’t come even after months. Our hands are tied, we tell them. Hospitals are far and few in between, and everyone anyway wants to come to the City Hospitals. They are willing to wait for months for the best treatment at a low cost. Bihar, UP, Punjab, Haryana—every family living north of Madhya Pradesh wants to be treated here, for everything from muscle sprains to tuberculosis.’
‘How are you managing?’ Indu asked her.
‘Don’t ask. These days, especially, when strict timings are followed, I’m afraid to leave even a minute early. And if it’s one of the “VIPs”, everyone else is pushed back down the line, of course.’
‘Tell me something,’ Indu asked, stepping closer and staring at her sister. ‘I heard some disturbing stuff. Is it true that there have been . . . forced sterilizations?’
Her sister narrowed her eyes at her. ‘Where did you read that?’
‘Is it true?’
Amita glanced at the door and asked Indu to shut it, which she did promptly.
Amita took a sip of water before answering, ‘Not only is it true, nobody knows the extent of it. Some people say thousands are being forced into this every day, while others say that these are false and baseless rumours spread to malign the government. It’s definitely happening. There are now campaigns urging only two children in a family, some incentives for people who have had the operation and what not. But it’s affecting a lot of people, definitely.’
‘Then why don’t we hear more about it?’ Indu asked her.
‘Who is allowed to report all this? The press cannot, and it’s something that is only affecting the lower-income groups as of now. Yet, every week, I get at least one case of an operation gone wrong. Last month was horrible. A man was brought in with infectious boils all over.’
Indu winced. ‘Don’t tell me!’
‘Exactly. Nobody wants to acknow
ledge it, but it’s happening all the same.’
Indu remained quiet. She was happy to see that in a short time, her sister had done well enough to have been given this office. Of course, some of it might have to do with Govind bhai being her husband, but it was a connection that her sister never advertised.
Indu swilled the milky tea around in the plain, white cup. Finally, she broached the topic of Rana. Her sister’s expression went from surprised to sceptical to concerned, but she mostly nodded and said little.
‘Don’t tell Govind bhai,’ Indu said immediately.
‘Of course not,’ her sister responded. They sat together quietly for some more time, until her sister announced that they must meet Rana again and see how they could help. ‘I will meet him with you,’ she said.
It was a hard time for Indu to deal with her feelings for Rana now, considering that at home, preparations for her and Rajat’s wedding were beginning. Her mother had already decided that they would all go pick him up when he arrived in another three days, and she constantly wanted to discuss clothes with Indu. She insisted that Indu ditch the saris and wear a suit. Together, they had chosen a beige silk one with hand-embroidered black tree motifs all over and a thin orange and green border. ‘To go with the spirit of the nation?’ she asked. Her mother laughed. She wondered whether to tell her mother about Rana and what he was asking of her, but decided not to. It could be dangerous.
It was with a feeling of awkwardness that Indu left with her parents for the Palam Airport, wondering how she would find this man after two years of correspondence. Why couldn’t Rajat return after a few more days, once she was done with this Rana drama? Or why couldn’t Rana have come earlier? But she reminded herself that her mind was already made up. It had been made up the day Rana went away.
He might have been in a difficult situation, but was she expected to wait for him to finish his adventures and then make up his mind? She had considered breaking off her engagement to someone else and going against her family, all because she loved him and had told him as much. And what had he done? Maybe he had wanted to leave her out of it, but if he really wanted to let her know how he felt, he could have sent her a message. If he could do all that he did, transfer banned material from one place to another, go to violence-ridden states, maintain a network of people communicating secretly, then he could have somehow sent word to her.
Once Upon a Curfew Page 20
