He looked at us and smiled. Then he smoothed my hair. I felt goose bumps pop up all over my arms. Papa never touches me except for an occasional kiss on the forehead at night before bed.
“I want to see our friends and family. It’s been too long,” he said. Then he sat down on a kitchen chair. He motioned for us to come and sit with him. Dadi left to make tea. He smiled. We smiled back. He asked how school was. We told him we don’t go to school anymore because he told us not to.
“Of course. How ridiculous of me,” he said. Then his face turned very sad.
“We’re leaving soon,” is what he said when he had his tea. I wasn’t surprised. I had seen the signs. My bottom lip quivered as the news sunk in. He took another sip and we waited.
“Many are going. Some are staying no matter what. But I have you two,” he said, looking at each of us. “The other day made me realize we aren’t safe. It’s only going to get worse.”
“Why are people fighting, Papa?” Amil asked. Papa sat back in his chair and began to tell us things he never told us before. I’ll try to remember everything he said.
“Everybody thinks they are protecting and defending their people. But we are all people, right? I’ve never talked about this before, but there were many who were unhappy that I married your mother,” he started saying, his eyes wide and alert.
I swallowed. I tried not to move or blink. I was afraid anything might stop Papa from talking about you. He cleared his throat and looked far away at nothing. I blinked because I couldn’t help it. Then there was silence. I thought I ruined it with my blink, but he continued. Amil stayed still, too.
“Our families thought we shouldn’t be married because your mother was Muslim and I am Hindu. That’s why we decided to move here, far away from our families. Let them fight it out themselves. Even though we had many Muslim friends and neighbors, it never matters when it comes to marriage. Many people feel like this, but I don’t. If someone comes into the hospital, I treat them no matter who they are or what religion they are. When I open a body up, I see the blood, the muscles, the bones, all the same in every person, like Gandhiji says. Jinnah and Nehru, they are secular men, yet we need two countries instead of one because of religion. They are leading us toward this—this slicing, this partitioning of India,” Papa said, chopping his finger through the air.
Then he continued. “My family didn’t understand how I could turn away from all the Hindu girls they found for me. I did well in school. I was going to be a doctor. Many families sought out my parents for a match, but my parents wanted me to like the girl. I met your mother because I played on a cricket team, and she and her friends started to watch us on the way back from school. She was younger than I was, only eighteen. I was already in medical college and my classes ended earlier. One day I thought she was smiling at me. When I looked, she wasn’t. But then I snuck a look out of the corner of my eye and I could see that smile.
“Once as she was leaving the cricket game, she tripped, spilling her books. I couldn’t stop myself. I left the game to help her. She said she hurt her ankle, so I helped her carry her things home. Her friends walked with me, not allowing her to be alone with a strange man. But her family thanked me. They seemed friendly. Then she began stopping by the cricket game every week, and I started walking her and her friends home. Her friends let us walk ahead and talk. We did that for two years. All my friends and family were very angry with me. But I couldn’t stop. She was different from any girl I had known. Yes, she was very beautiful, especially when she smiled. She was kind. She made me laugh. But she also understood things about people. She knew how complicated they were.”
Amil and I sat there, mouths parted. Papa coughed a little and turned away from us, gazing out the window, but he kept speaking.
“So we married and moved out of our village. Soon after we were married, your Mama’s parents died and my father died all in the same year. And then three years later she . . . ,” he paused for a few seconds before going on. “Dadi came to live with us after that. My brothers eventually moved closer to us, too.”
I let this sink in. How did I not know that your parents, my other grandparents, had died? I had just thought they lived very far away.
“Did Mama have any brothers or sisters?” Amil asked.
Papa was quiet. “A brother and a sister.”
I took this in. The uncle and aunt I never met. I think I had heard it before, but I felt like I had imagined it. There are parts of you out there, Mama. Why hadn’t I thought about them much before?
“Your mother’s sister never spoke to us again. She was very against our marriage. She lives with her family in another village far away. Your mother’s brother took over the family house and furniture business.”
“Was he against your marriage?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Papa. “They wrote letters.”
“Why didn’t he ever visit?” Amil asked.
“He is a very private person. And maybe his other sister didn’t want him to. I’m not sure. Too much time went by and we lost touch.”
“How could that be? Time just went by?” Amil said.
I bit my lip. Even though I was desperate for these answers, I wanted Amil to stop asking questions. If he irritated Papa, he would stop talking.
“These things happen,” Papa said, and waved his hand. Then he lowered his voice “You must know that the way I feel is very dangerous now. Do not talk about your mother with other people.”
“But maybe if people know the truth about us, about our mother, it would be a good thing and we wouldn’t have to be on a side,” said Amil. His voice sounded small and tight. My mouth fell open. I couldn’t believe Amil was saying this. He told me it was ridiculous when I said it.
“No,” Papa shouted at him. “You don’t understand. You could be killed! You can’t change people’s minds now. It’s the only way to protect yourself. When we leave for the new India, things will be better. I hope.”
Papa’s eyes moved away from us and on to his cup.
“Papa?” Amil asked. “When are we leaving?”
“I’m not sure. Soon, but that’s enough for now. I want to enjoy my tea,” Papa said, his mouth returning to a closed, straight line, and picked up his cup.
The new India. Suddenly all those feelings I had about going to a new and beautiful place seemed wrong. I didn’t want the new India. I wanted the old one that was my home. Tears started to build up, but I wiped my face hard and pressed on my eyes for a second.
What is going to happen to Kazi, Mama? He’s the only one who looks at me with happy, loving eyes. No one else looks at me that way, not even Papa. When Papa looks at us, his eyes are always looking back inside his head at his own thoughts. He sees and he doesn’t see. Amil is my twin brother. Looking at him is like looking at myself. Dadi is all full of busy tasks and making noises with her teeth. If you’re listening, you must make sure that Kazi comes with us. Jinnah and Nehru can’t take him away from us. It’s not fair.
Love, Nisha
* * *
August 7, 1947
Dear Mama,
I’m lying here, my belly so full that I must lean back and stretch my legs way out. I have so much to write about, but I want to sleep so badly. There’s no moon tonight, but I have a little candle and some matches from the kitchen cupboard that I hide under my pillow so I can see in the dark. Amil is snoring. He always falls asleep quickly, the moment his head touches his pillow. Not me. It takes me a long time, even on a night like this, though it’s easier with the diary. After I finish, it’s like the part of me that can’t fall asleep, the part that’s staring at the cracks on the ceiling, wondering and worrying, is emptied in the diary for the night. During the day I fill back up and the pages wait. I like to think you’re holding my thoughts for me until I can tend to them again. I’m too sleepy now. It will have to wait. Good night, Mama.
Love, Nisha
* * *
August 7, 1947
Dear Mama,
I fell asleep for a few hours and woke with a start. I don’t know why. Then I started thinking about the party and these thoughts won’t leave me alone until I tell you. Amil is breathing so deeply, only an earthquake would wake him. I wish I could sleep like that.
Most of the party was wonderful, until the last part. I think you would have been so proud of Papa. I will remember it forever. We made so much food, we could have another party tomorrow. Rice, lots of different curries, dal, kebab, poori, paratha, samosa, mango pickle, gulab jamun, and rasmalai. It was so much work that Dadi didn’t mind I was in the kitchen all day helping Kazi with everything. I made the sai bhaji all by myself. He let me use his mortar and pestle to ground up the cumin, coriander, and ginger. I curdled the milk and tied the cheese cloths for the rasmalai. I made bowls of thick raita with cucumbers from the garden. I chopped onions with a stick in my teeth and didn’t even cry.
My fingernails were stained yellow from the turmeric when I dressed in my best salwar kameez, and I didn’t even try to wash it off. The kameez has a dark pink and green design with gold trim and a pink salwar to go with it. I haven’t worn it in a year, but it still fits. It even has a pink chiffon dupatta with little gold tassels that I can wrap around my neck or drape over my head. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for a long time. Mama, I’ve always thought I looked like Papa and Amil looks like you, but today I could see you in my face, in the curve of my mouth when I smiled. I have a little space between my two front teeth just like you do. I wondered why I was just noticing this. Then I put a little of Dadi’s kohl on my eyes to make them more like yours and hoped Papa wouldn’t notice. If he did, he was too busy to say anything. Many girls wear kohl, but Papa is very strict about those things. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m a girl.
I haven’t ever seen Papa move around so much in our house the way he did today. It was the strangest thing. He straightened furniture and dusted. He tasted all the food to make sure it was seasoned properly. He took out a small red and blue woven carpet I never knew we had and placed it at the front door. He also asked Amil to sweep the floors and wash the windows. Amil didn’t complain. Papa even set out candles and lit incense.
When everything was ready we stood by the door and people began to tumble in with wide smiles, wearing their best clothes, arms full of flowers and sweets, rose perfume floating in the air. So many people came, many of our neighbors, my uncles, my aunties, my cousins, Dr. Ahmed and his family.
How are you my dear? Look how big you are! How beautiful you’ve gotten! How are you doing in school? Are you eating enough? The aunties asked, their questions flying out for me to grab hold of. But I didn’t catch any of them. I just smiled and let their words rush past me, but they never seemed to mind. I received lots of wet lipsticked-kisses on my cheeks, which made me feel disgusted and loved as I turned to secretly rub off their marks. I wonder what it feels like to have words come out of your mouth that you don’t even have to think about, that you don’t have to take five deep breaths before you even shape your mouth around the first letter and push the word out with your tongue.
When Dr. Ahmed arrived, he presented me and Amil with two tiny gold coins. He closed them in our palms and told us to always be well. His eyes seemed moist. I quickly looked down at my feet, pressed my hands together, and bowed my head. Amil did the same, thanked him, and we ran off to put the coins in our room.
My cousins and the neighborhood children crowded around me and Amil until we took them outside to the best spot for cricket. The boys played a match while the girls sat and wove necklaces out of the flowering weeds around us. We took turns running back into the house for food and drinks and then out again, sometimes bringing a napkin full of snacks. Every time I went in, I saw Papa sitting on the floor, surrounded by men, talking, laughing, eating, and smoking. Again, just like when I was at the market, I wondered how anything could be wrong if our neighborhood could still have a party like this? Kazi stayed in the kitchen, only coming out to refill a bowl of food. I poked my head in, but he shooed me out quickly.
Once I was waved over to sit with my aunties while I ate a samosa. I ate it slowly, savoring the crispy outside tingling with the tart green chutney I dipped it in. One of my aunties told me I needed to fatten myself up and have more food. Another gently reached over and pinched my cheek. But mostly they talked to one another about what flowers were growing well this time of year and who was having a baby and who was getting married. Nobody talked about the changes happening all around us. I looked into their busy, glittery eyes as they spoke, wrists jingling with bangles. What were they really thinking, Mama?
Outside, Amil was awful at cricket as usual, his skinny arms barely able to make a solid hit or throw, but this was just a party game, nothing serious. We girls put on our flower necklaces. I laughed out loud as we held hands and danced in circles. When my cheeks felt warm and rosy, my head a little dizzy from the dancing, my belly happily stuffed with samosas, I whispered to my cousin Malli, who had her arm around my shoulders, “I’ll miss you when we go. But maybe we’ll still live close.”
“Go where?” she said, and stopped dancing. Then all the girls stopped dancing and stared at me. This is what usually happens when I talk, the exact opposite of what I want to happen. When Amil talks, he usually has to yell over people and say things again and again to get anyone to pay attention.
“The new India,” I murmured.
“What do you mean?” she said, looking alarmed.
I thought everyone knew more than I did. I wondered if I had told a terrible secret. I wiped my forehead and shrugged. She waited for me to say something else, but I couldn’t. My mouth pressed closed. My body felt limp and tired. She cocked her head to the side. I felt my courage to speak go out like a flame.
“Tell me,” she said again in a soft voice. But it didn’t matter how quietly she said anything. “Tell me,” she said louder.
Sabeen suddenly spoke up. “Don’t you know? All the Hindus and Sikhs have to leave. We are supposed to stay,” she stated plainly. She looked at the other girls, but no one said anything more.
Malli looked like she might cry and ran inside calling her mother. I stood frozen. The other girls watched me for a few more seconds to see if I was going to say anything else, and when I didn’t, they resumed their dance without me in it, but not with the same energy. I decided to go inside. Maybe a sweet would make me feel better.
I walked in and saw Malli sitting next to Deepu Aunty, in the corner. Aunty was rubbing her back, soothing her. They both looked upset. Then I saw Papa talking with Rupesh Uncle and my other uncle, Raj. They spoke excitedly, waving their arms around. Then Rupesh Uncle hugged Papa hard and walked over to Malli and Aunty. They got up, said a few good-byes to others, not me, and slipped out the door. Raj Uncle’s family followed. Maybe they didn’t see me, or maybe they didn’t want to see me. Was it the last time I would ever see them?
When they left, it was like a plug being pulled. The joy started to drain out. A frantic feeling started to grow, travel through my body, as if I was supposed to find that plug, put it back in, and stop whatever was happening. I wanted to go back to the beginning of the party.
I wondered what Papa was saying to people, but I didn’t dare go near. There was more hugging. When Dr. Ahmed left, he and Papa held on to each other’s arms for a long time, saying quiet things and nodding. Papa stood at the door silently for a minute after he left and wiped his eyes. Was he crying? I couldn’t tell. Papa turned and saw me hiding near the kitchen. He waved me over to the door. I reluctantly came. One by one, our last guests gave Papa, Dadi, me, and Amil long hugs that started to make my shoulders hurt. My flower necklace got crushed. Many people whispered in my ear things like “be safe” and “be strong.” I had known it all along, that it was a good-bye party, but now I felt the
truth sink down into my stomach like a pile of coal.
After everyone went home, Amil and I lay on our beds quietly.
“I told Malli that we were leaving, and she didn’t know. I thought everyone knew,” I spoke into the balmy darkness. I could still smell the scent of spices, perfume, and incense swirling around in the air.
“I did, too,” Amil said.
“I think I ruined the party when I told her.”
“It was already ruined,” Amil said. His words were slow and heavy.
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“I don’t know. It just seemed so sad from the beginning.”
“Really? I didn’t think so.”
Amil said nothing back and closed his eyes. When his breathing grew deep and rhythmic, I got up and tiptoed out of the room. My heart pounded. I was supposed to stay in my room after bedtime. I always heard Papa and Dadi, and sometimes even Kazi, clinking around, and usually it was enough to comfort me, but tonight I needed to see someone. I peered around the corner and saw Papa sitting at the table alone drinking a cup of tea, staring out before him. I walked closer and stood near the table facing him.
“I can’t sleep,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes at me and was silent for a few moments. “Neither can I,” he finally said, and patted the table. “Get some warm milk.”
I relaxed and went into the kitchen. I lit the stove and warmed some milk in a little pan with cardamom seed. When it was steamy, I poured it into a teacup and came to the table. We sat quietly.
“Did you enjoy the party?” Papa finally asked me.
I nodded. Then I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry I told Malli we were leaving.”
Papa looked at me and took a sip of his tea.
“It’s time Malli knew. You’re old enough now to understand and so is Malli.”
I nodded, Mama, but I don’t really understand. It’s one thing to understand facts and another thing to understand why those facts are facts. I sat for a little while more with Papa. It was strange to be alone with him, and I realized I hardly ever was. I studied his face—his wide nose, his round cheeks, the lines in his forehead, his eyes squinting at his heavy thoughts as he sipped. I couldn’t imagine Papa as a child, carefree and playful. It was like he was born an adult, a father, a doctor.
The Night Diary Page 5
