‘How do you know that, Devla?’
‘This evening Zutshi was here with his clerk. He was sitting inside. He was telling him that Bai ji would not stay here. Just now the two of them have gone to eat at the Doctor Sahib’s house. The food for there was made here and sent over.’
She had the discipline not to ask Devla any further questions.
‘Bai ji, tomorrow Divan Sahib is leaving Sirohi. After that, Mr Popat Lal will get the job in your place.’
‘Devla, you may go now. Come back in fifteen minutes to take the thali.’
Devla began to laugh.
‘Bai ji, it’s not like I have a watch to tell me the time!’
‘You’ve gone to school, Devla—how much have you studied?’
‘No, Bai ji, people like me don’t study, we just work. Bai ji, tomorrow the Divan Sahib’s pattedar will come to take him to Ahmedabad.’
She put a spoonful of the peppery daal in her mouth, took a sip of water and thought, That’s enough for today.
‘That’s enough, take away the thali, Devla.’
‘You won’t eat the sweet yoghurt?’
‘No.’
‘Kheer was made for Doctor Sahib’s dinner. Please try some of that.’
‘No, I don’t eat kheer.’
As he picked up the thali, Devla glanced once more at her suitcase.
‘Bai Sahiba, I’ll take you to the bus myself.’
As soon as Devla left, she shut the door. She washed her hands, greasy from the turmeric-filled ghee and the redness of the chillies. She pulled the teapoy over into the corner and paced about near the window, lost in thought for a long time. You won’t take to this city or this job. Something else will be said, something else will be done, and something else will happen. All manners and comprehension will be ground to a pulp as by weevils in the riddle of this labyrinth.
She thought about the Queen Mother, Maharani Sahiba. Her lovely complexion the colour of wheat. Whatever had been asked of her and said to her, the indications were clear. No room for confusion whatsoever. Miss William had also relayed the details of the decision to her.
And she hadn’t forgotten the discussion of where she might live. What more do I want than that? As she lay down, she began to feel a connection with this city spread over ancient ground.
Do not harbour its unfriendliness within yourself without living in it, settling in it. Whether you stay here or not, that’s another thing.
But are you looking at anything else in Delhi?
No. At this moment there are no other prospects.
She brushed her hair. She washed her face and hands. She looked down at her long hair and arranged it. She lay down. She turned over and knew that she felt no pressure about tomorrow.
A Kingsway Camp reel began to unwind in her mind. Rows upon rows of encampments. Inside, outside, robbed-beaten-wounded, sick refugees. Wandering about and raging in their helplessness. Some weep, some sob. And some curse those who agreed to Partition.
Oh, enemies! May thunderbolts strike you down. May calamity befall your fields and threshing floors. May your future generations be uprooted, just as you uprooted us from our homes!
Bands of young men and women stand at attention for their duties.
Cleaning: Water in pots. Attempting to form a line outside the dispensary. They are filling out identification forms for men and women sitting crouched in front of the office.
How many people in your family?
How many died, how many survived?
How did you get here?
When the truck full of blankets comes to a standstill, the crowd at the camp comes running.
The deep voice of the camp commander echoes:
‘Please stop. First we’ll enter the blankets in the register. They’ll be distributed in the evening.’
Bundles are being unloaded. Then they are loaded back on to the truck according to the orders of the Allotment Officer: ‘First put a number on each bundle. Enter it in the register.’
Beyond the camp’s outer fence, three or four boys play cards.
The moment the goods are unloaded, all four lads are ready. They come forward and unload four bundles right in front of the Allotment Officer. Then they load them on to their own truck, motion to the driver and leave the camp.
The refugees stare at one another.
‘What is this? Where are they going with the four bundles?’
They drive right out of the camp, completely ignoring the Allotment Officer.
‘What’s going on, my brother?’
‘Nothing. From every consignment, they get four. They put them in the government truck and sell them cheap in the market. Money in the pocket.’
Partition!
What was that, what is this? At least try to help your supplicants.
When she got up in the morning, the mirror of her mind was completely clear. She had no doubts whatsoever on her part. She took her time getting ready. Ate her breakfast and left the guest house at exactly 9.10 to fill out her joining report.
11
She walked light-heartedly to Colwin and went over to Zutshi Sahib’s room. He hadn’t yet returned.
The school was humming along as usual, and the classrooms were as noisy as they should be in the presence of teachers. There should be at least a modicum of sporadic silence in the name of discipline, after all.
She watched the long corridor of the school for a while, then asked the chaprasi where the library was.
‘Bai Sahiba, please come this way,’ he said, knocking on the library door before going inside.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Please come in. Have a seat. You’ve come from Delhi, haven’t you!’
‘Yes, may I look at a few books and newspapers?’
‘Which cabinet should I open? What type of books would you like to see?’
‘I’ll look at the newspapers.’
‘Only Sahib has the key to those.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’
She came back outside and began walking along the verandas. Then she heard the jeep and, with it, Zutshi Sahib: ‘Samar Singh, send Bai Sahiba into my office.’
So, work hours have finally begun, she thought to herself.
‘May I come in?’
‘Please do—why didn’t you sit in here?’
‘You weren’t in the room, so I didn’t think it right.’
‘I can’t say I know what you consider “right”, but what you just did in the district was most assuredly wrong.’
She was silent.
‘You went to all that trouble so very early in the morning. Divan Sahib has finished his service here and is leaving, and Gokul Bhai Bhatt is becoming the Chief Minister and will be arriving soon. Don’t think that just because you’ve submitted the joining report, your job has been secured. You haven’t seen how changeable things are here. It’s always possible an old interview will have to be cancelled.’
She quietly considered the other candidate and then herself.
After a while, she asked, ‘Are there any special sights I should see in Sirohi?’
‘There’s an amazing sight right outside. If you’re interested in sightseeing, go to Mount Abu! Nakki Lake, Dilwara, Achalgarh—Mount Abu is Rajputana’s crowning glory.’
‘And here in Sirohi?’
‘You’ve already seen Kesar Vilas. Swaroop Vilas Palace is also very beautiful. Sirohi Fort is worth seeing too. Maharaja Saroop Singh’s sister married in Jaisalmer. Both are old princely states. She lives there in a palace next to the fort.’
In the midst of this, the chaprasi appeared.
‘Hukum, the district pattedar is coming.’
‘Send him in.’
The brow across from her twitched slightly. The pattedar bowed and held out the mail.
Signature. The mail has been noted as received in the diary.
The room began to seem empty after the pattedar’s gleaming cummerbund disappeared. An air of inauspiciousness.
Th
e order went out for tea. It seemed that an undesirable boundary hung suspended between the two of them.
Tea arrived.
As cups rose from saucers, words bubbled up.
‘The Chief Minister Gokul Bhai Bhatt has invited us both to meet with him. Tomorrow at half past ten.’
She stood up.
‘How far is the Sarneshwarji temple from here?’
‘How will you get there?’
‘On foot.’
‘I will send Mishri Bai from the preschool with you. Sarneshwarji’s seat is in Sirohi Raj. Whoever comes here should definitely go and pay their respects there. Samar Singh will bring Mishri Bai over here. Will you sit here or go back to the guest house?’
‘I’ll go to the guest house and change my shoes. It would be best to wear fleets.’
Zutshi Sahib gazed at her with interest.
‘You’ll go on foot? You walked this morning as well.’
‘I only have today, so I might as well see something.’
Zutshi Sahib laughed charmingly.
‘Quite right. Let’s do this—take the jeep. And take Mishri Bai from the preschool.’
‘No, thank you, I wish to go on foot. And it wouldn’t be right to call Mishri Bai from her duty.’
Zutshi Sahib nodded slightly. His eyes lit up with a slight gleam.
Somewhere a crow of suspicion flapped its wings.
12
The new Chief Minister, Gokul Bhai Bhatt, was seated inside; and outside, the people of the old kingdom of the princely state of Sirohi were gathered enthusiastically, expressing their new-found freedom. Tri-coloured flags waved in the air. Gandhi caps gleamed on heads bowing before the Maharaja and Maharani. Turbans stood motionless. Slogans leapt through the air:
Victory to independent India!
Victory to the freedom fighters!
Long live the revolution!
Long live the Praja Mandal!
Long live Gokul Bhai Bhatt!
We’ll have the rule of the people!
A few weak voices piped up from the crowd:
Victory to Sarneshwarji!
Victory to the Queen Mother of Sirohi!
Victory to Maharaja Tej Singh!
Why was the shouting from the Rajputs in their tall turbans so quiet and weak!
Was it because the strength of the people of India had awakened?
The driver stopped the jeep at the very first bend in the chowk. She and Zutshi Sahib emerged from the crowd and reached the main door of the mansion, which was adorned with a guard. She saw from the corner of her eye that countless eyes followed her, taking note of her attire.
Is there such a difference between their round lehengas with cholis and our round ghararas with kurtas! she thought to herself.
Indeed, yes.
She regarded her clothing with a fresh eye. The partition of attire.
A Sindhi refugee.
The pattedar motioned them to go inside. When the two of them entered together, it was as though their two titles appeared in separate scripts.
They were each greeted in turn.
The freshly-minted Chief Minister Gokul Bhai Bhatt and the old Divan of the old regime, now relieved-of-service.
Past and future.
The forwards and backwards of time seated together in the same room. One symbol of the ancient tradition of princely power and one of the new ambitions of independent India. She and Zutshi Sahib sat down on the sparkling white sheet spread out on the floor.
She glanced at the Divan Sahib, eyes wide open, as though meeting him for the first time.
Divan Sahib nodded his head slightly and acknowledged her greeting.
Gokul Bhai asked, ‘Sobti Bai, how are you liking it here? We have brought you here so that the fresh breeze of Independence will reach our children. Zutshi ji, please give her every possible convenience so that she can accomplish her work skilfully. We want to make the preschool the very best in the nation.’
‘Yes, Hukum.’
She felt as though Divan Sahib was mutely asking her questions in the manner of an experienced elder:
Have you decided to self-exile? Fearing the troubles of family! What will you do if you live here alone?
How long will we cling to what has already occurred? There is only one change.
Desai Uncle and Divan Sahib dissolve into one another.
She grew cautious.
The Chief Minister was saying something.
‘Sobti Bai, Naveen ji was worried for you. We assured him that you would not have any trouble here with us.’
With this dialogue she began to sniff out a new text. A complete transformation.
‘Now you two will have to build an apparatus for the new preschool. You’ll have to go to Bombay. It will help to see Ahmedabad’s Shreyas School.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Zutshi Sahib reverentially.
When the two of them came back outside, Zutshi Sahib led her through the crowd towards the jeep in great style, like the fresh days of college.
Inside, Gokul Bhai said to Divan Sahib, ‘You have made a good selection. She lives next to Naveen ji. Tandon ji and Lala Achint Ram ji also live there.’
By evening, this news had already reached all for whom it was intended.
Now that she was a successful candidate, her stock had risen.
According to what Munna Lal had said, the whole thing had already been decided beforehand. How could Mr Popat Lal have ever stolen her thunder! Why shouldn’t Sobti Bai fill out the joining report with the hubris that comes of living in the capital!
The truth is that that day had been much more chaotic. Two forced landings had occurred in the kingdom of Sirohi that day. The first, a Dakota plane, had circled about in the sky for a while, then landed in an open field below due to engine trouble.
The second landing had been the new directoress of the preschool. Instead of deciding to catch the next bus back to the station, she’d gone first thing in the morning to the District Office to submit her joining report.
God protect us from the refugees. These looted wretches won’t find peace until they’ve robbed the government themselves.
13
She received a brief note from Miss William:
The Chair of the Residency Board, the Queen Mother Sahiba, desires to meet with Miss Sobti of the preschool this evening at four-thirty. Please present yourself at that time.
She arrived at four-twenty at Kesar Vilas, wandering in from a walk.
One felt the weighty presence of the fortress guard accompanying one inside the palace. As though the old guard stood at attention protecting the old tradition reaching back to ancient times. As long as he is present and is seen walking back and forth in the entryway, nothing else will look as if it is changing!
Victory to the Queen Mother!
Victory to Maharaja Tej Singh!
Perhaps the eras of these two are criss-crossing one another as well.
After traversing the open mystery of the long veranda, Miss William led her to the small antechamber adjoining the room where the Queen Mother Sahiba was seated in all her splendour. On one side sat the Queen Mother and, on the other, the son and heir to the family of the kingdom of Sirohi, Maharaja Tej Singh.
The sunlight streamed in through the large glass door and spilled over half the floor, gingerly cradling the relics of the royal family’s regal authority. The majestic daughter of Kutch, Bhuj and Bhairavi sat motionless, like a statue in a museum, clad in a bright white silk sari.
She greeted the Queen Mother.
In response, the slightly raised brow and simple smile, typical of regal training.
‘Come, sit, Sobti Bai!’
‘Thank you, Your Highness! How are you?’
Maharani Sahiba laughed openly, and with her Miss William as well.
She was astonished.
Had she made some error?
‘Was that against etiquette?’
‘No, no. Not at all.’
Miss William reassu
red her: ‘What! Did you think we were laughing at you? There’d been talk of your self-confidence. That’s why! Tell us what you’ve been up to for the past few days.’
She chronicled her activities for them with enthusiasm.
‘When I came to Colwin after submitting the joining report, Zutshi Sahib was occupied with Mr Popat Lal. I was patient for a little while, then I thought, “I’ll go out for a walk.” I had grown weary of all this back and forth.’
‘How did you go, and where?’
‘I thought I’d go over to Sarneshwarji. Zutshi Sahib had kindly offered the jeep, but I preferred to walk. He sent Mishri Bai with me. Phuli Bai also came along when she saw us. When we got there, I liked it very much. It’s the kind of place where one has the feeling that the time that has stopped there is not one’s own but someone else’s. Ancient. Filled with wonder, and a complete experience of secluded peace.
‘After bowing down and pressing our foreheads in devotion, we re-emerged to find that the sun was about to set. I wanted to stay on a little while. I felt enfolded in an emotion that took me beyond all the hullabaloo. It was a light, new feeling. Mishri Bai and Phuli Bai tried to frighten me. “In the dark, animals come down here for water,” they said. “We must get back quickly.”
‘So the three of us set out swiftly.’
‘You did this in court shoes?’ asked Miss William jokingly.
‘No, no, I was wearing fleets.’
‘Brave and clever girl.’
She turned serious and said, ‘Miss William, that’s the mark of a displaced person.’
‘Did your family experience much damage?’ Maharani Sahiba asked.
‘Yes, quite a bit.’
Miss William changed the subject, ‘When are you going to Ahmedabad and Bombay? Will your parents have any objections if you go?’
‘No, indeed. My maternal aunt and uncle live in Ahmedabad.’
‘Did their family come over here after Partition as well?’
‘No, Ma’am. My uncle Mukul Sahib was brought to Ahmedabad after high school by his uncle Gulzarilal Nanda. He studied here, did engineering and became an engineer for Rohit Mills Group.’
‘And in Bombay?’
A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There Page 6
