This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (73 page)

Sood’s voice became agitated as he described what he saw as a wrong done to him, ‘You know, the Doctor is a past master of intrigue and infighting. He thinks of himself as what’s-its-name the successor to Lala Lajpat Rai. You’d remember that we met at his place in December 1945. I told you about him even then. Now what’s-its-name he thinks that he can lord over everyone.’

Puri remembered that he had gone with Dr Prabhu Dayal, his gali neighbour, to meet Dr Radhey Behari for a job at
Pairokaar
. There he had run into Sood. Puri and Sood were interned together at the Multan Camp jail. There were more than a thousand prisoners in that jail. Two groups had formed there, one owing allegiance to Pandit Devi Das and the other to Sood, partly because of the differing political viewpoints and divisiveness within the Punjab wing of the Congress, and partly because of personal friendships and old links. Pandit Devi Das represented the Congress stalwarts and those who had held ministerial positions in earlier governments, and regarded himself as the heir to the legacy of Lala Lajpat Rai. He had the backing of Dr Radhey Behari and, therefore, of the Congress high command. Sood and his group of radicals demanded recognition based on the grounds of active participation in the present rather than on the merits of somebody who had been a leader in the distant past.

Sood, being a lawyer, had been accorded the concession of the ‘special class’ in the jail, but he had refused this special treatment and lived with the other political prisoners. He had the backing of the socialist wing of the party. In jail, Puri had been one of the followers of Sood. Puri also remembered that Sood had not liked his going to Dr Radhey Behari for help, because Sood thought of Puri as a like-minded and trustworthy comrade.

Sood asked Puri to be active at the grass-roots level in the organization again, and use his skills to strengthen the left wing of the Congress. He
confided to Puri what he suspected to be the Doctor’s strategy: The Doctor knew that the Jalandhar district was Sood’s stronghold. He wanted a member of his own group, Raizada Naubat Rai, to be the Congress candidate in the forthcoming elections for the Punjab Legislative Assembly. In return, Sood was offered the candidacy for the Central Assembly in New Delhi.

Vexed by the Doctor’s subterfuge, Sood complained, ‘I know his tactics. First, where can I put together the means to contest the election in that huge Central Assembly constituency? He probably wants to shunt me off to New Delhi, so as to keep all the power in the hands of his cronies, and to be able to strike a deal with Khizr. If I become a candidate, it’ll only be for the Punjab Assembly. How can I be effective in Jalandhar as a member of the Central Assembly? A person can only have influence in his own backyard. If I have to be a useless politician, what’s the point of being a member of anything?’

As an admission of his error in judgement, Puri told Sood what he had gone through. Alarmed by the riots and lawlessness spreading throughout Lahore, Puri said, he had written warnings as early as in March against the inflammatory speeches of Congress and Akali leaders. ‘The Doctor is undoubtedly a communalist,’ Puri said. ‘He had me thrown out of my job at the newspaper. These people insist that if someone becomes their supporter, he should be prepared to call day night, and night day.’

Sood listened to Puri, grunting occasionally in a sleepy voice. The grunts gradually turned to snoring. His limbs relaxed, and soon he was in the deep sleep of exhaustion.

Puri agreed with Sood’s views about the situation in Punjab after the Partition, and touched by Sood’s kindness and concern, began to feel the same kinship with him as he had in the Multan Camp jail. He could not fall asleep for some time. He had come here as the dhaba owner’s servant, to deliver a platter of food, and here he was sleeping peacefully under a fan. A soft breeze, cooled by rain, came through the window. He thought about the other refugees, how they must be suffering, those who had not found shelter indoors at the Islamia College camp? Where were the members of his family… huddling for shelter in some tiny, suffocating room, or under a tree, or out in the open without any shelter? ‘My fate seems different from the rest of my family. But what can I do at the moment? I’ll figure out something tomorrow. Maybe try my luck in Amritsar…’

The memory of being with Kanak, on the soft, springy bed in Nainital,
came to his mind. Then the horrible sights and memories of the few past days… He tossed and turned for a while, before falling asleep.

Vishwa Nath Sood had studied law at Lahore. From his student days he had been an active participant in social protest movements, and public marches and demonstrations. He had no particular loyalty, either to the reformist Arya Samaji Hindus, or to the orthodox Hindu Sanatanis. He would be equally prepared to help in organizing a social function of the Muslim League. He did not draw back if his help was needed for a marriage function, or in the preparation of the funeral rites of a dead neighbour. Most of his time was spent as a worker for the Congress party. He had taken the vow to wear only homespun khadi cloth as early as in 1921. His natural inclination was towards social work and public life. After passing his law examinations, he had begun his practice as a junior lawyer.

In 1929, the British government had brought several revolutionaries to trial for taking part in armed insurgency and for the killing of Indians and Britons working for the government. The official Congress policy was the non-violent satyagraha movement and the drive towards independence by constitutional means only. Gandhiji and the Congress party had criticized the actions of the revolutionaries, but the public had shown great admiration for their sacrifice and courage. The revolutionaries’ cry of ‘inquilab zindabad’ had echoed throughout the country. Defence committees were formed to aid the revolutionaries in the courts. People all over the country were helping in whatever way they could.

The veteran Congress leader and well-known lawyer Lala Ramnath had come out of retirement to join the defence team formed in Lahore in aid of the revolutionaries. Some young lawyers had come forward to help him, one of them being Vishwa Nath Sood. Newspapers carried glowing reports of this dedicated and hard-working legalist. The political career of young Sood was firmly established at that time. In the tumultuous and hectic days between 1931 and 1934, Sood was in the forefront of every Congress movement in Jalandhar district and in the Doaba region, and went to jail repeatedly as one of the leaders of the struggle.

The more the public admired Sood’s selfless work, the less his family appreciated his dedication to the nationalist cause. His family owned a modest jewellery business and were financially secure. His elder brother, who did not finish his matriculation examination, joined their father in the
family business. The second eldest also worked at the shop for some time after his matriculation, then set up a mill, and soon after, a hardware store. Sood’s father bought two more houses beside the small house they owned. Sood’s own life was dedicated to public service. Although he was a leader of the Congress and a lawyer, his family saw him as an encumbrance to them. The family had received several attractive marriage proposals for him after he had begun his law practice, with prospects of handsome dowries, but Sood did not break his vow to dedicate his life to the country.

After the death of their father, his brothers thought it prudent to divide the family property. All Sood got as his share was the old mill. Sood was a lawyer, but he did not object to this arbitrary division. He, of course, could not manage the mill, and hired it out. He had neither the time nor the inclination for marriage. He came to be known as the fakir vakil, a lawyer without possessions. In the 1946 assembly elections, when the Congress was reeling under the repressive measures of the British government, it was Sood’s tireless work and his influence that won both the Hindu and the Muslim constituencies for the Congress, Sood himself taking the Hindu seat; and with his backing, the Congress candidate won the Muslim seat.

Sood’s influence increased after his election to the assembly. He began to receive a monthly stipend of about three hundred rupees. The sole outward sign of this raise in his income was that he moved into a bigger, more comfortable room, with an attached kitchen, in the Mandi bazaar. Here he could receive a larger number of visitors. He also had a telephone installed. Instead of going for meals at some tandoor eatery, he hired a cook. He also got a few extra pairs of khadi kurtas and pajamas. He stopped washing his own clothes. Those in dire need could now ask him for a loan of twenty or twenty-five rupees. But his dress remained the same old kurta over pajama, or a dhoti, and the well-worn bicycle served him for transport.

The Congress had given Sood, as its representative, the task of handling the influx of refugees in the Jalandhar district. The responsibility of supervising the operation of the refugee camps and the distribution of free rations also rested on his shoulders. Government officials consulted him in almost every matter. The formation of a new ministry in East Punjab was in the offing. Ministerial appointments rested on many considerations such as recognition of the claims of the old-guard Congress leaders, recommendations from the Congress high command, and due attention
to the influence of local Congress leaders. Sood carefully monitored each new development, and assessed its implications for his group.

The Congress high command had handed, even before 15 August, the responsibility of forming the new administration to Dr Radhey Behari, and to a leader of the Sikh community, and had declared that Dr Radhey Behari would be the new chief minister of Punjab. In spite of the strong support for his group’s political ideals and policy within the Congress party organization and among the members of the assembly, Sood had not come forward with any proposals of nomination to the ministerial portfolios. But it was not possible to ignore his influence within the organization, and Sood spent most of his day touring the district to meet his followers and backers, and sometimes spending the night away from his home.

When Puri awoke, Sood had already taken his bath. He sat on the takht, changing into fresh clothes.

On seeing Puri awake, he said, ‘You don’t have to get up yet. You must be tired, and would like to make up for not sleeping well over the last few days. Sleep on if you wish.’

Puri got out of bed, and folded the sheet and the dhurrie.

Sudama, Sood’s servant, brought from the bazaar two matthis, salted biscuits and some lassi. Using a piece of paper as a plate, he placed the matthis on a low table in front of Sood, and a glass of lassi. Sudama’s face looked sallow from the fever. He said namaste to Puri after serving Sood his breakfast.

Sood said to Sudama, ‘This is my brother. After he’s had his wash, get him whatever he wants for breakfast. If I’m late coming home, give him his meal whenever he wants. Ask him what he wants and cook it for him. You understand?’

Sood bit off a piece of matthi as he said to Puri, ‘The shaving kit is in the cupboard over there. And here is a pair of kurta-pajama. It should fit you, you’re not that big. Poor people like me don’t wear what’s-its-name trousers. Sudama will get your laundry done.’

He was about the same height, or maybe just a bit taller than Puri, but had a heavier build.

Sood spoke as he chewed his mouthful, ‘So, what’re your plans now?’

‘I’d like to go and look for my family …’

Sood, his mouth still full of matthi, cut Puri short, ‘Where will you
look? Of course there’s the chance of you running into them on what’s-its-name street. You write the names and addresses of your father and his elder brother on a piece of what’s-its-name paper. I’ll telephone Sarban Singh at the main police station. He’d have someone go through the lists from all the camps.’ Sood pointed to the rain-washed aangan, ‘Why go out and get soaked in rain uselessly? Your face is drawn as if you were sick. Be patient. Just rest here today.’

‘I’d like to go to Amritsar to look for my family.’

A motorcar horn sounded from the bazaar below the window. ‘Arrey, they’re here!’ Sood muttered. He looked out of the window and waved his hand at someone to tell the driver to wait, and told Puri as he picked up his lassi, ‘That’ll be arranged. Some vehicle or other will be sent to Amritsar in a day or two, and you can get a ride there and back. It’s not easy to get any other transport. And it’s not possible to go by train.’

Two days later Puri was in a station wagon headed for Amritsar on some official business. The vehicle flew the tricolour flag of India, with the emblem of Ashoka’s wheel. Two armed constables rode inside, and two other khadi-clad passengers carried handguns by virtue of their status as civil guards. The Grand Trunk Road was packed with vehicles and travellers of all kinds. An unending line of buses and trucks full of refugees fleeing Pakistan flowed towards Amritsar. Convoys of a different kind were heading towards Lahore: buses with armed escort vehicles, and a vast river of bedraggled Muslim refugees on foot, lugging their meagre belongings. The station wagon was forced to travel at a very slow speed. Broken-down bullock carts, tongas and various other types of horse carts, gutted buses and partially burned trucks, remnants of pillaged tin trunks and boxes, corpses scattered around and in heaps, and dismembered limbs could be seen on both sides of the highway.

The continuous passage of vehicles on the road had forced the slow-moving tide of refuges on to the tracts of land parallel to the road. A pall of dust, raised by the feet of the tired and weakened marchers, hovered overhead. Some of them pulled behind them equally exhausted skeletal cattle, goats or sheep.

A man in the convoy walked past pulling a mare by the reins. The seriously emaciated animal was clearly unfit for riding. As Puri watched, a Jat jumped out of a field alongside the column of refugees, snatched the reins from the owner, and calmly led the animal back into the field. No one
from the thousands in the convoy protested; not one voice was raised, not one finger lifted. It was a sheer display of might being right. A cold shiver ran down Puri’s spine. These were Muslims, the very same people that the Hindus pouring in from the west were fleeing from.