This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach (93 page)

Dusk fell while they were still at the chaat seller. Nihaldei seemed in no hurry to return to the camp. She strolled through the bazaar, enjoying the scene, chatting away with Tara. She had seen and heard a lot in her three weeks at the camp, and had a lot of gossip to tell about its residents. A girl from section six, Nihaldei said, had got involved with a boy. The girl’s parents were unwilling at first, but then took the boy and the girl to a gurudwara and got them married.

Nihaldei went on about another girl who was about Tara’s age. The camp officials were always pampering her. She was often invited to go to the camp office. Nihaldei said, ‘I knew what she was up to the moment I laid eyes on her. She disappeared just after a week. Someone must have lured her away. Sister, I’m always on tenterhooks thinking of Sukhdet. Who knew her husband would do that to her? She just stayed for a couple of days at her in-laws’, then came to visit us. Her husband never turned up, to take her back to his home. That was two years ago. That girl is still so naïve.’

Tara and Nihaldei returned to the hut. Prasanno was having her meal and also feeding her son. Rikkho was talking with Dhammo. Sukhdet was nowhere to be seen.

Nihaldei asked Prasanno anxiously, ‘Where’s Sukhdet?’

‘How would I know?’ Prasanno replied as she chewed a mouthful of food.

‘She was in section five, with that boy …’ Prasanno’s son spoke up.

‘None of your business! Shut your mouth! Eat!’ Prasanno hushed him up. ‘What do I know? I took back the washing that I did for a woman in section three around sunset. Sukhdet wasn’t here when I got back. I borrowed the tray to knead my dough, and went to cook it over Dhammo’s cooking fire. Came back only a few minutes ago. Ask anyone.’

‘We know nothing either!’ Dhammo’s mother-in-law said. ‘She comes and goes as she pleases. Ask her anything and you only get a rude reply.’

‘So what? She’s probably chatting with some neighbour. You make mountains out of molehills if I ask you about anything,’ Nihaldei shouted at the old woman. ‘Nobody can stand it, the way you go on and on!’

Just then Sukhdet entered the hut, hiding something under her dupatta.

‘Where were you?’ Nihaldei asked threateningly.

‘Hai, I haven’t been anywhere. I was right here all the time. Just went out two minutes ago to see Bholi in section two.’

‘I asked you to do the cooking, and you’ve been gadding about as if everything depended on you. Who knows what type of people live in the camp? I’ll break your legs if I ever find you away from the hut.’

‘I was just going to knead the dough when Bholi asked me to come over.’

‘Hai, stop lying or we all will be struck by lightning!’ The old woman said, raising her arm towards the sky. ‘What barefaced lies! Like mother like daughter! You were away since the sun was about a bamboo high. Your mother was asking us about you. We’re damned if we tell her, and damned if we don’t.’

‘You’re a liar, so was your father, and your husband whose death you caused. What has all this got to do with you, anyway? Am I some kind of servant of yours?’ Sukhdet cursed the old woman.

‘Ma, this has nothing to do with us! Why do you stick your nose in?’ Dhammo said to her mother-in-law. ‘It’s her daughter; she can do whatever she wants with her. It’s her problem, not ours.’

Dhammo’s mother-in-law, Sukhdet and Nihaldei all shouted at each other. Prasanno and Rikkho tried to pacify them. Tara too tried to make peace. When things quietened down a bit, Nihaldei went outside to cook her meal, taking Sukhdet with her.

Tara had given her rations to Nihaldei. She ought to go and help in the cooking, she thought. Why should she act like the queen bee and wait for others to dance attendance on her! She took off the new dhoti she had worn when going out and folded it carefully, changed into the old one before going outside. As she turned the corner, she saw Nihaldei cursing and flailing Sukhdet on the head with a piece of firewood.

Tara turned around quietly, and went back to the hut. She lay down tired on the chatai. How long can I live like this? she wondered. She wished she had Banti with her. The gory incident of Banti’s death again swam before
her eyes. The fate of a woman depended on the kindness and goodwill of men. She must find a job, any job!

Tara tried to help out as much as she could at the camp office to lighten her load of obligation at accepting free rations. Next morning she was at the camp office at eight in the morning to begin her copying work. There was nobody but Bhajan in the office at that time. She went back at half past eight. Vimalji had commented upon her diligence, and Tara was glad of his approval and sympathy. The need to get a recommendation from some local personage was at the back of her mind. Doctor Shyama had seemed to be a kind and sympathetic sort of person, but she had not returned to the camp. Tara asked for some writing paper from Vimalji, and wrote letters of application to the secretaries of school committees whose names she had been given. She requested Vimalji to have these sent to the addresses. Then she put in extra effort and copied twenty-one pages of her lists by the evening.

She was on her way to the camp office at 8.30 next morning when she came upon Vimalji in the passage between the rows of huts. He was introducing a khadi-clad man to the camp inhabitants. Although the stranger was of slighter build and considerably shorter than Vimalji, he appeared to be someone important from the way he carried himself.

Vimalji praised Tara’s biddable manner and diligence as he introduced her to the man, then said, ‘Prasadji is one of the vice-presidents of the Relief Committee, and the Congress Party’s …’

Even missing out on Prasadji’s full introduction, Tara realized the weight and influence he carried in his person.

Prasadji thrust his hands in the pockets of his roomy kurta as if in the pockets of trousers, and straightened his back, pulling his body up to its full height. He looked Tara over, from head to toe, and asked, ‘How long have you been here?’ In the next breath, he said to another person coming towards him, ‘Hello, have you settled in? No more problems?’

He asked Tara again as he walked towards the next hut, ‘You’re helping us by making copies of the registers, I gather?’

Before Tara could reply, he turned to other refugees in the hut and began asking after them. He said, ‘You’re guests of ours. Your difficulties are our difficulties. It matters to us that you have problems. We have assumed the responsibility of administering a large country and now we have to care
for millions of our displaced brothers and sisters. But a solution has to be found to this situation.’

As Prasadji moved towards the next hut, he asked again, ‘Did you teach at some school or college in Lahore?’

‘Ji, I…’

Prasadji called to another person, ‘Hello, what did the deputy commissioner do in your case? I spoke to him about it.’

A thirteen-or fourteen-year-old girl said namaste to him. Prasadji patted her cheek. The girl stepped back shyly. Prasadji patted her on the back.

‘So, you…’ Prasadji picked up the threads of his conversation with Tara, but broke off to address two well-dressed women, ‘You are well?’ Prasadji seemed to make no distinction between rich and poor.

Tara left Prasadji to continue commiserating with others, and headed to the office tent. She was sitting in wait for Vimalji to come back and give her pen and paper.

Vimalji raised the tent flap for Prasadji.

‘Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking for you outside,’ Prasadji said to Tara.

Vimalji repeated his appreciation of the help Tara had given, and said that she was looking for a job.

‘She’s a graduate. Why would she have any difficulty in that? Sure, she’ll get a job. Come with me, I’ll arrange for you to meet some people.’

A grateful Tara got ready to go with him.

A motor car was waiting beside the office. Prasadji opened the rear door for Tara. She had not had many occasions to ride in cars as grand as this. She felt a little conscious of her crumpled, shabby dhoti as she sat in one corner of the back seat. Prasadji got in and slid closer to Tara to be able to talk with her. He ordered the driver, ‘Take us to Jaganji in Sabzi Mandi.’

As the car began to move, he edged even closer. He asked, ‘So, tell me, if you have any problem, if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to ask me. I’m a simple, straightforward person. I don’t get much free time from all this Congress work and refugee business.’

‘Thanks. I don’t need anything at the moment.’

‘You used to live in Lahore. That’s a very progressive city. I used to visit it often.’

‘Ji.’

‘You want a job at a school. That can be fixed. Some educated girls have
also found jobs as stenographers. That work pays well. One can learn to type quite quickly. I got one girl hired as a private secretary.’

‘Ji, whatever work I get is fine with me.’

‘No difficulty at all. Trust me. Stop worrying. It’s my job to worry on your account.’ He smiled slowly, ‘Punjabi women are quite adventurous. Many Punjabi girls have done well in the cinema industry.’

Tara did not find his smile and his remarks suitable in keeping with his important position. She did not say ‘yes’, but in order to be polite, made a show of smiling back.

Prasadji said, ‘I’ll put in a word for you at the Indraprastha College. The woman who’s the principal is a friend of mine. There are also many other possibilities. No shortage of work for those who want it. Don’t feel depressed.’

‘Ji, I have every confidence in what you say.’

Prasadji’s talk ranged over many topics. The car passed through tree-lined streets of bungalows, and came to a halt before a big house in a bazaar. Prasadji asked Tara to wait for a couple of minutes, and went inside.

He returned twenty minutes later. The driver said the moment he saw Prasadji, ‘I’ve been told to bring the car back by 11.30 by bade sahib. He has to go Shahdara.’

‘Never mind. I’ll explain things to him,’ Prasadji replied, straightening his cap as he looked into the rear-view mirror over the dashboard.

‘It’s not so simple, sahib! Bade sahib will give me hell,’ the driver said, rather disrespectfully.

‘Well, then drop us off at Connaught Place. I’ll get a taxi later,’ Prasadji said irritably. Moving a little closer to Tara, he said, ‘So, tell me more. It must be hard to pass the time alone at the camp.’

‘Ji?’ Tara was unsure of his meaning.

‘There’s Nari Kala Mandir. It’s a large and well-run institution. They’ve a school, and give arts and crafts courses.’ He also mentioned some other organizations.

The car was now on a smooth, broad road bordering a large, well-maintained garden. A row of splendid buildings, just like those on the Mall Road in Lahore, flanked the road. The Mall Road was a place in Lahore for ordinary, middle-class people just to promenade and do some window shopping. Only the rich and the city’s elite could afford to shop there. Tara felt embarrassed at going to visit a school situated in such elegant surroundings in her crumpled, drab dhoti.

‘Where should I let you off?’ asked the driver.

‘Right here.’

The driver stopped the car in front of one of the buildings in a large circular plaza, and Prasadji and Tara got out. The driver left immediately, without waiting for further instructions.

Seeing the grand building with its columns and broad veranda, Tara had imagined it to be a part of a major college or institution. As she stepped into the veranda, she saw shops with huge windows and glass-panelled doors. Tara thought to herself, why had she been brought here?’

Prasadji was giving a running commentary, ‘How do you like this place? This is Connaught Place, the centre of New Delhi; just like the Mall Road in your Lahore. It really comes alive in the evening. You can hardly walk because there are so many people. I’ll bring you here some evenings. Come, let’s have a cup of coffee. I’m sure you like coffee.’

‘Ji, I don’t particularly feel like it at the moment.’

But Prasadji did not seem to notice Tara’s reluctance, guided her through the revolving door of a restaurant, and followed her inside.

Heavy curtains on the windows blocked out the daylight, and muted lighting gave the restaurant interior an aura of mystery. Prasadji led Tara to a corner sofa. He removed his Gandhi cap, and placed it on the arm of the sofa. The restaurant was nearly deserted. A young couple sat close together on another corner sofa, and a man alone at one table.

‘What would you like to have with your coffee?’ asked Prasadji as a bearer approached.

‘Ji, nothing at this time.’

‘Have something. I didn’t have any breakfast,’ said Prasadji. ‘Had to go to Indraprastha and Kingsway Camp early in the morning. There’s so much work that sometimes I get no time to eat. What do you think of this place? Lahore used to have quite a few fancy restaurants.’

‘Ji, this is very nice,’ replied Tara. She had not been to a fashionable restaurant more than four or five times. The Blue Nile, where they were, appeared to be more intimate and better appointed than the Standard Restaurant of Lahore.

Prasadji ordered a plate of vegetable sandwiches.

Tara had had nothing to eat since morning, but she had already declined the offer of food. She was hungry, but just didn’t feel like eating. She felt a bit peeved about being brought to a restaurant on the pretext of going
to some school in search of a job. When Prasadji kept insisting, she had two pastries and a sandwich. These whetted her appetite, but she did not accept anything more.

Prasadji tried again to console her, ‘Why are you so glum? You should be more cheerful.’ He reassured her that she had nothing to worry about. Tara was feeling uncomfortable with his toothy smile and the way he gazed into her eyes, but she was also careful not to alienate him. ‘He’s the vice-president of the camp, and holds some position in the Congress Party…’ Keeping her eyes downcast, she repeated ‘ji, ji’ and made an effort to smile.

As they came out of the restaurant, she realized that the car that had brought her here was gone. How would she get back to her camp in this unfamiliar city? From the driver’s remarks she guessed that the car had been borrowed. She wanted to go back, but Prasadji continued to walk unconcernedly, talking about Connaught Place. Many young hawkers had laid out small displays of their ware at the base of the tall columns in the veranda. Some sold items of haberdashery; others had bindis and similar adornments for women, or candies and toffees. They were all boys like Sadhu Ram from Banti’s village, Tara noticed. Everything was allowed to boys, but not to girls like her.