A Life Incomplete Page 2

  His face a picture of torment, he responds, ‘Don’t accuse me like that, for god’s sake…I am innocent…It is true that I have loved her, but it was purely platonic…I’ll leave this place for ever if you continue to riddle my heart with your accusations…I swear I’ll never see your face again.’

  The sparrow again starts to chirp in the willow tree and this time it seems to be taunting him, ‘Go if you want to…your threats don’t scare me…trying to mask your guilt with these ploys, aren’t you?’

  A train passes by in the distance, its clatter more audible in the still of the night than it would have been during the day. The young man sees himself in the train as it speeds into the night, leaving his beloved far behind. The train is heading for Lahore and Amritsar and, as the lights of Peshawar dwindle in the distance, he feels the light of his own life dimming. His heart pounds louder than the rhythmic chug of the steam engine.

  A voice from the watch tower calls, ‘Number 3! Akali Barracks! All okay.’ To his ears, however, the words echo the sacred war cry of the Sikhs, ‘Bole so Nihal; Sat Sri Akal’. Buoyed by its repeated chants, the Akali armies seem to be marching ahead towards their goal.

  This view from behind the bars is a familiar one, something that he has become accustomed to during his six months in the prison. Always the same outstretched arms of his beloved, the pulsating breasts, the pining eyes and the cascading tresses. He senses himself bridging the distance between them, getting close enough to touch her, to quell the pangs of separation, to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for her. But somewhere in the neighbourhood, the gongs of a large clock strike loud into the still night, instantly shattering his reverie, leaving him lost and disoriented. The clock strikes another four times before falling silent, satisfied that the listener is reeling under its impact.

  His dream has vanished. Even the chirping sparrow in the tree has become quiet, silenced perhaps by the deafening toll of the bell. A few minutes later, he hears the sound of measured, heavy footsteps heading in his direction.

  It is the sentry on his beat, patrolling the ward at regular intervals from four to seven in the morning. He wears the conventional khaki uniform, a red stripe running through his matching turban, a large bunch of keys perched on his shoulder. He stops in front of Cell No. 13, grasps one of the bars and says, ‘Hello there, Kuldeep Singh! All well? Didn’t sleep much, did you?’

  ‘No, Ahmed Khan,’ the prisoner replies, looking at him affectionately. ‘One, this oppressive heat; two, the wretched mosquitoes perforating the body wherever they can. How does one sleep under these circumstances?’

  ‘And three?’ the sentry enquires with a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Why don’t you just admit that it is the lovely one with the red bangles who is not letting you sleep? But don’t you worry too much. Another five or seven days and you’ll be free – the entire lot of you. I’ve been working in these prisons for over a decade now and the pattern is clear. Two kinds of prisoners find it hard to sleep; the ones that are condemned to be hanged and the ones whose release is imminent.’

  Ahmed Khan belongs to the Frontier province, the same part of the country where Kuldeep Singh too was born and brought up. Within the confines of a prison, the relationship between a jailor and a prisoner is not unlike the one between a wolf and a lamb. But that is hardly the case with these two. Hailing from the same province, they have established a nodding acquaintance which is now rapidly growing into a genuine friendship.

  A prisoner could be doing time in jail for a criminal offence or for his political leanings, but a mention of the word ‘release’ has a very special sweetness about it. Only the prisoner knows how it can lift the spirits and light up the heart. Kuldeep has heard rumours over the last few days that the authorities were planning to release those arrested during the Guru ka Bagh agitations. The rumours become more tangible when the warden taunts them by saying, ‘Go on…enjoy these coarse chapattis while you can…in a few days they will become no more than a distant memory.’

  But hearing from Ahmed Khan that their release could be imminent makes his sleepless eyes close involuntarily. Feeling inebriated with a new sense of anticipation that is only heightened by the sentry’s smiling reference to his lovely red-bangled one, his arms ache to reach out and bring her into his embrace.

  ‘So what are you thinking?’ the sentry enquires, slipping his arm between the bars to grasp the prisoner’s arm. ‘Or would you like me to take a shot at delving into your mind?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Kuldeep replies, peering through the dim light to discern the teasing smile in his friend’s eyes.

  ‘Ok, here’s what your mind is saying:

  If only I were a bird

  Flying to soothe my lover

  To make our peace

  And bring her closer

  I swear by God,

  Not a moment to lose

  Nor a day’s delay

  And another night of separation

  ‘Have I guessed right?’ he asks. ‘Although I have to say that she is the one who should be soothing you.’

  ‘No, Ahmed Khan,’ Kuldeep sighs. ‘I am the one who will have to do the appeasing. The greater blame lies with me for having acted in such haste. Sure, she got into a huff and told me to go away. But does that mean that I should have actually walked out on her like this?’

  ‘But if an innocent man is accused in this fashion…?’ the sentry asks, a furrow creasing his gentle countenance.

  ‘Of course her accusation was false, Ahmed Khan,’ Kuldeep interjects. ‘But I too was at fault. I know that my love for Saroj was platonic but surely I should have been more sensitive about my wife’s feelings. A wife wouldn’t put up with her husband if she feels that he cares more for his sister or mother than he does for her. And in this case, Saroj isn’t even distantly related to me. So the suspicions that our relationship aroused in Satwant’s mind are perfectly understandable. If I had handled the situation calmly and responded with greater maturity, things wouldn’t have gotten out of hand. I am the one who got into a huff and rushed off.’

  He sighs again as a long-dormant memory springs unexpectedly from the distant past and fleetingly overlaps with his thoughts of Satwant.

  This wonderful part of the human body that we call our heart has so many different chambers, so many layers that we are often unaware of what lies beneath the surface. But every now and then the subconscious triggers a chain reaction that lifts the lid off one of the chambers to reveal something from the long-forgotten past. Kuldeep’s experience is similar.

  ‘But listen, my friend,’ the sentry says teasingly, ‘you pine for your wife day and night. How come she has never come to visit you? Even the most distant of relatives has the courtesy to pay a visit every month or two to a family member who is in jail.’

  Ahmed Khan’s friendly barb is like a thorny bush scraping against Kuldeep’s bare torso. Hiding his pain and embarrassment, he mumbles, ‘You do not know, Ahmed Khan. Would she not have visited me if she had been able to? Unfortunately, her condition did not permit her to come.’

  Nodding in sympathy, the sentry says, ‘So be it. Let us also talk about something else. You don’t sleep all night. What’s the matter? Are you trying to kill yourself?’

  ‘Look here,’ he points to his chest and says, ‘Satwant lives inside my heart. So there is no question of my dying.’ His face has an ethereal bliss as his thoughts again focus on his beloved.

  ‘Oh sure! And is that why your face has shrunk to the size of a snail!’ The sentry smiles affectionately at him. ‘You’ve already lost at least twelve pounds. Now, if you continue to spend sleepless nights you are going to shrivel up and start resembling a shrimp. You’ll get home and she won’t even recognize you.’

  Kuldeep embraces the warmth cloaked in Ahmed Khan’s jests and replies, ‘Don’t you worry, my friend. All signs of weakness will vanish the moment I catch a glimpse of Satwant. Give me a fortnight after my release and I am willing to wager that it is you who won’t be able to recognize me.’ Pausing for a moment, he says more seriously, ‘I must confess, my dear friend, that I am becoming rather fond of you. So make sure you don’t act like a policeman when it comes to our friendship.’

  ‘The five fingers are never the same,’ Ahmed Khan says as his hand moves through the bars to clasp Kuldeep’s. ‘Insha Allah, our friendship will be the envy of those around us.’

  ‘Alas!’ Kuldeep sighs. ‘Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if we had belonged to the same faith?’

  ‘Don’t you talk like a fool!’ Ahmed Khan admonishes even as he tightens his grip on Kuldeep’s hand. ‘Does love have any religion?’

  ‘Really?’ Kuldeep exclaims with unconcealed excitement. ‘Will you stand by this friendship?’

  ‘Insha Allah Ta’la.’ Ahmed extends his arm through the bars and thumps Kuldeep’s back. ‘If God keeps me alive, I swear that I will make our friendship an example for the world to marvel.’

  Kuldeep’s eyes well with emotion and a couple of teardrops gently descend down his cheeks as his friend continues, ‘Kuldeep, God Almighty is my witness when I say that I’ve come to love you more than my own brother. I just can’t fathom this magic spell that you’ve cast on me.’

  ‘Didn’t you say,’ Kuldeep murmurs as he feels the warmth of Ahmed’s embrace through the bars, ‘that you will take a month off and come to Peshawar?’

  ‘I’d like to, if I can get my leave sanctioned.’

  ‘Satwant will be absolutely delighted to meet you,’ Kuldeep muses as he savours the prospect of a visit by his friend. ‘Just think of the kind of respect that she will have for you once I tell her of all that you have done for me. We’ve been married for two and a half years now and I have to say that a great virtue of Satwant’s is her unfailing courtesy towards my friends.’

  ‘Of course I will come,’ Ahmed responds with barely disguised pleasure. ‘But for now, you are the one who has to accept your sister-in-law’s hospitality.’

  ‘Well!’ Kuldeep smiles. ‘Do you think I am going to force myself on my bhabhi uninvited? Shouldn’t you get her permission first? Surely you don’t want me walking into your home, only to find her taking refuge behind her veil and retreating into a corner!’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that! We bade goodbye to the burkha quite a while back. And as far as getting her permission is concerned, she is the one who has been after me, insisting that you have to come home.’

  ‘Is that so? What does she say?’ Kuldeep enquires, noticing his friend’s eyes shine with affection.

  ‘She has declared that if my friend leaves town without meeting her, I won’t deserve to see her face for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Amazing! I don’t meet her and your marriage goes into the dustbin? For you, that must be worse than getting a life sentence. I guess that I just have to meet her before I go. But did she really say this or is it all part of your wonderful imagination?’

  ‘The proof of the pudding lies in the eating, doesn’t it?’ Ahmed Khan retorts resolutely.

  The clock strikes six, nudging Ahmed Khan to move on. ‘A whole hour has gone by while we were chatting,’ he observes as he reluctantly tears himself away.

  Kuldeep is suddenly overcome with sleep. As a cool earlymorning breeze wafts into the cell, he drifts into his paradise with Satwant as soon as his head touches the low earthen platform that serves as his bed.

  2

  The smallish house of about one and a half floors is located near the tonga stand that serves the needs of passengers using the Peshawar Sadar railway station. It is a modest dwelling, reflecting the middle-class status of its residents. At one time, this used to be a sparsely populated neighbourhood, with no more than ten or fifteen similar dwellings spread around in no particular pattern. The hay market was situated to the right of these houses, while the Frontier High School lay to the left. The horse carriages of the tonga stand were scattered along the road in front of the houses, while a smaller lane behind them led to Nathiha village. The passage of years, however, has wrought such changes in the neighbourhood that if one of its earlier residents wandered into the area today, he would struggle to find a single familiar building. Those modest dwellings have been replaced by an impressive housing development called Sahib Ganj because the prime investor is one Dr Sahib Singh. The hay market has also vanished, making way for the palatial bungalows of the great Khans. Spanking new four-storey buildings have come up where the tonga repair shacks used to conduct their daily business.

  The house has three rooms in all, two on the ground floor and one upstairs. It has been rented by Sadhu Singh. He and his wife occupy the two rooms on the ground floor, leaving the room on the upper floor for his son and daughter-in-law. During the last six months, the room upstairs has housed just one occupant, their daughter-in-law.

  Sadhu Singh is a frail, slightly built man of around fifty. Over the years, a combination of acute asthma and an addiction to opium has reduced his slender frame to a mere skeleton. He works as a trader of gur and sugar in the Pipal Market area of the town. The work is seasonal, lasting no more than three or four months of the year. He does precious little for the remaining months but the handsome earnings during the busy season are more than adequate to last the whole year.

  Despite his attachment to opium, Sadhu Singh is regarded as a noble, god-fearing soul with deeply traditional views. He has risen above the common traits of deceit or deception. His religious beliefs, too, seem shorn of partisanship. For Sikhs coming to his door to collect funds for a guru’s festival, he readily parts with a rupee and a quarter with folded hands. And Hindus raising money to commemorate the Goddess Kali also know that he will give them whatever he can muster. His wrist displays the steel bracelet that symbolizes his commitment to the Sikh faith, and around his neck he wears the sacred Hindu thread. During troubled times, he goes to the neighbourhood gurudwara and pays for a special recitation of the Sikh scriptures from the Guru Granth Sahib. But it is Shankar, the Brahmin priest at the temple, whom he seeks during the shradh period when he has to propitiate the family’s departed elders. His daily routine includes recitation of the Japuji Sahib and also the eighteenth chapter from the Gita. He has just one offspring, Kuldeep Singh, who participated in the Guru ka Bagh agitation and has been in prison for the last six months. A prison sentence in defence of your faith – for Sadhu Singh this is more a matter of pride than a source of anxiety about his son’s welfare. If anything, it is Kuldeep’s altercation with his wife and his decision to leave their home without informing anyone that bother him a lot more.

  He is married to Gian Kaur, a woman who bears no resemblance to the knowledge or enlightenment that her name suggests. Short and heavily built, she appears some five or seven years younger than her husband. Like him, she also professes complete devotion to her religious scriptures but it is her volatile temper that really sets them apart. It is either the hapless Sadhu Singh himself or their daughter-in-law, or usually the maidservant Radhia who are the principal targets of her venomous rage. Gian Kaur is also a devout disciple of the patron saint of Hoti and is seldom seen without the rosary that she obtained from his shrine. But the beads of the rosary do little to dilute her anger and she seems completely untouched by the humility and spirituality for which the sage is renowned.

  Gian Kaur’s daughter-in-law has been virtually bedridden since the day Kuldeep left their home. There is no dearth of theories about Satwant Kaur’s sudden and somewhat mysterious illness, with two schools of thought predominating in the neighbourhood. The first believes that it is nothing but pangs of separation following her husband’s abrupt departure that have pushed her into this state, while the other firmly ascribes it to the mistreatment that she suffers at the hands of her mother-in-law. Or, perhaps, there is a grain of truth in both!

  There is little doubt that ever since her son’s departure two dominant themes have emerged in Gian Kaur’s vocabulary. Her chants of ‘Waheguru, Waheguru’ seem to resonate louder than usual as her fingers maintain their incessant rhythm over the beads of the rosary. Punctuating her praise of the wondrous god are the curses that she intermittently hurls in the direction of her daughter-in-law, with some of the choicest abuse reserved for the ones who gave birth to her and brought her into this world.

  Kuldeep had already been away for four months when Satwant gave birth to a son. Her health progressively deteriorated and, within the family, there is now a firm belief that she is suffering from the dreaded tuberculosis. With this in mind, a wet nurse hailing from one of the poorer states of eastern India has been hired to tend to the baby. The child has been removed from Satwant’s room and all contact with the mother is forbidden even as the poor thing longs to nurse him.

  Radhia, who joined the household to double up as maid and wet nurse, is married to a horse keeper named Ganga Ram. Herself a mother of four, she often comes to work with a daughter in tow, who is no more than a year and a half old, leaving behind at home her three older children. It was tough going in the beginning. Radhia lived in the Lal Kurti market which is some distance away. Returning to her home after sundown and then rising early to cook for her own family meant that she was inevitably late in arriving at Sadhu Singh’s place. Meanwhile, Satwant’s famished child wailed at the top of his voice, creating an air of panic and consternation for everyone around him. A resolution to this daily crisis was urgently needed, and Sadhu Singh showed the wisdom of his years by renting a modest dwelling very close to his own place to accommodate Radhia’s family.