This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach, page 80
Vimalji wrote down the addresses of several schools for girls for Tara.
Prasanno said to Tara that if she gave her ration card, and a few paisas for firewood, then she’d cook for her. Tara understood Prasanno’s situation. Her husband’s elder brother had abandoned Prasanno and her son at the Delhi railway station without leaving her any money, and had gone on to Bombay. She had been forced to earn some money on her own. She washed clothes for the families of some well-off refugees at the rate of one anna for ten pieces of clothing. Soap was supplied by the family. She earned three to four annas per day. Refugees at the camp were allowed free ration only for one month, and she had now been at the camp for twenty-two days.
Nihaldei cut in and said to Tara, ‘Why should you pay anything for firewood? If you’re cooking for two persons, it’s just the same for three. I’ll get the rations for you, sister, and cook for you. What are you worried about?’ She said to Tara so that Prasanno could hear, ‘She has neither a pot nor a pan of her own, and borrows kitchen stuff from us or from Dhammo.’
Tara wanted to help Prasanno, but did not want to get on the wrong side of the belligerent Nihaldei either. She gave her ration card to Nihaldei. When she returned to the hut, she found only Dhammo with her mother-in-law and Rikkho, the young woman who was the last arrival. The old woman from Gujranwala seldom got up from her chatai. Nihaldei had told Dhammo where she had put Tara’s share of lunch.
In only two days’ time the women in the hut had discovered that Tara could sit at the table with the men in the camp’s office, that she was educated, and from a decent family, and that people listened to her. On the third day, Prasanno asked Tara to get her a blanket for her four-year-old son. The woman owned nothing but a change of clothes. It got chilly after midnight. Tara replied, ‘Take my blanket at night for the child. I need only the sheet to cover myself.’
Dhammo’s mother-in-law found time to speak with Tara when no one was around, ‘Beti, the camp officials told us that we’ve been here for a month now. They’re going to send us far away, to some camp called something like kung. We heard that the camp was in the middle of a jungle. No free rations there. How would I manage with two babies and my young daughter-in-law? Someone said that widows were being allotted houses. Please get us one. We’ll earn something by cleaning house and cooking for other families.’ She stopped when she saw Nihaldei come in.
Tara had her daal and roti, spread out her blanket and lay down. Thoughts about her future raced through her mind: Why not inquire at some school rather than go back to copying lists at the camp office? What would she have done if Banti was still alive? Six days had passed since her death. Whenever Tara was alone, the horrible incident of Banti’s death would pass before her eyes. The more Tara tried to forget Banti, the more she came to her mind. She had spent only about a month with Banti, but it seemed as if they had been together all their lives.
Only two months and five days before Tara had entered her in-laws’ house as a new bride. She left her husband’s house barefoot. Since her childhood in the gali, and up to the time of the incident at Banni Hata, she had never stepped out of her house without some kind of footwear.
She held felt some discomfort while roaming the lanes of Amritsar and Paharganj without any footwear, but never felt shame or embarrassment. Now that Shyama had sent her clothes that a respectable woman might wear, she felt awkward and self-conscious about her unshod feet. It was not difficult to walk on the smooth camp ground, but she still felt ill at ease. She also felt uneasy at going out in the crumpled dhoti that she wore in the hut, but, at the same time, did not want to wear the other dhoti.
She would wear the other dhoti when she went to some school for girls, she thought, but it would look ridiculous going barefoot. What impression would that make on others? The five rupees that Banti had received as a gift from Dev’s mother, she had given to Tara, and had asked Tara to keep the money safe by tying it in a corner of her dupatta when they went in search of Banti’s family in Paharganj. Those five and her remaining four rupees were now Tara’s total capital. She had hidden this money in her brassiere for a time of special need or unexpected expense, but now she needed to spend some of it to buy some kind of footwear.
Nihaldei seemed to know most about what was available around the camp, and in the city of Delhi. Tara asked her, ‘Sister, where could I get an inexpensive pair of slippers around here?’
‘Anywhere! As many as you want. Thousands of shops around here,’ Nihaldei replied, waving her arm in a gesture that meant the world beyond the hut. ‘This is no village or empty countryside.’ She was eager to escort Tara to the bazaar.
They had come through the gate of the camp and were on their way to Kashmiri Gate when Nihaldei said irritably, ‘Just look at these bums. The moment a girl steps out of the camp, they begin to follow and bother her.’
Tara was disconcerted. Without raising her eyes, she glanced sideways and saw that a young man had accosted Nihaldei and was speaking to her.
‘Want a room or some place to live? I know of a good place,’ Tara heard the man say.
‘Get away, you bum! What’s it to you? We don’t need your help,’ Nihaldei scolded the boy in her broken Hindi.
‘You wanna sell any jewellery, any clothes, any other stuff? I can take you to the right place,’ the man persisted.
‘Get away from us, and may you leave your wife a widow! Beat it! Stop bothering us. We know where to go,’ Nihaldei said angrily, with a wave of her hand to fend him off, and to discourage him from following them.
‘Hey! What’s up with you?’ asked the man cheekily.
Tara watched him out of the corner of her eye. His dirty clothes, oil-slicked hair and insolent, toothy grin gave her a feeling of revulsion.
When they reached Kashmiri Gate, Nihaldei said, ‘The bloody shopkeepers here charge double the price. The market of Chandni Chowk is just across that bridge. There are hundreds of shops there.’
Tara cheered up on knowing that Chandni Chowk was not far away. She said, ‘I was told that Dariba Mohalla is nearby, and Chawri Bazaar too. There are some girls’ schools. After we get the chappals, would you take me there?’
‘No problem! That’s no bother! Why are you so scared, sister?’ Nihaldei reassured her. ‘If you just ask for directions, you can even get as far as Bukhara.’
The shopkeeper wanted six rupees for a pair of chappals. Nihaldei bargained and haggled with him, and brought the price down to three and a half rupees. In Lahore, the shopkeepers might have quoted four rupees for some article, and then accepted three and a half for it, but demanding six rupees and then selling it for nearly half the price made Tara feel that she had come to a city of crooks.
Nihaldei had no hesitation in asking passers-by in the street about schools for girls, and led Tara through the galis and alleys of Katra Neel and Dariba. These galis were narrow and winding just like those in Lahore, but lacking in the active buzz of groups of women sitting and chatting on their doorsteps. Any men that they came upon stared at them in surprise. If they passed local women dressed in chadars over their saris or dhotis, the women shrank back as if afraid of being defiled. They also heard disparaging comments, ‘These are refugees! They are really brazen!’
Tara met helpful people at two schools. ‘Send a written application to the management committee if you want a job,’ she was told. They also gave her the names and addresses of the secretaries of the committees.
At other schools the reception was less than cordial. ‘Heaven knows where this crowd come from. A couple show up every day. No one knows where they live, or where they’re from. And they want to be teachers! I’ve been teaching here for eight years. Who knows if they even know how to teach?’
Tara was bone-tired. Such cold and indifferent responses plunged her into the depths of despair. She realized that she would not find a job without some sort of a letter of recommendation. In Lahore, her brother had similarly been unable to find a job without a recommendation. She nervously watched the crowds filling the bazaar of Chandni Chowk. Strange men bumped into her intentionally, others leered at her. A few called remarks at her. As if she had asked for all this just because she had dared to come to a bazaar without a male to protect her. Nihaldei could not stop herself from shouting back taunts. This bothered Tara. She had gone with Banti to so many places in Amritsar and in Paharganj, and nothing like this had happened to them. If it happened, Banti would merely have ignored it. Tara wanted to get back to the camp.
Nihaldei proposed, ‘This bazaar is known for its chaat. Come, let’s eat some.’ Tara refused, but Nihaldei paid no attention.
Tara was helpless, as she could not go back alone. At the chaat stall, she stood uncomfortably behind Nihaldei, her head bent. She refused to eat anything. The way the chaat seller wiped the leaves on the dhoti covering his thighs before using the leaves as plates for serving chaat, and the way he spoke with an unpleasant smirk on his face, irked Tara, but there was little she could do. Nihaldei grumbled that the spices and chillies in the chaat burned her mouth, but had four servings of it, nevertheless.
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.’
