breathed free in the British jailcells felt suffocated in the courtroom and stepped out for fresh air.
In the chambers the Judges Bharat Khanna, Nanak Ram and Krishan Singh in leather chairs, huddled around the oak table over cold drinks. Several minutes into the deliberations Khanna said,
"It's evident that Jagat was managing the Trust as per the settlors' wishes. Had he embezzled the funds he would have hired a capable lawyer. He's clearly indigent. Above all he makes a persuasive argument for an adjournment pending a court ordered police investigation. I'm sceptical of the hurried interim court order handing the management of the Trust to Congress."
"Krishan and I aren't persuaded by Jagat's arguments or your rendition of them," said Nanak.
"I know of him. He's Jagat Singh Qaadian, the storied freedom fighter who spent years behind bars. He won't ever lie. It's a shame to refuse him justice but you win two to one."
Nanak's and Krishan's judgement was read by Bharat from the bench dealing Jagat an unjust loss and Ram an illicit victory at which Nanak and Krishan smiled and nodded agreement.
"I, Jagat, expected better from you all; but Ram obviously turned evil, Nanak, Krishan and Bharat stood helplessly mute; there's no hope for the country," Jagat exploded.
"Yes, out parents named us Krishan, Nanak and Bharat; don't insult our namesakes for our judgements," pleaded Krishan.
"I dissented from the majority judgement of Nanak and Krishan but I's helpless, outvoted as I'm as you can see."
Jagat's blank stares glanced at the lion emblem the smiling Gandhi portrait and felt the, too, mocking him.
Several days after the defeat handed Jagat by Krishan, Nanak and Bharat, the bungalow received a letter postmarked "Calcutta". Its convolutions contained the sender's identity and message: Sangram is fine; he is not coming home. The completeness of his youngest son's intellectual annihilation depressed an already wounded Jagat. Ideology had become Sangram's God and he its messenger and it brooked no attachment except to itself.
"Sangram knows we may be worried, he wants us to know he's alright," said Ratno trying to comfort Jagat.
"How can people think they can sit in some dungeon in Calcutta and change the country," Jagat said before resuming to read the newspaper, combing it for any piece of good news to reassure himself.
"Radio Peking has reported a Maoist uprising in Naxalbari, s small hamlet in West Bengal. Armed peasants took over land of powerful landlords. Several peasants and police were killed," he read. The communists rebels had achieved international notoriety but there was no trace of Sangram and he was worried.
"I'd told the idiot to not go near violence," fumed Jagat one moment, calming down the next upon remembering the contours of his own experiences.
Past midnight a knock on the door of the drawing room woke Sujata up. The light from the ceiling bulb fell on the man's face.
"Sorry to wake you up amma. I'm hungry. I haven't slept in a bed for days." Soon he was eating the left over dal and rotis in the kitchen. Sujata moved his towel on the table to make room for a glass of water. A pistol fell out, "It, it's, someone had given it to me for, for safekeeping," said Gogi. Sujata did not want to pick a fight this late at nigt and he went to sleep on the sofa in the drawing room.
The middle aged Chunno, the new help, was up early and after washing the night's utensils she made tea; Jagat was already in his rocker and Ratno was watering the lawn. Sujata woke up and saw the three of them and suddenly she remembered about Gogi and walked over to the drawing room and found no trace of Gogi on the sofa. From the pot on the chullah she poured herself a cup of tea and walked over to the veranda.
"Ratno Bhen, I slept in today. Did you see Gogi here in the morning?"
Jagat's ears perked up.
"No. Was he here?" asked Ratno.
"He came at midnight. I fed him and put him up on the sofa for the night. He's gone and you know, he had a gun on him."
Until he heard the words midnight, gun and Gogi together Jagat's world had begun to calm a little. Jaggi was sending regular albeit small amount of Rupees to the Qaadian and Chajjuwara households. Ratno had hired spinster Chunno to help cook, clean and maintain the yard. Having stopped reading the Tribune after Shiv's death Jagat now woke up in the morning to go for a walk, buy the Trib and sometimes one or two other newspapers on the way, return to sit on the rocker, sip tea an read them. If Ratno and Sujata happened to be nearby he would read aloud the headlines for them. The grass in the front yard had become greener and the roses livelier, thanks to Chunno. Reaffirming life, pigeons, sparrows and an odd parrot, too, had returned to the bungalow. Though Sujata hadn't fully recovered from the blows of Ram's henchmen--the injuries limited her ability for household chores--but she was a happy warrior helping Ratno and Chunno peeling and chopping veggies, sifting dry lentils to remove any impurities.
Qaadian was still in the grip of the old feudal order: Gundu's family controlled the school committee; the big zamindars of the committee hired and fired teachers at will without regard for merit; the small village dispensary had been upgraded into a hospital but it too was in shambles. But there was one change for the better; the road from Haveli to Qaadian had been asphalted saving pedestrians from plumes of dust kicked up by cars and buses.
A few days ago the family had bid adieu to Dhumma after which Jagat had to return to Chajjuwara for Pratap's funeral, the deaths reminding him of his dawning mortality. Gamma was old and unable to manage the khooh by himself. The thirty year old Mungoo, a tall sturdy bachelor chuhra from a neighboring village was hired to live and work at the khooh for a fixed monthly pay ind addition to food, shelter and clothing. He helped Gamma manage the khooh while Puro had Guddi, a thirty two year old unmarried chamaar woman, help with cooking and cleaning. An orphan she had been brought up by her father's younger brother who had recently die in an accident. His children and the widow began to physically and emotionally abuse her. The elderly Puro took her in as a live in help.
Two or three times a week Jagat would wear his white khadi kurta pajama, don a white turban and with laces tied on his black shoes he'd peddle to Qaadian. As the wind hit his face, even on the slow moving bike his white beard would part in the middle to flutter on his cheeks. His walking stick tied to the bar like a magic wand, despite the battles raging within, he would resemble a flying angel on a mission to assist some needy soul.
Gamma had finished taking the buffalo to the challah and tied her under the mulberries when he spotted Jagat riding toward the khooh. It brought a smile to his toothless fade. Seeing Gamma brought back Gogi's words to Jagat: "Seeking atonement of sins of oppression against the untouchables by treating a few lower cast men and women as mothers, uncles, brothers and sisters won't change the fate of the untouchables." Gamma too had been chided for cowardice by his son.
"Brother Gamma, did you ever feel that you and I were any less than blood brothers?"
"No Bhaaji, you always loved Beeru, Dhumma and me like brothers we felt we're. But that didn't make it so for Qaadian. Not your fault."
There was silence.
"Have you seen Gogi recently?" asked Jagat.
"One night he came by, left long before daylight, seemed restless and had only a few winks of sleep. I wanted him to go home and see Puro. He was in a rush and seemed running from something," said Gamma.
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No, but I noticed something black, like a piece of metal, a small pipe. He hid it under his pillow, didn't let it out of his sight. He drank raw milk from buffalo's udder and left before sunrise."
"I'm worried he had come to the bungalow in the middle of the night and left long before daylight."
"Bhaaji he kept talking about the Party and said it had him travelling all over Punjab; got the feeling he was on the run for or from something."
"There's been violence in Bengal and it's creeping into Punjab. In Bengal many people and police have been killed."
Through the canopy of mulberries Jagat saw clouds gathering and before Qaadian and his path to Chajjuwara got lashed by rain he wanted to be in the bungalow. It was hard for the old body, being beaten and drenched by the monsoons; he quickly said goodbye.
By the time the downpour began Jagat was in the veranda on his rocker and it rained heavily for quite a long time. In the words of James Joyce Jagat had remembered, the rain impinged on his small world of the bungalow. But he like this impinging imagining it slaking the thirst and longing of earth. Chunno had made poor day, the comfort food of the villagers in the never ending Monsoons which Sujata, Ratno and Jagat were eating while sipping hot tea though for Jagat comfort was proving elusive.
'Why would he show up carrying a gun and disappear, all in stealth, under cover of darkness," Jagat blurted turning to Sujata. Sujata remembered and told Jagat about Gogi mentioning Sangram during his visit to the bungalow. Just before leaving for England, Jaggi had mentioned Gogi and Sangram belonged to the same group. At the moment the group's article of faith was killing--in their words annihilating, class enemies so marked by the leadership. Gogi's movements all made sense to Jagat and he worried about his and Sangram's safety.
Early in the morning Chunno saw Jagat enter the kitchen.
"Papa Ji take your blanket and place in the rocker and I'll make tea for you.?
Looking at the empty table where Gogi had sat with the gun, he said, "Yes please make the tea," the white beard and clothes hiding his turmoil. He ate his breakfast and had tea before biking away.
Gamma was in the veranda of the hut as Jagat biked up.
"Bha you're here just yesterday. So early in the morning, everything okay?"
No comments:
Post a Comment