My father was like one possessed of the Devil. He screamed and tore his hair. He went about the village lanes calling the Mussalmans sons of pigs. He ran thirteen miles over the sand dunes to a police station and lodged a report. He gave wads of rupee notes to the inspector. Next day, he came back with the police with warrants of arrest against the boys he suspected of being Lachmi’s abductors. Two days later we went to a magistrate’s court. The accused were brought in handcuffs. The rascals twisted their moustaches and made lewd gestures at us. One of them said loudly, ‘Let me get back to Hadali and if I don’t split the bottoms of all these
kafirs
, my name isn’t Turrabaz Khan.’
Their lawyer said that my father’s complaint was false as my sister had of her own accord gone away with the boy she loved. He asked Turrabaz Khan to stand up. Then Lachmi was produced. She was wearing a
burqa
so she could not meet our eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I love Turrabaz Khan and went to him of my own will. I have become a Mussalman and have married him. I do not wish to return to my parents’ home.’
The inspector and the police were Mussalmans. The accused and their lawyer were Mussalmans. Our lawyer was a Mussalman. (All the Hindu lawyers had fled to India). The magistrate was also a Mussalman. He dismissed my father’s complaint and ordered the accused to be released forthwith. They went out of the courtroom jumping for joy.
We begged for protection. The magistrate sent for the Mussalmans and said, ‘You’ve got what you wanted. Leave the miserable
kafirs
alone.’ The inspector took more money from us to escort us back to Hadali. Constables were posted outside our homes for our safety. They also took money from us.
How could we continue to live in Hadali with one of our own flesh and blood being ravished a few doors away? Our womenfolk said they felt unsafe; when they came back from the well, the Mussalmans would wait for them and expose themselves. We complained to the policemen but they did nothing. One evening when a dust-storm was blowing we packed our utensils and quilts, loaded them on our buffaloes and cleared out of Hadali.
We travelled all night and day with hot sand blowing in our faces. We came to Sargodha and found the encampment where thousands of Hindus and Sikhs were waiting to go to India. Our buffaloes were taken away. For many days we lived on stale bread and pickles. Then soldiers came and put us in their trucks. They drove us to Lahore. We passed long lines of people on foot and in bullock carts. Those going our way were Sikhs and Hindus. Those coming from the opposite direction were Mussalmans. We saw many Sikhs lying dead on the road with their long hair scattered about and their bearded faces covered with flies. We crossed the Indo-Pakistan border. There were many more corpses along the road. From the shape of their penises I could tell they were Mussalmans. There were lots of women and children among the dead.
We were sent to a camp in Kurukshetra where more than 70,000 refugees were living in tents. For many days we did nothing except stand in lines for rations and talk to everyone we met. My mother cried all the time calling my sister’s name. Then officers came and told us that we must go and look for work. ‘What kind of work?’ my father asked them. ‘We were money-lenders. We have no money to lend.’ However he sent a postcard to a Sikh whom he had known as a boy in Hadali. This Sikh was said to have made a lot of money as a building-contractor and had been living in Delhi for many years. Two days later we got his reply asking us to come over. We took the train to Delhi.
In the train my father talked of the days when he and this Sikh had played together on the sand dunes around Hadali. The closer we got to Delhi, the more my father’s childhood memories came back to him. I was sure that as soon as they met, my father and the Sikh would fall into each other’s arms. We had to walk six miles from the railway station carrying our utensils and quilts on our heads. With great difficulty we found the Sikh’s house. My father asked us to wait at the gate while he went in to find out. He had hardly gone ten paces when an enormous dog charged at him. My father ran back. The dog ripped off a piece of his shirt before he was able to get back to us. A man in khaki uniform came out of the house and demanded angrily what we wanted. My father asked very humbly whether this was the house of so-and-so. ‘Yes,’ growled the man, ‘state your business.’ My father showed him the Sikh’s letter. ‘Wait here,’ ordered the man in khaki. The dog stood baring its teeth at us.
The man came back, shooed away the dog and beckoned us to follow him. We picked up our belongings and followed the man. It was a large, two-storeyed house with a big garden. The Sikh and his wife were in the verandah having tea.
‘So you’ve come, Sain Ditta!’ said the Sikh sipping his tea. My father put down the load on his head and touched the Sikh’s feet. My mother slumped on the floor, laid her head on the Sikh lady’s knees and began to wail. ‘What will you make by wailing? What’s happened has happened,’ said the lady and told the man in uniform to take us to the kitchen and give us something to eat.
We were told to make ourselves comfortable in a garage. Half of the garage was used to store trunks and crates. The other half was to be our home. We slept on the floor like people who have had a death in the family.
This is how we began our new life in New Delhi.
*
My parents were quicker in getting used to the new surroundings than I. My father was given the job of night-watchman. He had to walk round the house all night with a hurricane lantern in one hand, a stave in the other and yell ‘
Khabardar ho
’ at every corner. He made friends with the big dog which had torn his shirt. The dog kept him company. My father learnt to answer to ‘
Oi
’ and say ‘
Jee
’ to the Sikh who had once been his best friend. My mother swept the floors and pressed the feet of the Sikh’s wife.
What hurt me very much was the way my parents changed towards me—their only remaining child. I knew the reason. They had spent all their money. My mother’s gold bangles and ear-rings had to be sold as my father’s wages were not enough to feed the three of us. If I asked for another
chappati
, my mother would ask, ‘Have you a belly or a well?’ My father started calling me
mushtanda
(lout) and
nikhatoo
(idler). One day both turned on me and told me to go out and look for work. So I was thrown out into the strange world of this strange city.
Where was I to start? My father told me to go to peoples’ houses and ask if they wanted a servant. Delhi was full of Punjabi refugees looking for work. Every house I went to had a man at the gate who asked me my business. When I told him, he would order me to move on. I got to know Delhi, both the old city and the new; the big buildings where big officials went to work in their big motor cars and clerks went on their bicycles. I got to know all the bazaars and what was sold where. But I found no work. My father got very harsh with me. My mother had to shield me from his temper. I began to come back after dark and slip into the garage when my father was doing his rounds. My mother would then give me food and press my legs till I fell asleep.
I often dreamt of Hadali with its stretch of treeless expanse and the sands on which I used to play on moonlit nights. I dreamt of the tall Mussalman women with pitchers on their heads, the black points of their nipples showing beneath their wet muslin shirts and the joy of being crushed between their legs. Sometimes the dreams turned into nightmares. I saw these Mussalman men menace me with their penises the size of randy donkeys. I would start moaning. My mother would shake me up, take me in her arms and rock me back to sleep.
My father stopped talking to me. My mother tried to make up for his behaviour. She would ask me what I had seen. ‘Why don’t you take your mother with you some time?’ she would say.
One Tuesday she took permission of her mistress to come with me. I showed her the government Secretariats and the Parliament House. She gasped with wonder as if she was a little girl. She asked me all sorts of questions; I made up all sorts of answers. She made me feel very important. She took my hand when she got nervous of buses and motor cars; she made me feel like a strong, grown-up man. I took her to the Birla temple. She prayed to Shiva and Parbati and Ganesh; to Vishnu and Lakshmi; to Krishna and Radha, and then to Rama and Sita and all the other gods and goddesses. She prayed for Lachmi. She waved a copper paisa round my head and gave it to the
pandit
. She asked him to smear my forehead with sacred ash and bless me so I could get a job.
From the Birla temple we went to the Hanuman temple. There was a large crowd and lots of stalls of sweetmeats, toys, balloons and bangles. Here too my mother gave a paisa to the
pandit
and prayed to Hanumanji to get me a job. We went round the stalls. She gave me some paise to buy her glass bangles and slip them on her arms.
By the time we left the temple, the sun had set and the sky was like a grey giant about to go to bed. The trees in Connaught Circus were full of chattering mynahs and parakeets. Once more my mother took my hand. We watched well-dressed ladies and gentlemen buying things and driving away in their beautiful motor cars. By the time we got home, it was dark. My father was out with his stave and lantern yelling ‘
Khabardar ho.’
Although she was very tired, she warmed the food for me. When I lay down, she took my head in her lap and rubbed oil in my scalp. The last words she said before I fell asleep were: ‘Surely, one of the gods will hear my prayer and get you a job!’
The gods heard my mother’s prayer and the very next morning I got a job. Where do you think I found it? In a house just across the road. That is a story by itself.
The house in which we lived faced a roundabout from which many roads branched off. Across one road was the house of Jinnah Sahib who made Pakistan. Before running away to Pakistan, this cow-eating Jinnah sold the house to a rich Hindu who made it the headquarters of the Cow Protection Society. On the other side across the road facing our garage was an even bigger house belonging to Seth Birla, nephew of the man who had built the temple. This Birla was said to be the richest man in India. There was always a crowd at his gate and lots of policemen. At first I thought that these people were looking for jobs like I was and that there would be no point in my joining them. And I was frightened of policemen. I had heard songs and speeches coming over the loudspeaker and was told that Mahatma Gandhi lived there and anyone could go in to have his
darshan
.
The next morning I went to have Gandhiji’s
darshan
. Nobody stopped me. There were many people including white sahibs and memsahibs sitting on the lawn. In the front there was a platform with a microphone. I sat down in a corner. A party of young men came and sat near me.
A few minutes later the Mahatma arrived leaning on a woman’s shoulder. Everyone stood up. Some people shouted, ‘
Mahatma Gandhi ki jai
.’ The young men sitting near me shouted, ‘
Bharat Mata ki jai
(Long Live Mother India).’ Mahatma Gandhi sat down on the platform and shut his eyes. A party of men and women began to chant:
Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram
Patitpavan Sita Ram.
I had never heard this song before. It sounded very nice. Then they sang:
Ishwar Allah Terey Nam
Sab Ko Sammati Dey Bhagwan.
That also sounded nice. A young man sitting near me muttered: ‘Not
Ishwar Allah
but
Mohammed Allah Terey Nam
.’
When the hymn ended, a bearded Mussalman came and sat beside the Mahatma. He opened a book and drew the microphone towards his beard. He began to intone something. The young men beside me began to shout: ‘Shut up...the Mussalmans have ravished our mothers and sisters...we will not allow the
Quran
to be read in our country anymore.’ They jumped up and began yelling, ‘
Bharat Mata
ki jai
’
The Mahatma drew the microphone towards him and in a toothless, frog-croaking voice said, ‘Brothers and sisters, I will continue to respect all religions. If you do not agree with me, do not come to my prayer meetings. If you cause interruption, I will pray alone. Go back to your homes and ponder if it is right that our independence should end in this way, in the killing of brother by brother.’ He stood up, said
namaskar
and went away.
Before I knew what was happening, the police surrounded us. I was pushed along and forced to get into a van along with the other boys. They continued to shout ‘
Bharat Mata ki jai
,’ till there was no one to hear them.
The officer-in-charge who was sitting with the driver turned back and said, ‘
Mahatma Buddhoo
(stupid)
ki jai
!’ The young men laughed. The constables and the van-driver also laughed. ‘Sub-inspector sahib, don’t take us too far,’ said one of the young men.
‘Wherever you like! But please do not go back to Birla House,’ he said joining the palms of his hands, ‘otherwise they will slit my throat.’
‘Just let us off near the Birla temple; we have no more programmes for the day,’ the young man assured him.
We were dropped at the Birla temple. It was then that one of the boys noticed me ‘
Arre
! Who are you? What troop are you?’ he asked. ‘I know no troop-shoop,’ I replied and explained that I was a refugee and had been arrested by mistake. They had a big laugh. ‘Why don’t you join us?’ another boy asked, ‘Or are you one of the Old Man’s Mussalman-loving disciples?’ I told them that my sister had been abducted in Pakistan; how could I be a Mussalman- lover? ‘You are a big, strong Punjabi,’ said a fellow who appeared to be their leader. ‘You should be like a true Kshatriya fighting for the Hindu
dharma.
’ He patted me on my back and felt my muscles. No one had ever called me big and strong before.
They asked me what I did. I told them I did nothing. ‘Then come and join the Sangha,’ said their leader. ‘You can work in the office and eat in our canteen.’ I did not know anything about this Sangha but I went along with them. I signed a piece of paper and was given a number (only the leader knew the names of the boys, the rest of us were known by numbers). I was to dust the office furniture and sit outside the door to see that no one who did not know the password for the day came in. I was given a uniform and five rupees as an advance against my salary.