who said she was crying because she was happy.
“Yes, I am!” she confirmed his verdict through her sobs. She knelt before them and hugged them in turn, and then hugged them together. She saw Dukhi watching, and led the boys to him. “Embrace your father also,” she said, “this is a very special day.”
She left the hut in search of her neighbours. “Padma! Savitri! Come and look! Amba and Pyari, you come too! See what-all my sons have brought!”
Dukhi grinned at the boys. “There will be no dinner today. Her new choli will make Ma forget everything, she will spend the whole day showing off.” He patted his front and sides. “This fits much better than my old one. Material is also nicer.”
“Look, Bapa, there is a pocket as well,” said Narayan.
Roopa and Dukhi wore the new garments all week long. Afterwards, when the boys were back in town, she removed her choli and demanded his vest.
“Why?” he asked.
“To wash.”
But she refused to return it when it was dry. “What if you tear it or something?” She folded both articles, wrapped them in sacking, and secured the parcel with string. She hung it from the roof of the hut, safe from floodwater and rodents.
Ishvar and Narayan’s years of apprenticeship were measured out in three-month intervals, eased somewhat by the week-long visits to their village. They were now eighteen and sixteen, their training was approaching its end, and they would leave Muzaffar Tailoring Company sometime after the monsoon. Ashraf’s family had grown — there were four daughters now: the youngest was three, the oldest, eight. Mumtaz took a keen interest in the apprentices’ plans. The sooner they came to fruition, the more room there would be for her own children, she thought, though she had grown to like the two young men, quiet and always helpful.
Narayan’s preference was to set up in the village and sew for their own people. Ishvar was inclined to stay on in this town or another, become an assistant in someone’s shop. “You cannot earn much in the village,” he said. “Everyone is so poor. There is more scope in a big place.”
Meanwhile, sporadic riots which had started with the talk of independence were spreading as the country’s Partition became a reality. “Maybe it’s better to stay where you are for the time being,” said Ashraf, while Mumtaz glared at him. “The devil is not doing his evil work in our town. You know all the neighbours, you have lived here for many years. And even if your village is peaceful, it’s still the wrong time to start a new business.”
Ishvar and Narayan sent word to their parents with someone passing through that they would remain with Ashraf Chacha till the bad times were over. Roopa was depressed; separated all these long years, and now her sons were further delayed — when would the gods take pity and end her punishment?
Dukhi, too, was disappointed, but accepted the decision as being for the best. Disturbing things were happening around them. Strangers belonging to a Hindu organization that wore white shirts and khaki pants, and trained their members to march about like soldiers, had been visiting the district. They brought with them stories of Muslims attacking Hindus in many parts of the country. “We must get ready to defend ourselves,” they said. “And also to avenge ourselves. If they spill the blood of our Hindu brothers, this country shall run red with rivers of Muslim blood.”
In Dukhi’s village, the Muslims were too few to pose a threat to anyone, but the landlords saw opportunity in the strangers’ warnings. They did their best to galvanize people against the imaginary danger in their midst. “Better to drive out the Mussulman menace before we are burned alive in our huts. For centuries they have invaded us, destroyed our temples, stolen our wealth.”
The men in white shirts and khaki pants persevered for a few more days but had no luck with the vast majority. The lower castes were not impressed by the rhetoric. They had always lived peacefully with their Muslim neighbours. Besides, they were too exhausted keeping body and soul together.
So the attempt to dispossess the village Muslims fizzled out. Leaving behind sinister threats about dealing with traitors, including the chief traitor, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, the men from the Hindu organization moved on. Places with larger populations and shops and commerce offered them more opportunities for success, and the cloak of urban anonymity to hide behind, where hoax and hearsay could find fertile ground to grow.
Dukhi and his friends discussed the developments in the evening, by the river. They were confused by the varying accounts that reached them of events in faraway towns and villages.
“The zamindars have always treated us like animals.”
“Worse than animals.”
“But what if it’s true? What if the Mussulman horde sweeps down upon our village, like the khaki pants told us?”
“They have never bothered us before. Why would they do it now? Why should we hurt them because some outsiders come with stories?”
“Yes, it’s strange that suddenly we have all become Hindu brothers.”
“The Muslims have behaved more like our brothers than the bastard Brahmins and Thakurs.”
But the stories kept multiplying: someone had been knifed in the bazaar in town; a sadhu hacked to death at the bus station; a settlement razed to the ground. The tension spread through the entire district. And it was all believable because it resembled exactly what people had been seeing in newspapers for the past few days: reports about arson and riots in large towns and cities; about mayhem and massacre on all sides; about the vast and terrible exchange of populations that had commenced across the new border.
The killings started in the poorer section of town, and began to spread; the next day the bazaar was empty. There were no fruits or vegetables to be bought, the milkmen did not stir, and the only bakery in town, owned by a Muslim, had already been burned to the ground.
“Bread is become rarer than gold,” said Ashraf. “What madness. These people have lived together for generations, laughing and crying together. Now they are butchering one another.” He did no work that day, spending the hours gazing out the door at the deserted street, as though waiting for something dreadful to make its appearance.
“Ashraf Chacha, dinner is ready,” said Narayan, responding to Mumtaz’s signal. Her husband had not eaten all day. She was hoping he would join them now.
“There is something I have to tell you,” he said to Mumtaz. “And you as well,” he turned to Ishvar and Narayan.
“Come, food is ready, later we can talk,” she said. “It is only dal and chapati today, but you must eat a little at least.” She lowered the pot from the stove.
“I am not hungry. You and the little ones eat,” said Ashraf, shepherding the four children towards the food. They were reluctant, having sensed their parents’ anxiety. “Go, boys, you too.”
“I take the trouble to cook and nawab-sahib won’t even touch his fingers to the dinner,” said Mumtaz.
In his present mood, her commonplace complaint assumed vicious overtones. He shouted at her, something he rarely did. “What do you want me to do if I am not hungry? Tie the plate to my belly? Talk sense once in a while, nah!” The youngest two started to cry. One of their elbows overturned a glass of water.
“You must be satisfied now,” said Mumtaz scornfully as she mopped up the spill. “Trying to scare me with your big shouting. Only the little ones are frightened of that, let me tell you.”
Ashraf took the two weeping children in his arms. “Okay, okay, no crying. See, we will all eat together.” He fed them from his plate, putting a morsel in his own mouth when they pointed to it. It soon became a new game, and they cheered up.
Dinner finished quickly, and Mumtaz began taking the pot and ladle outside to the tap for washing. Ashraf stopped her. “I was going to say something before dinner, before your shouting started.”
“I am listening now.”
“It’s about this… about what’s happening everywhere.”
“What?”
“You want me to describe in front of the children?” he whispered fiercely. “Why are you acting stupid? Sooner or later the trouble will come here. No matter what happens, it will never be the same again between the two communities.”
