THE FESTIVAL OF Vaisakhi arrived. Yes, the same one that had come to this city twenty-eight years ago to show the wrath of God Himself: that fateful day when our foreign protector General Dyer had butchered thousands of patriotic souls because they had the temerity to gather for a protest against the Rowlatt Act, a draconian law that threatened both their political rights and civil liberties. Yes, today is Vaisakhi, 13th of April once again.
It is said that history has a way of repeating itself and that’s what Amritsar seemed to be doing on this Vaisakhi after twenty-eight years. Once again, innocent people were being killed in the city. Once again, the city was being charred by angry fires. But look a little deeper and you would see that the two situations are like chalk and cheese. Twenty-eight years ago, it was the British Empire that had decided to drive the city’s Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs into a cauldron; it was the blood of the three communities that had mingled to drench the hallowed earth of Jallianwala Bagh and give its soil a crimson hue; it was the sight of the three communities sharing the same glass of water that had lifted the patriotic spirits of the nation. Today, those events seem like a tale from the distant past. The human blood flowing in our streets today is from a dagger that our own hand has plunged into our very own bosom. Twenty-eight years ago, the three communities had acted in unison to set on fire buildings that were a symbol of the imperial power. Today, we are setting each other’s homes on fire and treating the macabre scenes as entertainment. Yes, we heard slogans being shouted then and we hear them being shouted now. But what a difference. These eyes had once seen Muslims saying ‘Ram Ram’ and Hindus chanting ‘Ya Hussain’. Today, the same eyes have to unfortunately witness our people shouting ‘Kill them’ and ‘Destroy them all’, as mobs roam the streets to spill the blood of their neighbours.
That same Vaisakhi, that Khooni Vaisakhi, has once again descended on our city like an evil spirit. Once again, there is a curfew and the bazaars are shut. But on that day, we had seen the patriotic fervour of our people as they defied the curfew to gather in Jallianwala Bagh and demand an end to the rule of the Angrez. Today, our people have donned the mantle of Satan himself, thirsting for the blood of their neighbours as they step into the streets.
Twenty-eight years ago, the Angrez government had been quick to realize that the flames rising from Jallianwala Bagh might threaten their own palace and they had mobilized every force they could muster to save their throne. The situation today is different. It isn’t their home that is endangered by the flames and so our Angrez government chooses to stand on the sidelines and watch the spectacle even as they try to impress the outside world by throwing the noose of curfew around the city’s neck. But did this curfew solve the problem? I think the answer to that question isn’t hard to find.
The recurrent curfews have kept most people behind closed doors. The city’s vibrant bazaars are quiet as a graveyard. At night, the only sound to be heard is the occasional heavy boots of a police patrol, or some stray dogs howling in the distance.
Let’s look at the blessed Jallianwala Bagh, the land of our martyrs. Its expansive ground is once again teeming with people. But if the Vaisakhi night of twenty-eight years ago saw the Bagh strewn with hundreds of corpses, today it is heaving with the bodies of the living dead. The families of thousands of luckless refugees have made the Bagh a temporary abode, occupying every inch of it, some spreading out on the bare ground to find some sleep while others bemoan their misfortune and ponder nervously over an uncertain future.
The curfew over the last few days had been exceptionally strict. But because it was Vaisakhi and it was recognized as an important day for both Hindus and Sikhs, the authorities relaxed the restrictions for three hours in the morning to allow the city’s residents to visit their temples and gurudwaras to complete their religious obligations.
Many people had awoken early that morning to complete their usual chores, and as soon as they heard the siren announcing the relaxation in curfew, they headed towards the Golden Temple. Most could be seen hurrying along briskly, anxious that they be able to attend to their rituals and return home before the curfew kicked in.
Satnam thought he would be among the early birds, accompanied by his mother, his brother Narinder and sister Munni. Kanhaiya accompanied them, carrying a large pot of sweet rice that Kesar Kaur had made especially for the occasion.
It wasn’t unusual for the Golden Temple to be packed with devotees at that hour, and yet it seemed like all of humanity had decided to visit the shrine today. Young and old, male and female, each one seemed to be rushing along the bazaars with the deadline of the curfew hovering above them as they struggled to pay their obeisance.
Satnam and his retinue went past Chowk Baba Sahib and decided to stop at the serai before making their way to the Golden Temple. His mother had been saying for several days that she wanted to go and see the new refugee arrivals at the serai but the relentless curfews had come in the way. There was also a second reason for the desire to visit the serai. A couple of days back, the relief committees had published an appeal to the city’s residents: the refugee camps had run out of space, anyone who could spare a room or two was asked to host a refugee family. Satnam had discussed this appeal with his mother and they had cleared one of the rooms on the ground floor by moving all unnecessary stuff to the store room at the rear. By moving some other items to the upper floor, Kesar Kaur felt that they now had enough space to offer a room with an adjacent living area and a makeshift kitchen. Through her visit to the serai today, she was looking for a small family of refugees who could be provided sanctuary in their home.
Satnam and Munni busied themselves with serving the sweet rice to refugees from Kanhaiya’s pot. Kesar Kaur went ahead to mingle with the refugees, spending a minute or two to chat with each family before moving on to the next one. Narinder, meanwhile, had spied a couple of his friends and joined them to catch up. Kesar Kaur did meet one or two families that seemed suitable from her perspective, but she held back from extending an invitation. Her mind went back to their house and she realized that the place that she had earmarked for the guest family was unlikely to evoke an enthusiastic response. A blockage in the chimney had resulted in a coating of soot on the walls of the kitchen area and the condition of the room also wasn’t all that great. She decided to hire a worker for a couple of days to whitewash the room and kitchen and make the space a bit more conducive for hosting a guest family.
Once he had finished serving the sweet rice, Satnam sent Kanhaiya home with the empty pot, while he left the serai with his family and took the street towards the Golden Temple.
As they left the gates of the serai, Kesar Kaur stopped in her tracks and gulped as her eyes took in the scene before her. Both sides of the street that led from the serai to the gates of Baba Sahib were lined with refugees who had set up small baskets of the kind usually carried by hawkers to sell odds and ends. One was roasting spicy papadums on a small brazier, another offering the gatta gram flour dumplings from a large brass thali, a third had a plate with candies and sweet puffed rice murmura, a fourth was busy frying fresh pakoras out of a makeshift oven, a fifth had an assortment of fresh fruits on a basket, a sixth had a stand displaying sewing needles, buttons, safety pins, shoelaces and other haberdashery, while a seventh…
Kesar Kaur sighed and contemplated the faces of the refugees as they vied to attract the attention of customers. ‘Look at them! It is true: bad times can fall on anyone of us. Many of them look like they were the owners of large properties, had servants and staff at their beck and call. And today, they are being forced to sell this stuff and scrounge for pennies. Have mercy on us, Waheguru. Have mercy!’
The three of them walked along the street, gawking at the unfamiliar scene as their gaze swung from one side to the other. As they reached the end of the street to turn towards Guru ka Bagh, their eyes fell on a sight that arrested their footsteps even as they were hurrying to beat the deadline of the curfew.
A Khatri aged some seventy odd years, accompanied by a girl of seventeen or eighteen, was tending to an odd array of products—a basket with raw jaggery-based shakkar, another with chunks of detergent soap and a small iron plate with roasted chickpeas. Although the old man was holding a weighing scale and helping, it was clear that the bulk of the work was being done by the young girl.
It didn’t take Kesar Kaur long to fathom the reason. The old man could barely see, and it was clear that he couldn’t manage without the assistance of the girl.
‘Waheguru, Waheguru,’ Kesar Kaur mumbled as she paused amidst the heaving mass of humanity and restrained Munni from moving forward on her own. Turning towards Satnam, she observed, ‘Look at the ways of the Lord! Is this Baba meant to be using that weighing scale at his age? And look at that girl: so delicate that her fair skin would get stained if you touched her. Look this way, Satnam! Where’s your mind wandered off to?’ Kesar Kaur tapped Satnam on the shoulder as she realized he was paying no attention to her comments. His gaze was fixed on the ground, his brows scrunched in deep contemplation.
‘You are right, Bhabo! I saw them the other day at the serai as well.’ And he proceeded to give his mother a brief account of his encounter at the serai.
Satnam raised his eyes to look at the girl once again. He could see that she had undergone something of a metamorphosis within just a few days. She no longer looked down and out, nor did her face have that deathly pallor that defined her appearance at the serai. The wooden lethargy of her limbs had evaporated and in its place he now saw a distinct agility as she went about helping her elderly companion. If a customer was owed some change, she would swiftly reach under the sackcloth covering her ramshackle counter and provide the exact amount. If she saw the old man struggling with the weighing scale as he tried to find a larger or smaller piece of soap, she would gently take the scale from him to weigh the soap and give it to the customer.
As Satnam looked around, he was surprised to observe that the two of them seemed to be attracting the largest number of customers. Since the space between the serai and the Golden Temple had been reserved exclusively for the refugees by the gurudwara committee, it was clear that the others around them came from the same background and deserved the same kind of sympathy. Indeed, the products being sold by some of them appeared superior in quality and yet, the duo seemed to be doing much better. Satnam reflected on this with a worried look on his face. A majority of the customers, he observed, were youngsters who seemed reluctant to leave even after they had collected their purchase. Even in the absence of any improper comment or gesture, Satnam sensed that the customers’ queries weren’t as innocent as they appeared. ‘Baba ji, where are you from … Bibi, how long have you been here … did you suffer a huge loss at your place?’ The questions may have been innocuous, but they concealed a lust that was particularly incongruous in the pious environs of the Golden Temple and at a time when you could still hear the gentle strains of the kirtan from the sanctum sanctorum.
Kesar Kaur waited patiently for the customers to move on so that she could ask a couple of questions. It wasn’t long before she had the opportunity to step forward. ‘Baba ji,’ she started while the old man was brushing some bits and residue of the soap from his weighing scale, ‘is this girl a daughter of yours?’
The Baba raised his head to an awkwardly high angle as he lifted his eyes behind his thick spectacles and turned towards the direction of the voice. ‘More than my daughter, she is my life itself. But yes, she is my younger brother’s daughter.’
‘That’s pretty much like your own daughter,’ Kesar Kaur replied in a tone drenched with empathy. ‘A niece is virtually the same as a daughter,’ she added. ‘Is it just the two of you or are there others in the family?’ she continued after a short pause.
‘The two of us plus one other,’ the Baba replied, as he set the weighing scale on one side.
‘Who?’ Kesar Kaur pursued.
‘Our God,’ the old man raised his eyes towards the heavens and replied.
‘And any other relatives?’
‘The Lord didn’t spare anyone else, Bibi,’ the old man responded as he pulled up a corner of his dhoti to wipe his glasses.
‘Oh my God,’ Kesar Kaur exclaimed in horror as she sat down beside his wares. ‘Was it in the riots?’
‘Yes, my daughter,’ the old man replied as he observed the genuine concern on her face.
‘And who all did you have in the family, Baba ji?’
‘A son, a nephew, a daughter-in-law and a sister-in-law who was this girl’s mother. And now she is the only one left,’ he sighed, his eyes moist as he turned his gaze towards the girl. The object of his affection, however, was lost in her own world as she sat on a cheap little rug and tugged at a loose thread that she tried to twirl around her finger.
‘And your home?’ Kesar Kaur enquired further.
‘It’s all gone, Bibi,’ came the short reply.
Kesar Kaur’s eyes flickered as she tried to keep her emotions in check. She turned around to look at Satnam, who was standing right behind her as he held Munni’s hand. His face indicated that he was also keen to ask them a question or two but couldn’t bring himself to it.
Kesar Kaur tore herself away from the Baba and turned towards the girl. The Baba, meanwhile, busied himself weighing two annas worth of roasted chickpeas for a customer.
‘What’s your name, Bibi?’ she asked the girl.
‘Ji, it’s Krishna.’
‘And where are you staying?’
‘At the serai, ji.’
‘Have you been able to get a room there?’
‘No, ji. We haven’t secured a room yet.’
‘So where do you sleep?’
‘In the verandah.’
‘And do you have adequate clothes, etc.?’
The girl was silent.
‘Where do you have your meals?’ Kesar Kaur quizzed though she knew the question might have appeared somewhat irrelevant. She knew that hundreds of baskets of fresh food were being served at the serai every day. But having heard Satnam’s description of their previous encounter, she knew that the Baba had stopped the girl from taking a chapati.
‘We buy things at the bazaar and cook ourselves, ji.’
‘You are doing this yourself?’ Kesar Kaur felt an overwhelming desire to do something for them. ‘If you like, why don’t you move to our place? We have enough space for the two of you.’
The girl was quiet for a moment. Turning her face towards the old man, she replied, ‘You could ask my Bapu ji about this.’
‘Baba ji,’ Kesar Kaur tried to hide her feelings of sympathy and asked with all the humility she could muster, ‘if there is any problem with accommodation, why don’t you consider coming to our home? The house is quite spacious and there will be enough room to make you comfortable.’
‘May the Lord keep you safe, Bibi,’ the old man responded politely. ‘We are managing for now. If God had wanted us to have a roof over our head, he wouldn’t have snatched away the one we had.’
‘Pita ji,’ Kesar Kaur subconsciously switched from Baba ji to the term a daughter would use for a father. ‘It is indeed the good Lord who gives the house or takes it away. Who are we to claim ownership of our house. But let me plead to you for the sake of this girl. It’s different to be in a village, where a girl of this age can feel perfectly safe. A city like this has all kinds of people and you can never tell who is who. So, l request you from the bottom of my heart. Please bring your girl and come over...’
‘Listen to me, my girl,’ the old man interjected gently. ‘Please don’t mind what I am going to say. I have no problem about moving to your place. You are also like a daughter to me and may your children live long. But I know that it isn’t easy to honour such commitments. We also come from a home where everything was in abundance. Our own meal was incomplete until we’d fed seven others. Today, the good Lord has yanked us off our pedestals and flung us to the ground. That’s His will. And to be honest, I am not worried about myself. I’ve led a full life, enjoyed all the good things, it doesn’t matter if I am like the tree teetering on the edge. But I do worry about this girl. At this age, she should have been carefree and happy instead of enduring this ordeal. So, my dear, if you do want to offer us your place, do it as if we are your own family. We’re already heartbroken; don’t do anything that might take away our dignity.’
Kesar Kaur again felt a surge of emotion. She turned around to look at Satnam and found what she was looking for in his eyes—the reassurance that she was on the right path. Her face was a picture of love and compassion as she spoke, ‘Don’t you worry about this girl, Pita ji. I’ll treat her like Munni’s older sister and keep her close to my bosom.’ She drew the Baba’s attention towards Munni as she spoke.
The Baba was visibly moved by Kesar Kaur’s outpouring of affection as he responded, ‘Let me assure you of one thing, Bibi. We’ll never ask you for anything. I might have crossed the age of seventy, but I believe that I still have the ability to feed myself and a few others too. It’s my eyes that have become a real problem. Once I sort these out, I won’t be dependent on anyone. If nothing, I can use my knowledge of traditional medicine and make a living as a hakim.’
‘I pray to the Waheguru that,’ Kesar Kaur gushed, ‘you may never have to ask for anything. But if you can take my word for it, I will make sure that you and this girl do not face any problem at all. Look, my older son Satnam is standing right here. If he doesn’t look after you as his own family, he’ll have to face my wrath.’
‘I’ll attend to you like you are my own father, Baba ji!’ were the only words that Satnam could muster.
‘Great! Why don’t you come by at the same time tomorrow and take us with you,’ the Baba spoke with a tinge of self-assurance this time.
After paying obeisance at the Golden Temple and listening to the sermon for the month of Vaisakhi at Manji Sahib, the trio hurried back home with just five minutes left before the curfew.