OUR LIFE IS often like the flow of a river that continues to change its colours as it goes along its journey. There are moments when its waves are azure like the sky and seem to be reaching for the heavens, and others when they are dark as the night and headed into a bottomless abyss. But its flow does not stop—it continues, without pause.
This eighteen-year-old girl has also gone through unimaginable highs and lows. A girl who had never set foot outside her village had not only lost her family but also had to bid farewell to her beloved land. She finds herself in an alien land where she is only known as a ‘migrant’ or ‘refugee’. An obstacle like this might have been enough to block the flow of her life-river. But did her life-river stop flowing? If one door is closed by an obstacle, another window opens somewhere. That’s a law of Nature. But using this window to get past various obstacles needs steadiness, courage, and wisdom.
Krishna felt that the sun that had been shooting red-hot arrows of troubles and calamities at her had now turned into an expansive cloud that was determined to protect her in its cool, caring embrace. The wounds of bereavement and exodus from the motherland were now receiving a healing touch. The fires raging inside her were being quenched by a gentle drizzle in her new home.
Within a few days, the turbulence in the life-river of Krishna and the Baba subsided and it returned to its normal ebb and flow. Satnam’s household and neighbours were determined to shower all the love, respect and empathy needed to douse the fires that were still simmering within them. Kesar Kaur was particularly careful about steering clear of anything that might appear patronizing or cause a slight. And her affection for Krishna? It was growing by the day and beginning to resemble the very essence of motherly love. Her promise to the Baba on Vaisakhi that she would treat Krishna like Munni’s older sister was becoming a reality.
Within days of moving to their home, Krishna busied herself with a variety of household chores that made sure she had no time to lament the troubles of the past. She’d get up early, finish the morning chores and breakfast to accompany the Baba to his dispensary in Atta Mandi where the Congress Committee had set up a clinic for him. She would return around noon or twelve thirty to prepare their lunch and after tidying up, she would find time for an activity that she really enjoyed. Satnam had managed to rescue the books from the Majith Mandi library and bring them home. This was nothing short of a treasure trove for Krishna who spent the afternoons reading these books in what had become the most precious part of her day. But she had also run into an unexpected problem. While there were quite a few books in Urdu and the Shahmukhi script that she knew so well, the majority were in Gurmukhi, which she could not read. She recognized that there were a number of excellent books in Gurmukhi and her inability to access this literature rankled.
She took up the matter with Satnam and soon started taking Gurmukhi lessons from him. It also became a matter of pride for Satnam that he had been able to bring a village girl around to learning Gurmukhi. As a result, he started spending an hour or so each afternoon to teach her and was impressed by her intelligence and ability to grasp details. He observed that he seldom had to repeat any part of a lesson; she would not only understand but also remember each nuance that he had underscored for her.
It didn’t take long before Satnam started to acknowledge a new-found respect for her intellect. She took pains to read all the library books that he recommended. But it wasn’t just about diligently reading the text. She was also prepared to have a sober and serious discussion on key principles or conclusions emerging from a particular book. Every now and then, she articulated some particularly profound insight that forced him to ponder, ‘Is my pupil becoming my teacher?’
Krishna was especially attracted to the idea of fraternity between Hindus and Muslims and often found a way of inserting this aspect into their discussions. Satnam, on his part, offered a ringing endorsement of the need for fraternity. He knew that his own views on the subject were undergoing a makeover, but he did his best to hide such changes from Krishna, suspecting that she would find them disagreeable.
Krishna, meanwhile, was quickly assimilating into the family that treated her as though she had been born in this house. Some girls from the neighbourhood would often come by to chat with her. Munni also became so attached to her that the two often appeared inseparable.
As days turned to weeks, Krishna felt that some of her deepest wounds had started to heal. Her eyes were also shedding their despondency, allowing her to laugh once again when she was in the company of other girls.
One reason was the relative ebb in the level of violence in the city over the last few days, allowing its tormented residents to see a ray of hope. It is hard to understand the precise reasons for this lull, but discerning observers opined that this was not a durable peace; its days were numbered. Both parties were quietly getting ready for the next round, and each group suspected the other of feverish planning.
Krishna’s arrival was a source of joy for every member of the household, particularly Kanhaiya, who thought he had found an eager and efficient assistant. It used to take him all morning and until 2 or 2.30 in the afternoon to finish the cooking and cleaning of dishes. If he was lucky, he got a little rest till about four in the afternoon. And then it was back to the grind, often till 10 or 11 in the night. But ever since Krishna had appeared on the scene, he found his burden reduced by half. Now, he could actually enjoy some leisure time.
Kesar Kaur wasn’t exactly happy with this turn of events and hated the sight of the servant sitting idle while Krishna was toiling away. She tried to tell her to take it easy but always got the same response, ‘Don’t worry about it, Maasi ji! I am a village girl, I grew up working like this. I get bored if I sit idle, and besides, work keeps my mind in check. Otherwise, it starts digging up unpleasant memories of the past and pulls me down…’ It took a while for Kesar Kaur to reconcile to the new reality, but she let the girl have her way.
During the first few days after they moved in, Kesar Kaur had also given in to the Baba’s insistence on cooking their own food in their quarters on the ground floor. But that was before the two families developed such strong bonds of affection that they were essentially woven into a single unit. That put an end to the notion of a separate kitchen and they started eating together without anyone mentioning the Baba’s initial comment.
There was also a perceptible change in the way the house looked. Kesar Kaur had never been particularly keen on domestic chores but to be fair, being overweight was a handicap, as was the fact that she was prone to frequent headaches. Her occasional contribution was cooking a dal or a sabzi when she was in the mood. As for Kanhaiya, who claimed to be toiling from sunrise to late night, the less said the better. He cleaned the bathroom, but layers of muck could be seen in every corner, along with bits and pieces of soap. He did the dishes, but the area seemed to have acquired a permanent coat of soot from the ash that he used on the brass utensils, and the rancid smell of rotting food and wet ash was palpable. The same thing happened when he’d mop the floors and then walk across the same area with dirty feet, making the place look even worse once his muddy footprints dried. Although he washed the clothes, they still always reeked of oil and washing soap. He’d fold the clothes and keep them in the cupboard, but Munni’s clothes would mysteriously make their way into Satnam’s shelf and Satnam’s into Kesar Kaur’s. Little wonder, then, that Kesar Kaur often blamed her headaches on the incessant scolding and yelling to which she had to resort in response to Kanhaiya’s habitual grubbiness and sloth. Krishna’s arrival hadn’t merely changed the appearance of the house, it had also removed half her headaches. The other half was fixed by the Baba’s medicine.
Krishna took the cleaning of the house upon herself—from the ground floor all the way to the top, taking Kanhaiya’s help where needed. And the results were soon visible.
The Baba, meanwhile, busied himself with his medicines and soon became the go-to person for the entire neighbourhood. He had set up a sizeable medicine chest at home, which allowed him to dispense medicines for common ailments like fever, cold, cough, earache, etc. Very soon, he was known around the area as Hakim ji and although the curfew kept his circle of patients limited to their own lane and the adjacent bylanes, it wasn’t unusual to see a congregation of patients waiting to see him in the morning before he headed for his dispensary. The Congress Committee had arranged curfew passes for the Baba and for Krishna as his compounder, enabling the two to move unhindered despite restrictions.
During the afternoons, the Baba would devote time to grinding his ingredients, mixing his medications, and preparing his pills and powders. By the time afternoon gave way to evening, Krishna would join him and together they’d make their way towards the dispensary, a crowd of patients from the refugee camps already there to greet them.
The interesting thing about the Baba was that he worked day and night for the Congress Committee, tended to scores of patients each day, but refused to take a penny by way of a salary or honorarium. Sharma ji had raised the matter on several occasions but always got the same response: when his mentor the maulvi taught him all he knew about traditional medicines, he had taken an oath that he would never use the skills of a hakim for personal gain. This was a solemn promise to his late guru and he couldn’t dream of breaking it. Any further discussion on the subject by Sharma ji would prompt the Baba to start extolling the virtues of his mentor, continuing until Sharma ji was forced to change the subject. He did, however, succeed in persuading the Baba to be reimbursed for the cost of his medicines.
This was also a matter that worried Satnam and his mother. If the Baba continued to spurn all financial compensation for his labour, how would he meet their essential expenses? Fortunately, a solution presented itself at just the right time.
Most schools in their neighbourhood had been closed ever since the outbreak of violence and the education of girls had taken the hardest hit. To address the problem, community leaders from three or four adjacent lanes in the area had joined hands to set up a temporary girls’ school that would remain unaffected by the frequent curfews. While most of the lanes and bylanes were inter-connected, in some cases the enterprising souls worked with owners to pull down a wall or two that was blocking access from a particular direction. The new passages created to facilitate access to the girls’ school also served a second purpose. They were used to create a perimeter with secure corridors in an area that was predominantly non-Muslim, offering a sense of security and a safe getaway if any of the lanes were to be attacked by a Muslim mob from an adjacent neighbourhood.
The strategy was quite effective and, very soon, other neighbourhoods also started to create similar perimeters and safe passage areas with a view to enlarging and connecting the non-Muslim areas within a secure zone. Bagh Wali Gali, for instance, opened access into lanes on either side in such a way that, along with its respective network of bylanes and alleyways, it placed Satnam’s Vadhao Wali Gali at the centre of the zone.
In Vadhao Wali Gali was a largish house that had been lying vacant for some time because its owners lived in some other country. With the help of the lane’s community leader the locks were opened so that it could serve as the girls’ school. Within days, some sixty or seventy girls from different classes had been admitted. Fortunately, the same area also provided some teachers for the school. The students were charged a modest fee, which was shared among the teachers according to their qualifications or special needs.
For some time, the school was unable to find an Urdu teacher and the girls who had already opted for the subject suffered. Krishna’s arrival was a godsend for them, as she was able to fill the Urdu teacher’s slot.
Krishna was quite proficient in Urdu and her mathematics wasn’t all that bad either, but her own education had been rather unstructured. As a result, teaching others was quite a challenge, especially during the first few days. But she got the hang of it after a week’s intense effort and soon found herself able to teach some of the specific courses that were required by the curriculum. Her efforts also yielded a modest allowance to meet miscellaneous expenses.
The Baba, too, was enjoying his new occupation. He didn’t have to make any extra effort towards building a reputation—word-of-mouth is truly the most powerful advertisement for a doctor or hakim. The extraordinary care he lavished on his patients was more than enough to make him a name and ensure that his dispensary was well-known around the area. While he treated common ailments with confidence, dispensing his own medicines, for more complicated cases, he had to dig deeper into the books and prescribe a specific treatment.
Morning or evening, the waiting room of his dispensary was teeming with patients from the moment curfew was relaxed. This also increased the pressure on the Baba to accept some form of compensation. He was, after all, a refugee himself and his financial circumstances were no secret. But the Baba was implacable on this issue. He wasn’t going to accept a penny and that was that. It was left to Satnam to come up with an innovative solution that would address the problem without compromising the Baba’s principles. He brought a small chest with a hole on top and hung it on a wall in the dispensary. Voluntary contributions could now be dropped into the chest and he prevailed upon the Baba to accept this arrangement.
The Baba’s name and fame were growing rapidly but a change was observed in Satnam’s own demeanour. He had always been a sensitive but cheerful soul and could often be heard humming a song or two, but the family noticed that over the last few days, he had become somewhat aloof. He didn’t speak much with anyone and appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. This was becoming a matter of concern for the entire family.