IF A TRAVELLER runs into an absolute dead end on his path, he finds himself at a loss and struggles to find a way out. But the position of a traveller who finds himself at a crossroads and has no idea which way to go is worse.
Satnam found himself in the latter position as his life’s journey arrived at this unexpected junction. He was blessed with a calm disposition and had always been a strong advocate of non-violence. How could he turn around and join old friends who were now baying for the blood of other humans? And yet, how could he ignore the violence being inflicted on his community day in and day out? Was he being pushed towards a path that he had always considered abhorrent? The very thought sent a chill down his spine. But how could he shut out the relentless din that was assaulting his eardrums from every direction: ‘These Muslims are out to destroy our religion, our culture, our traditions and our customs. It’s high time that we picked up the sword to face down these thugs. Because if we don’t act now, we’ll see the Sikh faith being erased from this land, or we’ll be condemned to the kind of servitude that the British meted out in the east after the uprising of 1857.’
Comments like these were on the lips of everyone he met and, perhaps, it was natural that he found himself wavering. A thought swirled endlessly in his mind: Let’s grant that public opinion is fickle like the monsoon flood, rising as rapidly as it falls. But what about our leaders, men of wisdom and experience? Had they also lost their minds, because they were the ones egging and inciting the public on this path. Or should I be looking within? Maybe it’s my own notions of religious fraternity and non-violence that have become outdated?
There’s this funny thing about the human mind—it starts producing an abundance of arguments to justify whatever course of action it has decided, it doesn’t matter if the decision was taken subconsciously or after due deliberation. Take the case of a burglar who sets out to rob a house. He notices that it happens to be a moonless night, the watchman is absent and even the dog is sleeping. That’s enough for him to conclude that all the stars have aligned for him tonight. As though he is on some noble mission that the gods have personally blessed!
Arguments of a similar sort were beginning to form in Satnam’s mind. He felt a powerful, invisible hand steer him towards a path that he had always spurned. And if he needed evidence about the invisible hand, he found it in the presence of the two refugees in his own home. A finger from that invisible hand would draw his attention to their traumatic past and goad him, ‘Satnam! The fact is that you are a coward! You simply don’t have the courage to teach a lesson to the brutes who inflicted such violence on this innocent girl and her aged companion.’
Each time he tried to look within himself, Krishna’s image would materialize in every corner. But it wasn’t just his mind, his body and soul also appeared to be getting immersed in the aura of Krishna.
Did he ever think that an unknown girl from a remote village could begin to rule over his heart in this fashion? Not once had the thought crossed his mind when he and his mother had decided to offer them refuge. And there was no way he would ever confess his feelings to Krishna. If anything, he was appalled at his own emotions. How could he become so cheap and selfish? And wouldn’t Krishna absolutely despise him if she got an inkling of his twisted thinking? She had sought refuge in their home so that she could be safe from lurking predators. Little did she know that the young man in their own home was writing a romantic manifesto. What would she make of it?
He desperately needed something else to occupy his mind. The solution came in the form of a path that was new, dangerous, even abhorrent—the path of retribution and violence. He remembered a quote he had read some time back, ‘Love doesn’t ask you to conquer, it inspires you to sacrifice.’ The words gave him a new sense of purpose, to take a direction he had pondered but never taken a decisive view on ever since that secret meeting in his room the day after Vaisakhi. During the meeting, he had vaguely acquiesced to his friends’ proposals, but without any sense of conviction. But today was different, he told himself. I will wreak vengeance on the Muslims; I will teach a lesson to those who have rendered Krishna and thousands of other innocent girls homeless. I will not shy away from killing them.
He had now arrived at the difficult decision and had even started conspiring with his friends to formulate a programme of action. But his mind remained restless. If anything, he felt even more unsettled, more on edge than before.
Part of the reason lay in the persona he had presented to Krishna. During conversations that accompanied her lessons in Gurmukhi, Satnam had always projected himself as the Messenger of Peace, as the unwavering standard bearer for religious amity. He sensed that much of Krishna’s respect for him stemmed from how she viewed these attributes.
How will Krishna feel if she learns about the conspiracies we’re hatching? How will she view me after that? Thoughts like these continued to churn incessantly in his head, often leaving him fatigued and restive. More than once, he thought of going across to Krishna and getting it off his chest. But he knew that she was a much more resolute believer in the mission of peace and amity. How would she react when she heard these new arguments from him? She would detest him, of course.
He avoided all conversation and his face wore a permanently harried expression as he wrestled with his inner demons.