IT WAS THE ninth of March, the twenty-fourth day of Phagun. The two trucks had left and Baba Bhana’s family, along with the remaining contingent of refugees, spent the day waiting for the army to bring the other truck. The clock was ticking and every hour brought in alarming reports that trouble was lurking round the corner. One said that a large mob had gathered at Bhunder and was preparing to move towards Chakri. Another said that the Muslims of Kamdiala were hand in glove with some army personnel and were using them as a cover to plunder village after village. A third report was even more worrisome. It suggested that army man Subedar Rustam Khan, a man who belonged to Chakri but now lived in Rawalpindi had rustled up a posse of armed gangsters from the city. They had allegedly commandeered a jeep and a lorry and were heading in their direction.
While none of the reports was confirmed, each appeared more frightening than the other. The Baba worked with the Chaudhry to ensure that sufficient food and water was stocked inside the gurudwara before its massive gates were firmly bolted from within. Within the gurudwara, the locals made an earnest effort to hide the refugees in areas that would be hard to reach. The fact that they still had a sizeable group of young women amongst the refugees was an additional headache.
A very different scene was unfolding at the Chaudhry’s house. The argument that had started even before the Baba and his family moved in was now gathering steam. Aziz remained insistent that all three members of the Baba’s family must be escorted to Rawalpindi under the cover of night and that they should leave without further delay. But the Chaudhry and his family saw it as a foolhardy proposition. First, they still remained hopeful that a rescue by the army was imminent. And second, they were openly sceptical that the Baba could make such an arduous journey during the night, considering that he was near-sighted at the best of times. Making the journey during the day was ruled out because he was quite well-known in these parts and would be an easy target. Using a horse to carry him was also ruled out because the hills surrounding the village were quite rocky and the sound of hooves would travel for miles.
This wasn’t the only argument that they were trying to resolve. There was a smaller debate that was taking place within the larger discussion. Naseem was absolutely unrelenting in her decision to stay with the Baba until he and his family reached a secure destination. She acknowledged that her own mother was on the deathbed and may not live very long, but insisted that this would have no effect on her resolve to stay by the Baba’s side. The balance of that particular debate tilted when Aziz took his sister’s side and stated that neither of them would countenance leaving the Baba.
After much discussion, it was agreed that they would wait another day or so to see if the army arrived with its lorries. If that didn’t happen, they would go along with Aziz’s plan.
Naseem, meanwhile, had mentally prepared herself that she would stay with the Baba’s family wherever fate took them. The decision wasn’t taken out of any sense of obligation, nor a desire to repay a debt that she and her family owed to the Baba. She had this feeling in her bones that she wouldn’t be able to survive any kind of separation from her foster father. She also knew that the Baba and his family would have to leave the village sooner rather than later. Under the prevailing uncertainties, who knew where they would eventually land up.
Knowing that the inevitable was around the corner, Naseem started to pack the odds and ends that she needed for their journey. Her meagre personal effects had already been sorted but she felt that some unseen shackles were still trying to tie her down to her home. Memories of Yusuf had returned in a flood that threatened to carry her in its flow. Her mind kept hovering around the thought, ‘I haven’t heard from him for so long. Could he really have gone down the path he’d hinted at in his letter? Could he really have taken his own life? Can I believe that he has simply vanished from this earth? But if that were the case, why does my heart keep saying that he is very much alive? Could that be true? That he is still alive…?’
She was still engrossed in these thoughts when her mind stumbled upon a plan. She wasn’t sure if it was far-sighted or foolish but there was a distinct spring in her step as she walked across to the room at the rear of the house and collected some paper, a pen and an inkpot. Sitting quietly in a corner, she started to write a letter. Once she had finished, she folded another paper into a small envelope, pushed the letter into it and sealed it with some glue.
She had quite a few friends in the village but Jeeva was the one she could trust the most. The two girls had often shared their deepest secrets and Jeeva also happened to be a cousin of Yusuf’s. Naseem walked to Jeeva’s place and spoke in a voice that conveyed the depths of her anguish. ‘Jeeva! I’ll be leaving this place soon. If I am lucky, I will come back some day but who knows? But there is something important that you must do for me. If Yusuf ever returns to this place, you must give him my letter. And you must swear on Allah that nobody else will ever get to know about this matter.’
Having assigned this responsibility to Jeeva, Naseem felt that a huge burden had been lifted from her heart.
And what about the Baba? He seemed to have entered a state where he was neither angry nor sad. The only visible change was the fact that he could often be heard singing these verses from the Sikh scriptures:
O Savior Lord, save us and take us across.
We fall at the Guru’s feet, our work is done
You are merciful, keep You in our minds we must.
Or he would switch to these verses from Ramcharitmanas:
Keep chanting the name of Lord Ram
Keep patience in your heart
He Himself will resolve your tasks
He, Lord Ramchandra, Raghubir.
He had the calm demeanour of one who has elevated himself above the affairs of this world and entered some entirely different realm. But despite this impression of detachment from his surroundings, the Baba was observed doing something that seemed completely out of character. He had taken out an ancient dagger, its sheath almost threadbare at places. And he spent hours working on sharpening it with a rock before placing it back in its sheath and tucking it into the folds of his dhoti.
The sun was setting on another tension-filled day. Patrolling in the Khatri neighbourhoods was stepped up a notch as night fell, with a total of sixty or seventy Muslim men making the rounds between the gurudwara and the Khatri houses.
That night also passed peacefully and all the rumours started to appear baseless. There was a feeling in the village that maybe, just maybe, the worst was over and they could breathe a little easier. The doors of the gurudwara, however, remained firmly closed.
Next morning, a couple of strangers were seen ambling through the village. There was something suspicious about the way they looked around as they walked. Upon being accosted by the wary residents, they gave some roundabout answers which didn’t quite add up. Their interlocutors were left with the nagging doubt that something was seriously amiss. The village would continue to remain on guard, it was decided.
That evening, just as the sun was getting ready to disappear behind the horizon, clouds of dust could be seen billowing from the nearby village of Holiaan. Hearts pounding in their chests, people ran up to their rooftops to get a glimpse of the heart-rending sight. Some people were reporting that it was a gang led by Munshi Abdul Rahman which was wreaking havoc in the Khatri areas of Holiaan.
Naseem felt her heart sinking as she tended to her ailing mother. It seemed that some invisible force was holding her up, preventing her from collapsing in a heap. She held the verses of the old fakir in her heart and the words seemed to come straight from her soul as she hummed,
Let Allah o Allah be your song
And leave those sighs so painful and long…
By nightfall, every passing moment seemed to add to the trepidation of the group that had taken refuge in the Chaudhry’s home. The small family of Khatris felt like they were on a tiny raft, trying to stay afloat in a vast ocean of death, aware that a single powerful wave would spell their doom.
A voice outside the Chaudhury’s house shouted, ‘Look! You can see smoke rising from Dheri village … Did you hear those gunshots from somewhere in the west?’
Boote Shah instinctively picked up his staff for protection as he headed for the rooftop. Aziz had taken an old axe, sharpened its blade and fixed it on a long staff to fashion a lethal-looking weapon. Naseem’s face was a picture of despair as she paced up and down with no apparent purpose. Her lips looked colourless and dry as a twig. Maybe the moisture had all flown towards her eyes, from where it was dripping relentlessly. Her throat felt so parched that she found it hard to utter a sound.
The Baba seemed to be the only one who sat unperturbed, a light blanket draped around his shoulders as he sang with full concentration:
O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across
We fall at the Guru’s feet, our work is done
You are merciful, keep You in our minds we must.
A cloud of fear hung over the house. Sugara, lying in the bed next to the Baba, turned her head in his direction every few minutes to ask in a barely audible voice, ‘Bhaiyyaji! What’s going to happen?’ And the Baba would reply with complete equanimity, ‘Turn your thoughts towards the Lord, my dear! Set these worries aside.’ Having admonished her gently, he would resume, ‘O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across…’
That night appeared to stretch endlessly, every passing hour seemingly bringing some unseen danger closer to their doorstep. The Chaudhry, along with a dozen or so other large hearted Muslim men, had picked up sturdy six-feet-long staffs and taken it upon themselves to monitor the Khatri neighbourhood. After every couple of rounds, they would come back to the Baba and assure his family, ‘Stay strong, everyone. Don’t lose heart! They will have to kill us before they can harm a hair on your heads.’
An eerie silence had descended over the village. Everyone seemed to be wide awake, ears straining to pick up any unusual sound. The six men who were trying to sleep inside the Chaudhry’s house would spring up at the slightest noise, even though they knew that the Chaudhry and his team were patrolling outside.
Aziz had deliberately left the gate of the courtyard ajar so that he could maintain contact with some of the young men who were making the rounds and pick up the latest reports from them. The occupants of the room adjoining the courtyard sat like statues on their respective beds, silent and motionless. Aziz and Boote Shah, armed with their axe and staff, sat on the floor along with a couple of other young men. Aziz would get up every few minutes urging, ‘Bapuji, why don’t you sleep for a while … Seema, you are going to tire yourself if you keep sitting in this position … Ma, why don’t you take a short nap. You’ll feel better … Rukman bhabi, why are you looking so pensive? Allah will look after everyone…’ But sleep isn’t something one can always control. Especially under such circumstances!
The Baba, meanwhile, kept up his chanting of ‘O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across’, pausing only to turn around and rouse the others in the room. ‘Sugara dear! Turn your thoughts towards Allah, will you?’ After a while, ‘Rukman my child, let the hymns of Lord Ram flow.’ Naseem, though, was much too restless to pay any heed. The slightest sound from outside and she would leap out of her bed. Any voices near the door and she was out in a flash, standing beside Boote Shah or Aziz to pick up the latest.
It must have been around ten at night. Aziz, Boote Shah and their compatriots, weapons in hand, were maintaining their vigil in the courtyard when they heard a voice outside their door, ‘Some kind of noise coming from the east … Did you pick up something too, Karimdeena? Or am I just imagining stuff?’
Aziz and Boote Shah rushed out to join them, cupping their palms around their ears to get a better sense. Was it just the buzzing of a bee in the night sky or were they really hearing something?
‘Let’s go upstairs and try to listen carefully,’ one suggested. They were back in the courtyard and soon clambering up the stairs to the roof to take a look. ‘What’s going on?’ Naseem asked Aziz and followed him up the stairs without waiting for a response.
‘It’s nothing,’ Aziz snapped. ‘Go back inside the house and stay put, will you?’ Naseem continued right behind him.
From their vantage point on the roof, muffled sounds could clearly be heard rising from the east. Hearts thumping in their chests, they looked at each other.
‘Look that way, Bhaaji,’ Naseem placed her hand on Boote Shah’s shoulder and asked him to follow the direction of her finger. ‘There, behind the peepul tree. Can’t you see that flicker of light?’
Everyone turned their attention towards the peepul. ‘You are right. There does appear to be a light there,’ Boote Shah murmured.
‘Of course, it’s there, Boote Shah,’ Karimdeen declared. ‘Can’t you see that flickering light move?’
‘There’s two of them, Bhaaji,’ Naseem interjected. ‘They look like flaming mashaals to me. Look, there’s a third one on the other side too.’
‘Absolutely! That’s what they are. Mashaals,’ Aziz concurred. The sounds in the distance were becoming more distinct as he spoke.
‘The horde is coming towards us. Let’s move!’ Boota exclaimed.
‘Aziz!’ Karimdeen said anxiously as they returned to the courtyard. ‘The two of you should stay here and make sure the folks inside stay safe. We’ll go and find out what we can,’ he said and hastened towards the street with his friends.
Naseem was going to step into the room when Aziz grabbed her arm and whispered, ‘Don’t create a panic when you go in, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she responded as she went in.
Boote Shah held on to his staff while Aziz tended to his makeshift battle axe as they waited.
‘Bhaaji,’ Aziz panted, ‘let’s ask our folks to leave this room and go to the storeroom at the back. Our trunks and other stuff is also lying there.’
‘What’s the rush? Let them rest,’ Boote Shah replied with the assurance of one who doesn’t see any imminent danger. Aziz was still pondering his response when they heard someone outside their gate shout the warning, ‘The horde is headed this way! Beware! It’s a huge mob! Let’s all get out to guard the Khatri houses. Be ready to die if you have to. But make sure the Khatri area is not touched.’
Naseem came out running, drawing a sharp rebuke from Boote Shah. ‘Where do you think you are going like this? Go and sit inside like you’ve been told.’ Naseem beat a hasty retreat, with Boote Shah calling after her, ‘Tell everyone to head towards the storeroom at the back.’ Seeing the logic behind Aziz’s plan, he called out to her again, ‘And open the window at the rear of the store room. Just in case we have to use it to escape the horde.’
‘Okay Bhaaji,’ Naseem felt a numbness creeping up her legs as she went indoors.
The menacing noise of the mob, punctuated by intermittent sounds of gunfire, was now drawing closer.
‘Wait here for a bit,’ Boote Shah told Aziz, ‘I am going upstairs to take another look.’
‘Keep your head below the parapet,’ Aziz called after him. ‘I can hear gunfire.’
The moment he saw Boote Shah hurrying down the steps, he knew that the final alarm bell had rung.
‘It’s a huge mob, Aziz,’ Boote Shah muttered.
‘Don’t you worry, Bhaaji. Let them come this way and we’ll deal with them,’ Aziz mustered all his bravado to cloak his own anxiety.
‘The mob’s almost here, folks. Beware!’ came the warning from an unknown voice in the street. ‘Boote Shah! Make sure the gate is bolted from inside,’ another voice advised. ‘Rest assured the whole village is ready to protect you. With Allah’s mercy, not a hair on your heads will be harmed.’
Aziz hurried to close the gate that had been ajar all evening.
Barely ten minutes had passed when they heard a growing commotion. The thud of footsteps. People yelling. Gunshots. A pandemonium had suddenly erupted across the village. The darkness of the night added to the chaos. Nobody was sure what was going on. But some voices could now be heard saying that the horde had reached the village and was going about its vile enterprise of ransacking Khatri houses and setting them on fire.
The two men stood behind the door, ears straining to pick up any update from the street. The vigil was in vain and they heard nothing.
A gun went off nearby, five or six bullets fired in quick succession. Aziz told Boote Shah to wait by the door while he went inside to check things out. Naseem was standing at the entrance while the others had made their way to the storeroom. Sugara was also lying on a cot in the storeroom, barely conscious as the Baba held her hand to gauge her pulse.
‘Are you waiting here to get yourself dishonoured?’ Aziz snapped at Naseem. ‘Go inside and wait with the others.’
Aziz joined his companion to guard the gate.
The noise coming from the direction of the Khatri neighbourhood had increased. The sound of axes crashing into doors and breaking them down was becoming intolerable. Both were convinced that the blows were directed at the sturdy gate of Baba Bhana’s haveli, or perhaps of Gurudwara Gulab Singh itself.