THE UPROAR IN the street had grown to a crescendo. Bullets going off somewhere close by only made matters worse. The battleground, it seemed, had arrived right outside the Chaudhry’s house where his men were taking a stand against the intruders.
Boote Shah, Aziz and Naseem stood with their ears pressed against the gate as they tried to fathom the scene unfolding outside the house.
After a while, the noise subsided by a few decibels and they could hear the Chaudhry pleading, ‘Please believe me when I say that there are no Khatris in my house. There’s just our two girls and my daughter-in-law. Why would I be hiding kafirs in my house? To invite my own death?’
‘In that case, swear by the Quran,’ ordered a gruff voice.
The Chaudhry swore by the Quran that there was no Hindu or Sikh in his house, but some of the assailants remained sceptical. ‘Listen, you bloody Chaudhry! If we find a single kafir in your house, I’ll put a bullet from this gun straight through your head. Got it, you bastard?’
‘Subedar sahib! You can search my house if you want. If you find a single imposter inside, may I face eternal damnation,’ the Chaudhry again implored them in an abject tone.
The Chaudhry’s second vow was even more potent than his first one and it seemed to have the desired effect. As the army man’s footsteps receded, the three miserable souls hiding behind the gate heaved a sigh of relief. The imminent danger had ebbed away.
Another thirty or forty minutes had elapsed. The ruckus had largely receded, barring the occasional thud of heavy boots in the street or the intermittent noise of axe crashing against a reluctant door. Inside the house, the blanched faces of the occupants were getting back some of their colour. One of them, though, seemed to be completely unaffected by the ordeal. Baba Bhana sat serenely, eyes shut as he sang the verses of ‘O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across…’ He was in the middle of the fifth verse when someone was heard knocking on the gate as he called in a hushed tone, ‘Babaji! Babaji!’
Recognizing the Chaudhry’s voice, Aziz rushed to open the gate.
The Chaudhry was accompanied by three or four men as he entered the courtyard, his face a picture of fear and dismay. Aziz closed the gate and bolted it shut.
Skipping the customary greetings as he entered the storeroom, he started to speak in a voice that appeared to collapse under the burden of regret. ‘Babaji! We made all those tall promises to you but we find ourselves utterly helpless. I don’t even know who to blame. It was a bunch of youngsters from our own village who spilled the beans. The only way now to save your lives is to get you out of here as quickly as possible. That mob is thirsty for your blood and could be heading back this way any minute. Hurry up! Get up and leave through this window. I’ve positioned a few of our boys outside to help. They will take you to safety as soon as they see an opportunity. But move quickly, for God’s sake. There isn’t a moment to lose.’
His words unleashed a flurry of activity. Naseem and Rukman set about trying to sort their baggage. Sugara was already in a bad shape. The Chaudhry’s frantic message had pushed her to the edge. Her breathing became laboured and the Baba could see that her pulse was slipping.
The Chaudhry and his companions had no idea that Aziz and Naseem were prepared to leave their mother on the deathbed and accompany the Baba and his family. He tried once again to prevail upon the siblings to stay back even though he knew it was a lost cause. ‘Naseem, my child! I don’t think it’s right to leave your mother in this condition. I suggest that you…’
With tears streaming down her face, Naseem replied quietly, ‘Chachaji! Our mother is now in Allah’s safe hands and in yours too.’
And that was that. The Chaudhry knew that it was pointless to pursue the subject any more. The Baba tried his bit too, but both brother and sister remained implacable in their resolve.
Once again, the street outside was reverberating with the echo of gunshots and the irregular beat of footsteps. Aziz and Rukman had barely managed to pick up a couple of pouches, thinking that they would carry as much as they could manage. Voices could be heard just outside; fists banging on the gate, demanding it be opened. The occupants of the little storeroom picked up what they could and headed for the window. Before leaving, Naseem, Aziz and Boote Shah bowed before the barely conscious Sugara and touched her feet. The Baba also extended a trembling hand to caress her forehead. With that briefest of goodbyes, they were in the fields behind the Chaudhry’s house.
A mild drizzle had started and the cool March breeze was gathering strength as they huddled in the open. The Baba, who could barely see in the best of times was blind as a bat in the darkness. He froze where he stood, staying motionless until Boote Shah reached out and grasped one arm while Naseem took the other one. Aziz was looking after Rukman, who appeared paralysed by the scale of the unfolding calamity. She latched herself to Aziz’s arm and followed his directions.
Naseem, meanwhile, had undergone something of a metamorphosis. Inside the house, the atmosphere of fear had reduced her to a lifeless zombie. But as soon as they stepped out of the window, she donned a different mantle—alert, confident and ready to confront any challenge. Gone was the diffidence, the enervating uncertainty of the last few days; this was a new Naseem, one who had found her true purpose. She must make sure that the Baba and his family reach a safe destination and if losing her own life was part of the deal, she would consider it a real bargain.
The rear side of the Chaudhry’s house opened into a large, open field that gently sloped towards the river. The Chaudhry’s farms and his well stood a short distance from the river bank. As ever, the Soan continued to flow gently into the night.
It must have been around eleven, or maybe a bit later than that. As their eyes got used to the dark, they peered into the distance. A spiderweb of clouds, dark and light, was covering the sky. A sliver of moonlight fought its way through a gap in the clouds, only to disappear once the breeze had nudged them closer to each other. That sliver, though, was enough to reveal the shimmering Soan as it curved its way around the Chaudhry’s lands.
‘Bhaaji! I don’t see anyone at all. Do you?’ Naseem asked Boota after allowing her eyes to sweep over the horizon.
Boota had barely opened his mouth to respond when a lantern appeared to the left of the field, and they heard a whispered call, ‘Boote Shah! This way! Go down to the Soan and walk along its bank towards the well.’
They followed the instructions and started to walk towards the river without uttering a word. They were carrying just the small pouches with which they had jumped out of the window.
They had barely walked a couple of hundred yards when they heard the sound of incessant hammering on the Chaudhry’s gate. Doors and windows were being broken and the voices coming from the direction of the house made it clear that the Chaudhry was being punished for providing refuge to the Baba and his family.
Craning their heads every couple of minutes to look pensively towards the house, they sighed and continued their unsteady march into the night.
As they approached the Chaudhry’s well, they paused to take in the scene unfolding at the abode they had just left. The noise had risen to a crescendo and it was now accompanied by a bright yellow flame that was rapidly making its way into the sky. It had to be Chaudhry Fazal Karim’s house, they mused. Couldn’t be any other!
As they approached the grove adjoining the well, they saw a group of nine or ten young men standing beneath a cluster of jujube trees. They were armed with sturdy staffs as they waited impatiently for the Baba and his group to arrive.
‘Boote Shah!’ the Chaudhry’s son Fatta stepped forward and spoke. ‘You’ll have to walk faster than that if you value your lives. The subedar and his mob know everything. It’s our own lads who have stabbed us in the back. They have also learned that we planned your escape through the window at the rear of our house. That’s why they got so angry and set our place on fire. But that’s not so important. A house can always be rebuilt. Before that, we must find a way to get you to safety because their men have fanned out in all directions to hunt you down.’
His stark words sent a shiver down their spines. Boote Shah and Aziz wore a worried look on their faces. But not the Baba, nor Naseem. Both appeared unperturbed by the turn of events.
The Baba had been quietly chanting his favourite verses. He interrupted his own rhythm for a moment to ask Fatta, ‘And what happened to the ones hiding in the gurudwara?’
Fatta’s response left them all in a state of abject dismay. ‘What can I tell you about those poor souls, Babaji! Our boys did their best to save them but these scoundrels were hell bent on wreaking havoc. Two of our men fell to their bullets and the others had to flee to save their own lives. You can’t fight bullets with courage alone, can you?
‘You remember the seven or eight young girls in the gurudwara? Gurmukh Singh Sahni from Dheri village prepared a potent brew of opium and fed it to all of them. By the time the mob arrived, some had already met their Master while the others were taking their last few breaths. The men were literally butchered to death inside the gurudwara. Not one of them survived.’
They reeled under the impact of Fatta’s sombre account, forcing their reluctant legs to follow the boys into a spacious cowshed that stood just beyond the grove. Eight or nine cows were tied to one side and a largish cot was parked adjacent to the mud wall on the other side. They sat on the edge of the cot, the Baba perching himself on one corner and continuing with his barely audible recitation of ‘O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across…’
Fatta gave a long look towards Naseem, mouth ajar as he observed her ethereal composure. This was just not real, he told himself. Finally turning towards her, he counselled, ‘Seema, my sister! If you had insisted that Aziz accompany Babaji, I would have understood. But you should have thought about your own responsibility towards your mother. The poor lady is counting her final moments and you…’
‘Fatta my brother! Please don’t stop me from going because I’m not going to change my mind,’ Naseem interrupted him gently. ‘You know fully well that Bapuji stood by the promises he made to my father even after my father died. We have also made a similar promise. We are not going to be separated from Bapuji for the rest of his life. As far as my mother is concerned, I know that she is at the end of her life. By the time you guys get back home, she may already have left us forever. Your family has already done so much for us and I am sure you will cover her with a proper shroud and place her in Allah’s mercy. I will pray that I meet her again on Judgement Day, God willing. And if not…’ Naseem’s voice choked as she spoke. Fatta looked away to hide his own emotion and never raised the subject again.