OVER HALF THE night had passed. The thick cover of clouds meant that the trek had begun in pitch-dark conditions. A light drizzle had resumed and there was a distinct nip in the air.
The group of five refugees and their dozen-strong posse of guardians left Chakri and took the road towards Talagang. One of the boys was assigned the responsibility of staying ahead of the group to make sure it was safe, while another maintained a similar vigil behind them, eyes and ears open for anything unusual that might be a cause for alarm. They knew the mobs could be spotted from the light of their flaming mashaals, and every few minutes they would stop to reassure everyone that it was safe to continue.
The Baba was clearly struggling to keep pace. His poor eyesight meant that he kept stumbling on the uneven ground. And the biting cold had seeped into his legs to make every step an ordeal.
Naseem had handed her pouch to one of the boys and was walking alongside the Baba, his hand resting on her shoulder. Aziz had taken up the other side to prop him up and propel him forward.
They had walked about a mile and a half when Fatta noticed that the Baba’s condition was not getting any better. He handed the large trunk to one of the other boys, turned around to sweep the old man off his feet and carry him on his shoulders.
The caravan picked up pace, walking silently to make sure they didn’t attract any unwanted attention.
They walked another mile or so when the young fellow at the rear of their group asked them to pause. He thought he had seen a flash of light some distance behind them. A wave of alarm swept through their band. Could it be the same mob that had ransacked Chakri, Dheri and Kohli villages and was now heading in their direction?
A few large boulders could be seen dotting the landscape a short distance from the road. They decided it was best to leave the road and hide behind the boulders until the danger had passed.
The boulders closest to them were at an angle that afforded them a clear view of the road while allowing them to stay out of sight. As the subdued voices and sounds of the footsteps drew closer, they guessed that there were at least twenty or twenty-five members in the approaching party. Coming up the winding road, it looked like a formless shadow that was slowly lurching in their direction. They certainly didn’t have the bearings of a mob. For one thing, no one in the party was carrying a mashaal. Nor were they making the kind of racket that is typical of a mob going on a rampage. Their voices were subdued as they trudged slowly towards the boulders.
Once the new party could be seen clearly, there was no longer any doubt that they, too, were refugees fleeing their homes in search of safety. They had come parallel to one of the boulders when a male voice could be heard reassuring a lady, ‘Don’t you worry, Maasi, if anyone even looks disrespectfully at you, he will have to face our wrath.’ A timorous voice replied, ‘I could have sworn that there was a group ahead of us. God knows where they have disappeared?’
‘Well! You don’t have to be scared of us,’ said one of Fatta’s boys as they emerged from their hideout. Their sudden appearance created a frenzy in the new group, many of whom were women. Fatta had to quickly step forward and pacify them by explaining that they were all in the same boat.
The new group was much larger than their own. It had maybe ten or eleven women and young girls, another ten children, five or six men and about a dozen well-armed Muslim men who had formed a protective cordon around them.
Very soon, it was seen that some members of the two groups knew each other while others had common acquaintances. The new group was coming from Sihala and their Muslim protectors, like the ones from Chakri, had sworn to take them to safety even if it meant risking their own lives.
The two groups merged and started to move together. Having fellow travellers on the trek made the journey a little bit easier. There was also the feeling that the more dangerous section of the march lay behind them. And between their groups, they now had the protective umbrella of about twenty-five strapping young men that could hold their own against a mob.
The clouds made the night sky darker than usual. The expanded caravan moved silently along the road, its escorts vigilant as ever. The scout in front made sure that the path ahead was clear, while the one at the rear kept a watchful eye behind them. Others monitored the flanks with the same alertness.
The Baba was finding himself increasingly uncomfortable on Fatta’s back. He could see that Fatta was tiring and his feet stumbling every now and then on the potholes and bumps in the road. His mind went back to that evening about two and a half months back. On a similarly dark night, Fatta had picked him up from his place and carried him on his back all the way to the Lohri celebration. Oh, the way they had swung him around with such unbridled joy! The laughter, the cheering and the claps resonated in his ears. What a difference between that ride and this, like the difference between life and death itself!
The Baba ordered Fatta to set him down and silently swore that this was the last time that he would allow another human being to carry him. Several members of the group offered to take turns in carrying him, but he stood firm. He placed his hand on Naseem’s shoulder and resumed the journey as he had begun—faltering occasionally but determined to carry on.
The new group was hampered by the fact that it had a relatively larger number of women and children who kept falling behind and needed constant encouragement from a couple of the young men. ‘Come on! Be brave! Yes, that’s the way!’ they chirped.
It didn’t take long before the caravan split into two groups, the men walking on one side while the women formed their own group, exchanging mutual tales of woe. Naseem found herself in the middle, providing support to the Baba even as she tried to pay attention to the chatter of a young lady who looked quite incongruous in formal wedding clothes. The girl was saying, ‘It was the wedding of my maternal uncle’s son. We were a group of about twenty—eight or nine women, five men and a few kids—who had gone from Kamdhiala to Sihala for the wedding. But a mob of Muslims attacked the village in the middle of the night. A lot of my relatives from my mother’s side of the family were killed. Their houses were looted and set on fire. We would have been killed too, but for the kindness of some of Sihala’s Muslim families who gambled on their own lives to take us to safety.’
‘Our real worry was the gold and jewellery we had on,’ the young lady continued. ‘You know how it is with us Khatris. Weddings are the time to show off all our precious stuff. Even those who don’t have much feel compelled to borrow from others to deck up for a wedding. I think between our group, we must be wearing at least three to four hundred tolas of gold, just to give you an idea.’
Similar conversations were taking place between other members of the caravan as clusters of two or three walked abreast. The topics were the same—the sheer horror that they had witnessed, the brutal murder of so many friends, neighbours and relatives, the wanton looting and arson, the vicious dishonour and abduction of women—each element was described in graphic detail. And then there were the questions about an uncertain future. Where were they heading? Where would they end up? Would they be able to hang onto their meagre savings to start a new life, somehow, somewhere?
The defenders of the two groups had also blended into each other, giving the impression of a fairly sizeable posse that was now escorting the refugees.
The road was winding along an undulating terrain, every new turn revealing huge boulders interspersed with caves that burrowed deep into the belly of the earth. Coming out of a dip in the road, they could see a substantial mountain rise high into the dark sky. It must have been about a mile and a half away and as they got closer to its base, they could see the distinctive karira and phulahi trees make appearances with each flash of lightning.
The women and the smaller children were close to exhaustion and it was felt that the Sarnihali cave situated to the right of the mountain would be the ideal place to rest for a while. The cave was known to extend for miles into the mountain and had several fresh-water springs for sustenance. It also had an abundance of nooks and crannies and if a fellow chose to hide in one of these, it would be hard to find him even in the middle of a bright day. On a dark night like this, he would be well-nigh invisible.
The mountain was less than half a mile away when the drizzle picked up pace. The clouds descended low into the hills and cast a dark shadow around them. The raindrops became fatter and the drizzle itself grew into a proper rain that was starting to drench the travellers.
The weary feet quickened their pace. Even the ones who were pleading complete exhaustion could be seen attempting to make a dash for the safety of the cave. But they were handicapped by the fact that most of the refugees were carrying a bag, a package or a pouch that prevented them from making rapid progress. The young escorts relieved them of the burden and the group was soon running helter-skelter in the direction of the cave.
The rain again slowed to a light drizzle but their clothes were wet and the chill of the night air had their teeth chattering. The women and children were in bad shape and the Baba wasn’t much better.
A voice from their midst suddenly froze everyone in their tracks. ‘Can you see those guys walking along the ridge ahead? Who could they be?’
All eyes turned towards the ridge as they tried to follow the direction of his arm. The dark shadow of the mountain made it hard to be sure. Could their eyes be playing tricks with them? They waited impatiently for a flash of lightning to clear the picture.
It didn’t take long before the hillside was lit up by another flash. It confirmed the alarm sounded by their observant companion. A long and somewhat ragged line of men could be seen snaking its way down the hill towards them.
Another voice announced, ‘It looks like a huge mob of bandits.’
A collective shudder went through the bedraggled group. The young escorts tried their best to reassure them but to no avail. The sinking spirits of the refugees were also bringing down the morale of their defenders. No doubt, the teams of escorts from the two villages had set out with the clear intention of taking their wards to safety. But there is a big difference between the desire to save someone’s life and laying down one’s life for that cause. Rare is the man who is ready to do the latter. They also knew that while the bandits were out to target the Hindus and Sikhs, their loathing for the Muslim protectors was of an entirely different order of magnitude. The gold and jewellery-laden women from Sihala were on the verge of hysteria and the men were at their wits’ end as they tried to control their shrieking.
Another flash of lightning left no room for doubt. They were up against a massive horde and they could see that each one of them was armed with an axe, a spear or a staff and a few of them could also be seen bearing rifles.
If the lightning revealed the presence of the bandits to us, the reverse must also be true, they surmised. They must have seen us too. The only escape now lay in reaching the Sarnihali cave, even though this, too, felt like a bit of a delusion to some. Deep in their hearts, they knew that if the bandits had already seen them, they would chase them down to the ends of the earth. But there was no other option and they started to run towards the entrance of the cave. Maybe this was the last straw for the drowning souls.
Breathless and panting, they somehow managed to reach the entrance of the cave. Naseem didn’t pay too much heed to the others. She grabbed the couple of packages that Aziz was carrying, took hold of the Baba’s arm and pulled him into a passage in the cave. She could see that the Baba was on the verge of collapse after the strenuous trek. His forehead was warm and he appeared to be running a fever. Her first priority was to get him into a sheltered place where he could get some rest.
Shivering with cold, stumbling in the dark, legs quivering with each step into the unknown, the Baba followed Naseem without demur. He paused just once, to delve into the folds of his dhoti and take the dagger out from its sheath. Handing it over to Naseem, he gasped, ‘Keep this carefully, my child. Take its help if you feel that your honour is in danger. If you have to kill the enemy, do it. And if you have to kill yourself to save your honour, don’t hesitate. But don’t allow them to take you away alive.’ Naseem took the dagger and nodded in assent.
Naseem led him around several bends in the cave until she reached a place where she could feel the soft grass under her feet. She could also hear the gentle gurgling of waters from a spring.
This was the place where the Baba could rest for a while to recoup his strength, Naseem reasoned. Feeling around in the dark with her hands, she identified a patch where he could be comfortable. She opened one of the packages that she had taken from Aziz and without paying any attention to what might be precious or formal, she spread out the clothes to fashion a bed for him.
She helped the Baba lie down on the makeshift bed. The items in the other bundle included a light, double-sided duvet that she used to keep him warm. She knew that his clothes were damp but there was little she could do about it. She sensed that he was still shivering from the cold. Resisting her instinct to check on the fate of her other companions, she knelt down beside him and started massaging his feet and legs to keep him warm and to keep his blood circulation going.
Her own hands were getting numb in the cold, and every minute or two she’d pause to stick her palms under her armpits or to blow her own breath on them to keep them warm. She wanted to dash out of the cave and see if she could help any of their companions but for now, keeping the Baba going was more important. She bit her lip and stayed put.
The first aid that Naseem administered to the Baba played a critical role in keeping him alive that night. She heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the Baba resume his silent chant of ‘O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across…’ His voice trembled as he uttered the words, but it was enough for Naseem to raise her hands to the Lord in a gesture of gratitude.
She was still busy nursing the Baba when she heard a rising clamour outside the cave. Seeing that the Baba was restful, she left his side and hurried towards the entrance.