I SUGGEST WE leave the panchayat meeting in Baba Bhana’s place for a while and switch our attention to a few related matters. It is important that my readers are acquainted with these and I hope they won’t mind this digression. In fact, it may even add to their appreciation of the story.
Rahim Baksh was a prominent landlord who owned around a hundred acres of land. Now, anyone who is sitting on such a large tract of fertile land in these parts can be described as prosperous. And if we go back some fifteen or twenty years, it would be fair to say that a man like that would be considered amongst the wealthiest persons of the village.
So Rahim Baksh had seen his share of good times and the bonds between his family and that of Bhane Shah went back quite a few decades. Rahim Baksh’s forefathers had engaged in the lucrative practice of employing indentured labour and, over time, the profits from their operations had enabled them to acquire these large land holdings.
But Fate played a funny trick on Rahim Baksh and he managed to squander the accumulated wealth of his family with one roll of the dice. You see, he had joined hands with one of his friends to venture into the contract farming business. Together, they leased a largish tract of land in Multan district. The rains that year were bountiful and timely, and a part of the land also had access to water from a nearby canal. The crop was abundant and after paying the contracted amount for the lease, the duo made a profit that far exceeded their expectations.
The transition from landowner to contract farmer hadn’t been easy. Oh, the scorn he faced when he had brought up the idea of handing over his own land to share-croppers and taking up the new land in Multan! His friends and neighbours had been scathing in their criticism. ‘Look at this fool,’ they would say, recalling the proverb: ‘He sells his buffalo to buy a horse. He loses the milk and has to deal with the dung.’ But Rahim Baksh was made of sterner stuff. Paying no heed to the barbs, he packed his bags and moved with his family to the leased farmland in Multan.
The handsome profits from his very first venture in contract farming had him hooked. In his mind, his success had shown that he was on the right track. The fact that he had enjoyed exceptional good fortune in the Multan venture and that it was a fluke that may not repeat itself was completely lost on him. Avarice triumphed over judgement, as he also dumped his partner and decided to go solo on his next venture. He entered into an agreement with a retired army subedar in Sheikhupura and took a massive five hundred-acre tract on contract for a period of five years. The quality of the land wasn’t all that great, but he reasoned that getting such a vast expanse for an annual rent of only three thousand rupees was a terrific deal. If he got a decent crop of cotton on even a hundred acres, he would be rolling in cash.
One part of the land was ready for cultivation, while another was relatively barren and needed a fair bit of work before it would be ready for planting. If he had thought like a farmer, he would have started off with the parts that were ready to go. But greed can make a mess of logical thinking, and he decided to start with the part that was barren, without realizing that the ground below was hard and rocky. Tilling this land was a tough and arduous grind and by the time it was ready for planting, it had consumed most of his cash and family jewellery. He now needed a lot more cash to buy the seeds and hire labour to sow the land. A wiser man might have taken a step back, but our Rahim Baksh was stubborn as they come. Throwing caution to the winds and paying no heed to advice from his family, he returned to his village and sold off his ancestral land.
He now had the seeds, the workers and the animals needed to plant the cotton crop, and he embarked on the task with great vigour. But his luck had run out. Just as the crop started to flower, a vast swarm of locusts emerged out of nowhere to devour everything that came in its path. Several districts of Punjab were devastated by the attack. The swarms not only destroyed fertile farmlands but even left the trees bare of any leaves. Many a wizened elder of the region swore that he had never seen a swarm of this size in living memory.
For poor Rahim Baksh, this was the last straw. He slumped in despair, bemoaning the hand Fate had dealt him. But crying wasn’t going to solve his problems. Besides, there was an even larger catastrophe lurking around the corner. You see, he had only paid half the contracted amount for the land, with the promise that he would pay the rest upon harvesting the first crop. He summoned the courage to visit his landlord, hoping against hope that the man would understand his plight and give him some grace period to make the payment. The subedar, though, was completely unmoved. Bringing all his military bearing to the fore, he responded, ‘That’s not my problem. The terms and conditions of the contract are explicit and don’t you know what they say? “Whether you get a crop or not, you are obliged to pay the requisite amount on time.”’
The unfortunate man found himself in an absolute quandary. His one remaining asset was a piece of land that he had bought some time back. But that too had been mortgaged to a local landlord to finance his venture. He had nothing left.
As the deadline for paying the subedar approached, Rahim Baksh found himself sinking deeper into the morass. Where on earth could he find such a large sum of money? Who in this world would spare one thousand and five hundred rupees to bail him out?
News of Rahim Baksh’s predicament soon made its way to his village and reached the ears of Bhane Shah. Without wasting any time, he made the necessary preparations, packed his old money-belt under his waistcoat, and set off for Multan. He was shocked beyond words when he saw the abject condition of his friend and his family.
Bhane Shah quietly approached the subedar, settled the dues and escorted Rahim Baksh and his family back to their home. They were greeted by the village in utter disbelief. By daybreak, the topic was on everyone’s lips. In hushed tones, they murmured, ‘Now that’s a real man for you … That’s what you call a true friend … Can you imagine the fate of Rahim Baksh and his family if the Baba hadn’t…’
But Bhane Shah wasn’t done yet. Holding Rahim Baksh in a warm embrace, he chided him, ‘Don’t you dare despair, Rahim Baksh. Even the kings and queens can become victims of misfortune. And don’t bother about the cash. Money is evanescent by nature. It’s here today, gone tomorrow. Look after your health, and the money will come in due course. So, stop worrying, go home and look after your wife and children. The travails of distant lands have reduced the poor fellows to half their size. By the grace of God, there is enough land to be tilled. Choose any of my fields that catches your fancy, take a plough, and get to work. You should make enough to look after your family and if there is something beyond that, we can share it. And don’t fret if you don’t. Since it is your brother’s land, you have the same right to it.’
They say that a drowning man will clutch at any straw to save himself. But in this case, the drowning man not only found a boat but also a boatman, extending his hand to pull him aboard. With tears running down his face, Rahim Baksh prostrated himself at Bhana Shah’s feet and sobbed, ‘Shahji, from this moment you are not just my older brother but also my mother and father. I know I won’t be able to repay your generosity till the end of time. But I want to assure you that Rahim Baksh comes from a lineage of repute. If water is needed, he will offer the sweat of his toil and if that isn’t enough, he will offer his blood. May Allah look after you till eternity.’
The years rolled by, but the vicissitudes of life had taken their toll on Rahim Baksh and he never recovered his health. Knowing one day that his end was approaching, he called for Bhane Shah and asked him to sit by his side. Placing his young daughter Naseem’s hand in the Baba’s, he wheezed, ‘My brother! You’ve already done so much for us. Now, the honour and dignity of these children are in your hands, too. You’ll have to make sure that they never have to extend their hand to receive alms from anyone. That’s my last request to you…’
Bhane Shah stopped him in his tracks. Stroking his friend’s emaciated chest, he gently admonished him, ‘God will give you good health, Rahim Baksh. There’s no reason to utter such depressing thoughts. And as far as the family is concerned, Sugara is like my sister and Seema and Aziz are my own children. Your girl always appears like a replica of our Krishna and reminds me of the daughter that I desperately miss. Seema is about the same age as Krishna, and were Krishna around today, I would have been thinking of her wedding. Alas! Fate didn’t give me that opportunity. Now I want to make up for it by arranging Seema’s marriage with the same fanfare. But why are we even discussing these things! You are going to be absolutely fine. Take the Lord’s name and rest assured!’
Rahim Baksh passed away that night and Bhane Shah made it a solemn mission to look after the family and ensure that all their needs were met.
Rahim Baksh’s house was situated in an isolated part of the village and was in a fairly dilapidated condition. The roof, in particular, was in terrible shape—during the winter rains or monsoon in summer, Sugara found herself busy trying to plug the holes with a thick paste of mud and dung. The fact that she also suffered from asthma didn’t help matters. Bhane Shah wanted to find a solution to this constant nuisance. He was also concerned that Seema, who was becoming an adolescent, lived in an isolated neighbourhood. He resolved both problems by asking the family to move into his own old house, which was located right behind his current abode. He also bought them a milch cow for two hundred and thirty-five rupees, thereby ensuring that the family would always have plenty of milk and butter. Then there was the matter of arranging regular fodder for the cow. To avoid burdening Sugara or Naseem with this chore, he entrusted the responsibility to Sundru, an old and trusted worker on his land.
Naseem’s brother Aziz was about two-and-a-half years older than her and had moved to Rawalpindi a couple of years ago, to take up a waiter’s job in some restaurant. He knew that he didn’t have to worry about his mother or sister while Bhane Shah was around, but nevertheless made it a point to take leave every three or four months to visit the family. Bhane Shah had also used his extensive network to arrange for Aziz to be engaged to a girl from a neighbouring village. This happened around six months ago, and they might have been married by now if it hadn’t been for an unexpected hitch. The girl’s father was in Burma and some unforeseen work commitments had led him to postpone his return. Bhane Shah was beginning to get impatient with the delay and wanted to make sure that one way or the other the marriage took place before the Vaisakhi festival next April.
Once the marriage of Aziz was out of the way, Bhane Shah planned to concentrate on Naseem. She was now seventeen and he was mindful that the clock was ticking. But he also didn’t want to rush things; the honest truth was that he hadn’t yet found the right match for a girl as beautiful and well-educated as his foster daughter. He had personally tutored the siblings in Urdu and Persian. It would be fair to say that he wasn’t just their foster father but also their teacher.
Boote Shah gazed adoringly at Naseem as she rolled up the sleeves of her grey tunic and leaned into the trough to mix the hay, straw, oil cakes and water. Her delicate hands, supple wrists and ivory-hued forearms moved in unison, occasionally lit up by the rays of the setting sun as they fell on the golden straw. A speckled cow, it’s udders heavy with milk, strained at the rope as she impatiently eyed her meal. Gently pushing her away as she tried to force her way towards the trough, Naseem said, ‘Stop rushing me, will you? I still have to mix the oil cakes for you.’
The small calf tied nearby seemed even more anxious as it stretched its slim frame to reach for its mother’s udders.
Naseem carried a spirit that reflected the very essence of her name—a cool and gentle breeze. Her slim face was defined by her large, expressive eyes—eyes that were steady and serious; eyes that displayed an intense curiosity; eyes that seemed ready to question. Her tall frame tended to lean forward when she walked, giving the appearance that she was being affected by the weight of her adolescence. The film of moisture around her rosy lips only added to her attractive countenance.
She was working without the customary dupatta and a thick braid was snaking its way below her waist, occasionally picking up the golden hues of the evening sun. Her vigorous moves to mix the meal in the trough made the braid lurch from one side to the other, often falling in front of her and threatening to dip into the messy mix. This prompted a swift shake of the head that yanked the braid back to its original position.
After mixing the meal, she untied the cow and calf and went to the kitchen to pick up the milk can when she sensed someone entering the courtyard.
‘Seema,’ Boote Shah smiled affectionately as he came inside.
Boote Shah must have been a little over thirty. He was of average height but had a sturdy physique. The calm demeanour of his eyes and the gentle smile on his lips reflected the quiet confidence of his lineage. Or let us just say that in terms of his attributes, his nature and his deeds, Boote Shah was an exact replica of his illustrious father. His simple attire was no different from any other member of the local Khatri community and gave no indication of his wealth or stature.
It wasn’t just Bhane Shah who had found his daughter Krishna in Naseem. Boote Shah also doted on her with the same intensity that he had once reserved for his younger sister. To the point that he would sometimes address Naseem as Krishna before hastily apologizing for his error. It wasn’t right to use the name of a departed soul for one who was very much around, he would chide himself.
Naseem felt a little awkward that she was bare-headed in his presence, but not enough to make a hurried dash for her dupatta.
‘Bhaaji!’ she brushed off some bits of hay and straw from her clothes and rolled down the sleeves of her tunic as she approached him.
‘Were you going to milk the cow?’ he asked somewhat shyly as he approached his youthful sister.
‘Not yet. There’s no rush. I’ve just mixed their meal. But why are you standing there? Do come inside please.’ She placed the milk can back in its place and deftly moved ahead of him to pick up a lilac dupatta with a light green border from the bed and cover herself.
‘Chaachi isn’t home?’ Boote Shah asked as he entered the room and sat on the side of the bed.
‘She left a little while back,’ Naseem said, sitting near the foot of the bed. ‘Chacha Ram Singh Kohli’s son has brought his bride from her parents’ home for the first time since their wedding. The barber’s wife came with this news.’
‘And you, silly girl?’ Boote Shah glared at her in mock anger. ‘Why couldn’t you have gone? It’s freezing outside and she is hardly in the best of health. What if she catches a cold…?’
‘I did ask her not to go, Bhaaji,’ Naseem replied with a hint of annoyance. ‘I told her that I would go but she does as she pleases.’
Naseem was going to ask him if there was anything pressing that had brought him over, but he pre-empted her by starting, ‘Seema! Just as well that Chaachi isn’t home. I wanted to have a private chat with you.’
She was surprised when she heard this. But the surprise was not tinged with any sign of doubt or mistrust.
‘With me?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Boote Shah responded, adjusting his position to make himself more comfortable.
‘But first, you must agree with something that I ask,’ she spoke tenderly. ‘Let me quickly go and milk the cow. Have a glass of fresh milk, nice and warm.’
‘I can never drink fresh milk, Seema. I feel bloated when I do.’
‘Bloated? Really? How can fresh milk cause that? Just give me a minute and I will get some for you.’
‘Sit down, you silly girl. Sit down, I say! There’s much that I have to tell you and I must do it before Chaachi returns.’
His comment deflated Naseem’s enthusiasm. She thought of pressing her point once again but decided against it after she observed the resolute expression on his face.
‘Okay! Go ahead.’
‘Why don’t you sit comfortably on the bed?’
Naseem clambered on the bed and made herself comfortable.
‘Seema?’
‘Yes.’
‘How is Aziz related to you?’
‘Why do you ask this, Bhaaji?’
‘I have my reasons. Just answer me.’
‘The same way that you are related to me.’
‘Do you really see me as an older brother the same way that you see Aziz?’
‘Even more than Aziz, Bhaaji. Because you are older than him.’
‘In that case, Seema, I presume that as your older brother, I can ask you anything I like?’
‘Sure, Bhaaji.’
‘And you will give me honest answers to my questions?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I do that?’
‘Seema! Do you know your age?’
‘About eighteen years,’ Naseem replied in a guarded tone.
‘So, we should be thinking seriously about your marriage, right?’
Naseem felt a protective wall of modesty rise around her upon hearing these words. She blushed, lowered her eyes and shrank into herself without giving any response.
‘Didn’t you agree, Seema? That you would reply candidly to me? There is no reason to be so bashful on this matter.’
His soothing tone started to lower the wall that she had drawn up. She gradually lifted her eyes but remained speechless.
‘Fine! I am not going to force you, Seema,’ Boote Singh started to rise from the bed. ‘If you don’t want to speak…’
Naseem leapt across the bed to grasp his arm and pull him back. ‘Are you leaving because you are upset with me? Please don’t go, for God’s sake. I’ll answer whatever you ask.’
‘So, tell me.’
‘What?’
‘Answer my question.’
‘I really have nothing to do with these matters, Bhaaji. It is your responsibility, so you know best.’
‘I am not insane that I should come here and ask you these questions if you had nothing to do with the matter.’
‘So, please go ahead and ask me whatever you have in your mind.’
‘Seema, I came today to seek something from you. Will you give it to me?’
‘What do I have that I can offer you, Bhaaji? The little that we have belongs to you and to the good Lord.’
‘So, I can ask you for anything?’
‘You don’t have to ask. You can take whatever you like.’
‘What is that, Seema?’ he pointed to the young mango tree in the courtyard. Its leaves had turned a pale yellow in the winter cold and it was swaying gently with the breeze.
‘What?’ Naseem asked.
‘That one. Whose leaves are drying up and falling.’
‘A mango tree.’
‘And who planted it, Seema?’
‘I did.’
‘Why?’
Naseem froze. That small monosyllabic question burrowed its way deep inside her to nip at her heart. A secret that she had hidden under layer after layer in a nook of her heart had been prised open. She felt her face blush once more. A string of memories started to unfold before her eyes as she sat in stunned silence. A tiny crack opened up in the tightly shut doors to her heart and a faint silhouette could be seen emerging. A few moments later, it seemed to be standing right in front of her, in flesh and blood.
‘Why don’t you speak up, Seema?’
She remained silent.
‘If I am not mistaken, that tree is a symbol of someone’s love, isn’t it?’
Naseem started to bow her head.
‘Seema, I am not sure if you are aware of this fact but Yusuf is like my blood brother.’
Naseem felt a tremor run through her lips.
‘Seema, right now you are the only one who can save my friend’s life.’
Like droplets of morning dew on grass, a couple of large teardrops were glistening on Naseem’s eyelashes. Her lips were clenched tight between her teeth.
‘Seema! I know that you hold him responsible. I know that he has insulted your love. But can you please forgive him, for my sake? I know that he is a flawed person, that he has many bad habits. But my dear sister, I also know that he will be devastated if … If…’ Boote Shah paused when he saw that Naseem was holding her head in her hands and sobbing.
‘Seema!’ Boote Shah found his own voice cracking in pain as he saw the grief on Naseem’s face. ‘I’ve probably said a lot more than any brother should say to his sister. I think it is best that you hear the rest from him with your own ears. He will be waiting for you near our well in the morning. You could say that you are going out early to get some fresh mustard leaves or something. Or I could escort you there if you like. And if you are reluctant, let me not force you to do something that you don’t want to.’
Naseem said nothing in response. Boote Shah could hear the tempo of her sobs reach a higher pitch. Getting up from the bed, he caressed Naseem’s head and said, ‘What’s the point of crying, silly girl! Come on now. Get up and milk that cow of yours.’ He slipped on his shoes and left.