Daily Fix

The Fly in the Ointment
Part III
Prem Kahani

T. SHER SINGH

Continued from last week ...

Nature abhors a vacuum, the textbook tells us. It doesn’t approve of the instability the emptiness creates, and therefore rushes in as soon as it can to correct the situation.

Odd, but it hates stability too, doesn’t it? With the same passion and commitment! It simply will not allow anything to remain unchanged for long. Winds and storms, floods and tsunamis, the sun’s glare and lunar tides, all provide a backdrop of persistent evolution and perennial change.

Not only to the environment, but in people’s lives too. With equal ferociousness.

*   *   *   *   *

Almost two years had gone by since we had first met and started seeing each other. I was now in my Master’s program, she in her final year for her BA Honours.

Our lives had become intricately intertwined while still remaining secret. No one else had even a whiff of it … except for her aunt, who gave us support when we direly needed it. 
 
Her aunt had married a decade earlier, “outside the caste” and earned the wrath of her family then. She and her husband had moved to the ‘big city’, to get away from their disapproving families. Hence, her empathy for our predicament, even though she often reminded us that what we were doing was different, that we were playing with fire.

With the nonchalance that comes only with the inexperience of youth, we heard her and ignored her. We felt invincible in our love.

Now that I think back and revisit those two years, I realize it was a time like no other, certainly never to come again in my life. It was simple and straight-forward. We did what we liked and did not let anything else, anyone else, come in the way.

We met regularly, and enjoyed each other’s company. We were both discovering and exploring new worlds … of Bertrand Russell and Krishnamurti, Freud and Pablo Neruda. Time flew when we were together. There was never a moment when we didn’t want to be together, never when we weren‘t willing to drop no matter what we were doing, if we could be together.

Now that I think of it, we never had an argument. Or a disagreement. We had no plans … it was too early to worry about the future. Our respective families valued education and were reasonably well off. Which meant we could pursue studies for as long as we wanted, without any worry about funds.

At 20 and 19, there were no expectations, no ambitions, no agendas. No needs, no demands. No struggle for rights, no boundaries. No masks, no pretensions.

Neither the past nor the future interfered. Only the present, the moment, mattered.

Everything was a possibility. Nothing a necessity.

The need to work and earn and save, to shape a career, to build a life, were not yet on the horizon.

We were always aware of the swords that hung over our heads, though. So, we were careful. Always.

There were walls all around us, forever threatening to come between us. So, we ignored them, willed them away, until they weren’t visible anymore. Not to us.

She liked my Sikhness. I couldn’t figure out why. She loved touching my beard, playing with my karra. When alone at the tomb, she would ask me to take off my turban, unravel my joorrah, comb my cascading hair. We would take turns, preening each other like a pair of monkeys: I too liked furrowing through her waist length tresses.

She wouldn’t talk about her own faith. She was forever trying to escape from it. It was oppressive, she would say, because she was a girl, a woman. She found freedom in not wanting to talk about it, and in exploring my world.

When together, there wasn’t a worry in the world.

We settled into a routine. Sunday afternoons were ours. When my family and I were back from the gurdwara, my father would want to stay in, relax and snooze, be with the family. It was easy to get the car for the rest of the day, to “visit friends”.

I would pick her up, and we’d head out of town.

During the week, if I could get away and meet up, it was a bonus. If not, not a big deal … Sundays came so quickly.

I remember, there was never a time when I didn’t want to be with her. Never when she didn’t either. But if we couldn’t, we were patient. Never desperate. Because the world was going nowhere. We had all the time in the world.

*   *   *   *   *

Our phone rang one afternoon at home. One of my sisters called out saying it was for me. “A girl,“ she said, rolling her eyes heaven-wards.

It was her.

Could I come over?

I’m not sure, I said, let me see if I can …

“Oh, come. Take a rickshaw … we’ll go by the river. I need to talk.”

Sure, I said. I’ll be there, somehow.

She didn’t sound her usual self, I thought for a moment, but then dismissed the thought. Or got busy trying to figure out how to get away.

It was dark by the time I could finagle the car. I picked her up.

Let’s go to the tomb, she said.

It’s dark, I said, it’ll be pitch dark.

It’ll be alright, she said. Let’s go anyway.

She snuggled up next to me as we left the city, sliding an arm through mine. She kissed my shoulder every now and then. I tried to talk, ask her about her day, but she didn’t seem to be her usual talkative self.

So we drove in silence. Every now and then, she tightened her grip. I glanced at her. Her eyes were closed. She must be tired, I thought. Exams coming up, I suppose.

No, let’s not stop for jalebies, she said.

We left the paved road and followed the lane into the forest. Not a light in sight, other than our headlights. Good thing I knew the area well. Slowed down as the road widened and the trees receded into the night.

I brought the car to a halt in the clearing I knew to be facing the tank and the distant tomb. We could see neither, even in the glare of the lights.

Let’s stay in the car, she said.

I put an arm around her and drew her even closer.

I began to make some small-talk. She put a finger on my lips and shushed me. She opened my hand, entwined her fingers in mine and clumped them up into a joint fist.

Mum called today, she said. She wants me to come home. Right away.

But you have exams, I said.

Again, she lifted a finger towards my mouth to silence me.

She wants me to come home because … because they’ve gone off and got me engaged.

For what, I asked, and then hurriedly said, okay, okay, I’ll be silent.

To be married, she said.

I laughed. Sure! I said. Is it the first of April? Is it April Fool’s Day?

No, she said, it’s still March.

She pulled her legs onto the seat, sat up on her haunches, turned towards me, and grabbed my face in her hands. She’s serious, dead serious, she said.

It took a full minute for it to register. I was canvassing every possibility: she was joking, her mother was joking, she was threatening, her mother was threatening. No, her Dad must be getting the lay of the land. Not a problem. She‘ll tell him.

I called my Aunt right away, she said.

And …? I asked.

She was seething, she said. She’s been talking with Mum and Dad.

And …?

She told me they had a formal engagement ceremony at Raziapur last night. A religious ceremony. With money and gold and jewellery changing hands.

I looked at her. And laughed. Nervously, this time. She was stone-faced, staring at me, inches from my face, my nascent, scraggly beard still in her hands.

Sher, she said, this is not a joke. And I’m not going home.

*   *   *   *   *

It’s simple, I said. Just tell them it ain’t going to happen. This is your life.

And then I quipped about paying them a visit and having a chat with them.

Be serious, she said.

How can I be serious, I said. This is ridiculous. So stupid, it’s funny.

It’s not funny, she said. I’m a girl … and I’m NOT from a Sikh household. Things are different for me. It’s not as simple as my saying NO. We need to think this one out. And act. Quickly.

And do what? I asked.

I don’t know.

I pulled her closer to me, wrapped her in my arms. She nestled her head on my chest, as I leaned against the door behind me.

It would work out fine, I assured her. Maybe it is time to come out and tell them where things stand, I said. About you and me, I said. They’ll be unhappy for a bit, but they’ll come around. They’ll have to!

We didn’t talk much more that evening, just sat there for hours, saying little. We just held each other, tenderly, lovingly, giving assurances to each other, and to ourselves, at intervals. In the dark, with the world shut out, nay, non-existent beyond the car’s windows, we felt safe together.

*   *   *   *   *

The next day I skipped classes. So did she. We waited till past 10:00 am, when her uncle was safely off to his office. Her aunt had taken off the day, calling in sick, Her classes - she taught Mathematics at a local women’s college - were cancelled.

We turned up at her door, and she whisked us in. No usual exchange of niceties. No tea or samosas waiting for us.

She looked grim.

I tried to lighten things a bit with some humour. I suggested a number of different ways we could break OUR news to our respective parents. Send them photos of our own private ceremony? Invite them to our engagement party? Neither of them responded.  

I was fond of her aunt. She was loving and caring, but down to earth. Didn’t care much for what the world thought, but was always wary of the realities of life.

We came to her when we needed to feel secure, and she sent us away feeling safe and confident. But she never sugar-coated her cautions; she was the reason why we were always careful and never reckless.

“But, Aunty, this is absolutely outrageous! I don’t even know his name. Nobody ever asked me …”

“I know his name. I‘ve found out all about him,” she interjected.

That wasn’t comforting. Now we were dealing with more than a rumour, or an idea.

“He’s a young army officer. Freshly out of the Defence Academy. The eldest son of a wealthy family, he’s been posted to the far north. Due to leave in two months. His parents want him married before he leaves ...”

She looked at us ominously. “They want the wedding in four weeks.”

My inclination was to burst out laughing, but I stopped myself. The two of them looked funereal. Strange, I thought, did they really think this was all that serious?

She looked at her niece and then at me.

“I think I should go and talk to her father,” I said.

Sure, said the aunt. We’ll prepare for your funeral while you‘re gone.

I looked at her. She was serious.

I heard sobbing beside me. She grabbed my hand. ’We have to do something! Today! Now!” We turned to her aunt, looking for answers.

*   *   *   *   *

She got up, retreated into the kitchen. We heard a series of clatters. She returned. Stood in front of us. Her forehead in furrows, her hands turned into fists. I had never seen her like this.

And then, she turned professorial.

Here are the options, she said.

First, if you go home, you’ll be married in four weeks … to … to … this fellow.  

Second, if you go to talk to them … she glared at me … you’ll be coming back in a coffin, for sure.

Three. The two of you get married. Today.

Both of us nodded in agreement. It was as simple as that.

And your parents? She was still looking at me.

They won’t be happy at first, I said. They‘ll try and talk me out of it. But they’ll come around, ultimately, especially if we get married and then go home. They’ll take us in. They’ll fall in love with her, just like I did.

Good, said the aunt. So here’s what’ll happen then. A mob will turn up at your door in a day or two, soon as the police have traced her to your home. There’ll be a riot. Are your parents able to defend themselves against a local mob?

I sat there quietly, thinking.

You’ll need police protection. Your father will have to bribe them with all that he has to get them to keep the mob at bay. And keep on outbidding her parents who will be bribing them to get out of their way.

Sure, you’ll come out and announce that you’re already married. They’ll want blood.  Nothing less than yours. And maybe even hers.

So, you’ll have to be whisked away into hiding. To another city. Where will you go? What will you do? They’ll stalk you until they find you.

What’ll happen to your studies? How will you survive? Money? Your parents won’t be able to re-open their business, not for some time, if at all, because there’ll be a mob parked outside.

So, then … and she turned to look at her niece … let’s assume you go back home, or you don’t. Either way, since you have two younger sisters and a brother, what’ll happen to them? Will they ever get married? Who’ll marry them?

Four. You elope. You disappear today. No one knows where you’ve gone. You get married and you move far away, hoping to lie low until the dust settles. So, what’ll you do? Money? Work? Studies? Career? You know … again, looking at her niece … you know you’ll never see your parents again, don’t you? Or your siblings. You know what I’ve been through. And with Sher, who’s not even of our religion? Your parents will have little say … it’ll be the “community” in charge thereon. 

She pulled up a chair and sat down right in front of us. She reached out and touched our clasped hands.

I hate your parents for this, she said to her niece. And my heart bleeds for you. But it’s you two who will have to carry it alone from here on. Are you ready for the storm? It’ll destroy you, destroy your families, your futures. Maybe you can do it. Even survive it all. But you need to know what you’re getting into. And be willing to face the consequences.

I am, she said. I am too, I said.

And we got up and we stormed out.    

*   *   *   *   *

I couldn’t get the car for the next few days. So, we met at the university and stole to a remote dune by the river, and sat behind some brambles.

There was no time for tears. The sheer terror of what loomed over us kept us weighing the options. One by one, each avenue was spelled out in detail, and then reluctantly discarded.

The world, it seemed, had suddenly turned ugly. And friendless. There were no allies. Only the two of us, alone. Even aunty’s logic and rationality had turned her into an enemy.

We whined and we whimpered, we moaned and we groaned, we grumbled and we complained.

One by one, our defences fell.

Blow by blow, we were beaten down.

She became braver by the hour, angry and eager to take on the world. We can do it … it is worth it. No price is high enough, she said.

And I?

Slowly, steadily, pore by pore, inch by inch, I was turning into a coward; there is no other explanation. I could feel all the daring seep out of me.

We held on to each other, not letting go even for a moment. I felt my life was draining away.

A frightening thought hit me. Even as we plotted to take on the world, I wondered how many times more would I see her again? How many hours did we have left together? What were we going to do with them?

And thereafter?

CONTINUED TOMORROW ...

February 19, 2013

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