A Fine Balance Part 12

"Taking such a risk is stupid."

"You never said that before."

"It was different then. It's not like the boys will starve without b.u.t.ter or a peach or a bit of jaggery."

Roopa went anyway, promising herself it was the last time. After all, her children had been away for three months, she had to give them something special.

On the long-awaited day, Dukhi left at dawn and brought his sons back for a week. The two boys sat very close to their father, and couldn't stop touching him throughout the journey, leaning against him on either side, Narayan holding on to his knee, Ishvar clutching his arm. They talked non-stop, then repeated everything for their mother when they got home in the late afternoon.

"The machine is amazing," said Ishvar. "The big wheel is "

"You do your feet likethis-likethis," said Narayan, flapping his hands to mimic the treadle, "and the needle jumps up and down, it's so good "

"I can do it very fast, but Ashraf Chacha can do it very-very fast."

"I like the small needle also, with my fingers, it goes in and out of the cloth smoothly, it's very pointy, once it poked me in my thumb."

Their mother immediately asked to see the thumb. a.s.suring herself that there was no permanent damage, she let the story proceed. By dinnertime the boys were exhausted, and started falling asleep over the food. Roopa wiped their hands and mouths, then Dukhi guided them to their mats.

For a long while, they gazed at them sleeping before rolling out their own mats. "They are looking nice and fit," she said. "See their cheeks."

"I hope it's not an unhealthy swelling," said Dukhi. "Like the swollen bellies that babies get in famine time."

"What-all rubbish are you talking? With my mother's instinct I would know at once if my children were not well." But she understood his doubt was prompted by resentment that their children should grow healthier in a stranger's house than when they were living at home; she shared his shame. They went to bed feeling a mixture of gladness and sorrow.

The family's excitement continued the next morning. The boys had brought a tape measure, a blank page, and a pencil from Muzaffar Tailoring, and wanted to measure their parents. Ashraf had taught them a diagrammatic code for the constantly used words like neck, waist, chest, and sleeve.

The boys could not reach high enough, so the two clients had to bend down or sit on the floor for some of the measurements: first their mother, and then their father. While they were recording Dukhi's sizes, Roopa called her friends from nearby huts to watch. Now Ishvar grew self-conscious and smiled shyly, but Narayan flourished the tape and made his gestures more expansive, enjoying the attention.

Everyone clapped with delight when they finished. In the evening, Dukhi borrowed the piece of paper to show to his friends under the tree by the river. He carried it about with him for the rest of the week.

Then it was time for the boys to return to Muzaffar Tailoring. The parents' thoughts turned once again with dread towards the absence looming in their lives, in their hut. Ishvar requested his father for the page with the measurements.

"Can't I keep it?" asked Dukhi. The boys considered their father's request, then rummaged for a sc.r.a.p of paper and copied the figures so he could have the original.

Three months again pa.s.sed before the next visit. This time the boys brought presents for their parents. Ishvar and Narayan planned to fool them that they had gone shopping for the gifts in a big store in town, just like rich townspeople.

"What-all is this?" said Roopa uneasily. "Where did you get the money?"

"We didn't buy them, Ma! We made them ourselves!" said Narayan, forgetting his little joke. Ishvar explained excitedly how Ashraf Chacha had helped them select and match the remnants left over from the fabric for customers' orders. Their father's vest had been easy; there were plenty of white poplin remnants. The choli for their mother had required a bit more planning. A print of red and yellow flowers made up the front of the blouse. The back was a solid red, and the sleeves were fas.h.i.+oned from a swatch of vermilion.

Roopa burst into tears as soon as she put on the choli. Ishvar and Narayan looked at their father in alarm, who said she was crying because she was happy.

"Yes, I am!" she confirmed his verdict through her sobs. She knelt before them and hugged them in turn, and then hugged them together. She saw Dukhi watching, and led the boys to him. "Embrace your father also," she said, "this is a very special day."

She left the hut in search of her neighbours. "Padma! Savitri! Come and look! Amba and Pyari, you come too! See what-all my sons have brought!"

Dukhi grinned at the boys. "There will be no dinner today. Her new choli will make Ma forget everything, she will spend the whole day showing off." He patted his front and sides. "This fits much better than my old one. Material is also nicer."

"Look, Bapa, there is a pocket as well," said Narayan.

Roopa and Dukhi wore the new garments all week long. Afterwards, when the boys were back in town, she removed her choli and demanded his vest.

"Why?" he asked.

"To wash."

But she refused to return it when it was dry. "What if you tear it or something?" She folded both articles, wrapped them in sacking, and secured the parcel with string. She hung it from the roof of the hut, safe from floodwater and rodents.

Ishvar and Narayan's years of apprentices.h.i.+p were measured out in three-month intervals, eased somewhat by the week-long visits to their village. They were now eighteen and sixteen, their training was approaching its end, and they would leave Muzaffar Tailoring Company sometime after the monsoon. Ashraf's family had grown there were four daughters now: the youngest was three, the oldest, eight. Mumtaz took a keen interest in the apprentices' plans. The sooner they came to fruition, the more room there would be for her own children, she thought, though she had grown to like the two young men, quiet and always helpful.

Narayan's preference was to set up in the village and sew for their own people. Ishvar was inclined to stay on in this town or another, become an a.s.sistant in someone's shop. "You cannot earn much in the village," he said. "Everyone is so poor. There is more scope in a big place."

Meanwhile, sporadic riots which had started with the talk of independence were spreading as the country's Part.i.tion became a reality. "Maybe it's better to stay where you are for the time being," said Ashraf, while Mumtaz glared at him. "The devil is not doing his evil work in our town. You know all the neighbours, you have lived here for many years. And even if your village is peaceful, it's still the wrong time to start a new business."

Ishvar and Narayan sent word to their parents with someone pa.s.sing through that they would remain with Ashraf Chacha till the bad times were over. Roopa was depressed; separated all these long years, and now her sons were further delayed when would the G.o.ds take pity and end her punishment?

Dukhi, too, was disappointed, but accepted the decision as being for the best. Disturbing things were happening around them. Strangers belonging to a Hindu organization that wore white s.h.i.+rts and khaki pants, and trained their members to march about like soldiers, had been visiting the district. They brought with them stories of Muslims attacking Hindus in many parts of the country. "We must get ready to defend ourselves," they said. "And also to avenge ourselves. If they spill the blood of our Hindu brothers, this country shall run red with rivers of Muslim blood."

In Dukhi's village, the Muslims were too few to pose a threat to anyone, but the landlords saw opportunity in the strangers' warnings. They did their best to galvanize people against the imaginary danger in their midst. "Better to drive out the Mussulman menace before we are burned alive in our huts. For centuries they have invaded us, destroyed our temples, stolen our wealth."

The men in white s.h.i.+rts and khaki pants persevered for a few more days but had no luck with the vast majority. The lower castes were not impressed by the rhetoric. They had always lived peacefully with their Muslim neighbours. Besides, they were too exhausted keeping body and soul together.

So the attempt to dispossess the village Muslims fizzled out. Leaving behind sinister threats about dealing with traitors, including the chief traitor, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, the men from the Hindu organization moved on. Places with larger populations and shops and commerce offered them more opportunities for success, and the cloak of urban anonymity to hide behind, where hoax and hearsay could find fertile ground to grow.

Dukhi and his friends discussed the developments in the evening, by the river. They were confused by the varying accounts that reached them of events in faraway towns and villages.

"The zamindars have always treated us like animals."

"Worse than animals."

"But what if it's true? What if the Mussulman horde sweeps down upon our village, like the khaki pants told us?"

"They have never bothered us before. Why would they do it now? Why should we hurt them because some outsiders come with stories?"

"Yes, it's strange that suddenly we have all become Hindu brothers."

"The Muslims have behaved more like our brothers than the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Brahmins and Thakurs."

But the stories kept multiplying: someone had been knifed in the bazaar in town; a sadhu hacked to death at the bus station; a settlement razed to the ground. The tension spread through the entire district. And it was all believable because it resembled exactly what people had been seeing in newspapers for the past few days: reports about arson and riots in large towns and cities; about mayhem and ma.s.sacre on all sides; about the vast and terrible exchange of populations that had commenced across the new border.

The killings started in the poorer section of town, and began to spread; the next day the bazaar was empty. There were no fruits or vegetables to be bought, the milkmen did not stir, and the only bakery in town, owned by a Muslim, had already been burned to the ground.

"Bread is become rarer than gold," said Ashraf. "What madness. These people have lived together for generations, laughing and crying together. Now they are butchering one another." He did no work that day, spending the hours gazing out the door at the deserted street, as though waiting for something dreadful to make its appearance.

"Ashraf Chacha, dinner is ready," said Narayan, responding to Mumtaz's signal. Her husband had not eaten all day. She was hoping he would join them now.

"There is something I have to tell you," he said to Mumtaz. "And you as well," he turned to Ishvar and Narayan.

"Come, food is ready, later we can talk," she said. "It is only dal and chapati today, but you must eat a little at least." She lowered the pot from the stove.

"I am not hungry. You and the little ones eat," said Ashraf, shepherding the four children towards the food. They were reluctant, having sensed their parents' anxiety. "Go, boys, you too."

"I take the trouble to cook and nawab-sahib won't even touch his fingers to the dinner," said Mumtaz.

In his present mood, her commonplace complaint a.s.sumed vicious overtones. He shouted at her, something he rarely did. "What do you want me to do if I am not hungry? Tie the plate to my belly? Talk sense once in a while, nah!" The youngest two started to cry. One of their elbows overturned a gla.s.s of water.

"You must be satisfied now," said Mumtaz scornfully as she mopped up the spill. "Trying to scare me with your big shouting. Only the little ones are frightened of that, let me tell you."

Ashraf took the two weeping children in his arms. "Okay, okay, no crying. See, we will all eat together." He fed them from his plate, putting a morsel in his own mouth when they pointed to it. It soon became a new game, and they cheered up.

Dinner finished quickly, and Mumtaz began taking the pot and ladle outside to the tap for was.h.i.+ng. Ashraf stopped her. "I was going to say something before dinner, before your shouting started."

"I am listening now."

"It's about this...about what's happening everywhere."

"What?"

"You want me to describe in front of the children?" he whispered fiercely. "Why are you acting stupid? Sooner or later the trouble will come here. No matter what happens, it will never be the same again between the two communities."

He noticed Ishvar and Narayan listening with dismay, and added in haste, "I don't mean us, boys. We will always be like one family, even if we are apart."

"But Ashraf Chacha, we don't have to be apart," said Narayan. "Ishvar and I are not planning to leave yet."

"Yes, I know. But Mumtaz Chachi and the children and I, we have to leave."

"My poor paagal nawab-sahib gone completely crazy," said Mumtaz. "Wants to leave. With four little ones? Where do you want to go?"

"Same place all the others are going. Across the border. What do you want to do? Sit here and wait till the hatred and insanity comes with swords and clubs and kerosene? What I am saying is, tomorrow morning I go to the station and buy our train tickets."

Mumtaz insisted he was reacting like a foolish old man. But he refused to allow her the temporary comfort of turning her back on danger. He was determined to argue all night, he said, rather than pretend that things were normal.

"I will do whatever is necessary to save my family. How can you be so blind? I will drag you by your hair to the railway station if I have to." At this threat, the children began crying again.

She dried their tears on her dupatta, and dissolved her opposition to the plan. It was not a case of being blind to danger the danger could be smelt from miles away, her husband was right. Only, removing the blindfold was difficult because of what she might see.

"It won't be possible to carry much if we are to leave in a hurry," she said. "Clothes, a stove, some cooking pots. I'll start packing now."

"Yes, keep it ready for tomorrow," said Ashraf. "The rest we will lock in the shop. Inshallah, someday we will be able to come back and claim it." He gathered the children for bed. "Come, we must sleep early tonight. Tomorrow we have to start a long journey."

Narayan found it unbearable to listen to or watch their troubled preparations. He doubted if anything he said would make a difference. Pretending he was going down to the shop, he slipped out the back to their neighbour and told him of the planned flight.

"Is he serious?" said the hardware-store owner. "When we talked this morning, he agreed there was nothing to worry about in our neighbourhood."

"He has changed his mind."

"Wait, I will come to him right now."

He collected the coal-merchant, the banya, and the miller, and knocked on Ashraf's door. "Forgive us for bothering you at this hour. May we come in?"

"Of course. Will you eat something? A drink?"

"Nothing, thank you. We came because we got some news that is causing us great grief."

"What is it, what?" Ashraf was agitated, wondering if there had been riot casualties in someone's family. "Can I help?"

"Yes, you can. You can tell us it's not true."

"What's not true?"

"That you want to leave us, leave the place where you were born and your children were born. This is causing our grief."

"You are such good people." Ashraf's eyes began to moisten. "But I really don't have a choice, nah."

"Sit down with us and think calmly," said the hardware-store owner, putting his arm around Ashraf's shoulder. "The situation is bad, yes, but it would be madness to attempt to leave."

The others nodded in agreement. The coal-merchant put his hand on Ashraf's knee. "Every day trains are crossing that new border, carrying nothing but corpses. My agent arrived yesterday from the north, he has seen it with his own eyes. The trains are stopped at the station and everyone is butchered. On both sides of the border."

"Then what am I to do?"

The desperation in his voice drew the hardware-store owner's hand to his shoulder again. "Stay here. You are with friends. We will let nothing happen to your family. Where is there any trouble in our neighbourhood? We have always lived here peacefully."

"But what will happen when those outside troublemakers come?"

"Yours is the only Muslim shop in the street. You think so many of us together cannot protect one shop?" They hugged him, promising he had nothing to fear. "Any time you want to, day or night, if you feel worried about anything, just come to our house with your wife and children."

After the neighbours left, Narayan had an idea. "You know the sign outside Muzaffar Tailoring Company. We could put another one in its place."

"Why?" asked Ashraf.

Narayan was hesitant to say. "A new one..."

Then Ashraf saw the point. "Yes, with a new name. A Hindu name. It's a very good idea."

"Let's do it right now," said Ishvar. "I can get a new board from your uncle's lumberyard. Can I take the cycle?"

"Of course. But be careful, don't go through a Muslim area."

An hour later Ishvar returned empty-handed without having reached his destination. "Lots of shops and houses on fire. I kept going slowly, slowly. Then I saw some people with axes. They were chopping a man. That scared me, I turned back."

Ashraf sat down weakly. "You were wise. What will we do now?" He was too frightened to think.

"Why do we need a new board?" said Narayan. "We can use the back of this old one. All we need is some paint."

He went next door again, and the hardware-store owner let him have a blue tin that was open. "It's a good idea," he said. "What name are you going to paint?"