The Wheels of Time

After coming from my village to Peshawar, I worked at sundry places for some time until I found a better employment at a milliner store. However, it was better, only relatively. The business was owned by a dour slave driver named Bhupinder Singh. He was an unsmiling tyrant, who sat behind the counter, keeping an eagle eye on the sales men. The business catered to the wives of the gora army officers, stationed there. Most of the stuff was imported from England and was very pricey by the Indian standards. However there was never a lack of customers and there was hardly any time, when you didnt see a few mem-sahibs browsing the fineries. Bupinder Singh was making big money big time and was one of the richer people in the city.

He had a huge mansion, served by an army of servants and ruled by his wife, known to every body as Bi ji. Bi ji was in her forties and slightly chubby. She was however very outgoing and was an exact antitheses of her husband. She loved life and was kind to everybody. People reciprocated her affection and there was nobody who didnt love her. She would often visit the store and would bring sunshine whenever she came. Right from the beginning, when I started working there, she took a liking to me and treated me like her own son.

I had worked in the store for about two years, when a small incident changed my life. One of the regular customers in the store was a young mem-sahib, wife of a Scottish lieutenant. Her purchases were usually not very expensive compared to the other ladies. This particular time she purchased an expensive hat that she had been eyeing for a while. The next day she returned, somewhat abashed and wanted to return the hat. The store had a policy of no returns, which was prominently displayed. However since the hat was still in the box un-opened and the young lady had obviously been coerced into returning it, I took pity on her and gave her the money back.

No sooner was the lady out of the store, when my boss was all over me and rebuked me for taking the hat back. He further informed me that half the price of the hat would be deducted from my salary. This was big time money for me and represented half my monthly earnings. I there fore objected to this high handedness and the net result was, that I was out on the street, out of work, with the up to the days salary in my pocket minus the fifteen rupees, for half the price of the hat.

I was mad at Bhupinder Singh for keeping my fifteen rupees, but otherwise, did not mind loosing the job, all that much. I had always wanted to go into business, for myself and was diligently saving money for the purpose. I intended to quit in a couple of months anyway and this spat only precipitated my plans. There was a small storefront available in the cantonment area and I had talked to the Pathan landlord about renting it. He was only too glad when I approached him and told him that I wanted to rent it right then rather than two months hence. He even agreed, to start charging me rent only after I was open for business. In a little over two weeks, I had my shop set up, selling stationary, books and magazines.

Couple of months went by and the shop started to pick up some steam. What ever money I earned, I ploughed it right back into the stock and the shelves which were more than half bare when I had opened, started filling up. One day, I had gone to the city to pick up some of the stuff, I had ordered, when a car stopped right next to me. Even before the car had stopped the back door opened and Bi ji stepped out. I opened my mouth to greet her but before I could utter a word, she started chastising me for leaving without telling her. She also told me that she had been very mad at sardarji for firing me and the job was mine, as soon as I would report back to the store.

I thanked her for her kindness and diffidently, told her that I had gone into business for myself. She expressed her delight and said that she always new, I would be a great successful man one day. She also insisted on giving me the money, that her husband had deducted from my pay. I asked her to come to my store some time and she graciously promised to do so. Then with final admonition to keep in touch, she climbed in to the car and was gone. She kept her word and not only came herself, but also brought her husband with her. He did not act like an ogre, now that he was not my boss any more and not only congratulated me on my business, but also told me not to hesitate to ask for any advice related to business. At the nudging of his wife he bought some stuff too, which I am sure he had no need for. Later when my I got married, they often invited us to their house and Bi ji showered gifts and affections on my wife.

Time passed by and I decided to move to Rawalpindi, because it was a bigger city and was closer to my village. Then the country was partitioned and we moved to Ambala Cantt and subsequently settled in Delhi. My business flourished and we did well. Every once in a while my wife and I would talk nostalgically about Bi ji and her kindness to us and wondered where they were.

The wheels of time continued to turn and the year 1960 came around. One of my nieces had gotten married and had gone to live in Patiala with her husband. She would often ask us to come and visit her. Her mother, my sister had also asked me to check on her if I went that way. It so happened that I had to go to Chandigarh on some business and since Patiala was not too far from there, I decided to pay my niece and her husband a visit. As is customary I bought some sweets (mitahai) and drove to Patiala. I reached there about four oclock and planned to stay a couple of hours and make it back home by late evening. They were overjoyed to see me and my niece complained that I had come by himself and did not bring mammi ji and the kids.

As we entered the house, we passed by the kitchen and on the floor amid a load of utensils sat a woman busy cleaning them. She looked up, as we passed by and held my gaze for second and then got busy in her chore. The face looked haunting familiar, but I could not place her. We sat in the living area and talked about the family things for some time. I however, could not shake the face out of my mind. It was bothering me, that I could not figure out, why she looked so familiar. Finally I could not wait any longer and asked them, who was the women, cleaning the utensils? My niece explained that she had been coming to clean the utensils, since before her marriage and they did not even know her name. She however, was a strong willed woman and did not like to be called a mai. She always insisted that she be addressed as Bi ji.

The mention of the name, immediately brought the face into focus and I realized I could not place her because, in addition to the difference the years and the hard life had brought to her body and face, the setting was enormously different. It was a difficult task to reconcile the rich lady, with a smiling, round face and healthy body to the domestic, with gaunt wrinkled face and an emaciated body, I had just witnessed. The changing expression on my face alarmed my hosts and they wanted to know what the matter was. I however postponed the explanations and marched into the kitchen followed by the perplexed hosts.

Bi ji, tusi ethey is hall che?, I said and bent down to touch her feet as she got up.

[Bi ji, you in this situation here?]

She looked at me trying to place me. I had also changed in the inter weaning years from a lanky young man with just a hint of beard, trying to find my feet, to fifty pound heavier man with a full beard. However, recognition was not long in coming.

Attar mera puter!, she replied and touched my face, as if trying to assure herself, that

[Attar my son!]

her eyes were not deceiving her. Then her eyes filled with tears and she wept.

I hugged her and gently led her to the sitting room. At this point I decided my hosts deserved an explanation for the amazing event that had just transpired. So I briefly introduced her to them, ending with the statement, that she was my long lost adopted mother.

Sardar sahib kithe ne? I asked fearing the worst.

[Where is Sardar sahib?]

Ghar hi ne, mere nal chal je milNa eh, she replied.

[He is at home, come with me if you want to meet him]

At this point I excused myself from my hosts promising them to return again with the family and spend more time with them. She lived within walking distance in sparsely furnished but clean room. In the corner was a bed and beside it was a chair, the only other furniture in the room. On it sat Bupinder Singh a ghost of his former self.

Wekho te kaun aiya weh, she said.

[see, who has come]

Kaun he said in a barely perceptible voice as he slowly turned towards us.

[who]

Attar mera puter, she told him. He gazed at me, with unseeing eyes and no hint or

[Attar my son]

recognition.

Rolleian which sir te chot lagi see, us to bad theek nai hoe, she explained.

[He got hit on the head during the riots and never recovered]

Eh sab kuj kinj ho gaya?, I asked her.

[How did all this happen?]

Slowly, she narrated the story, halting many times, when it became overwhelming for her to continue.

They had gone out of town before the riots started. When they returned the world had changed. Their own servants had joined with some miscreants and ransacked the business and the house and were waiting in the house for them to return, because they could not force open the safe. When they reached home and saw what had happened, Bupinder Singh made the mistake of trying to reach for his gun. However they overpowered him and beat him to the point of death. She pleaded, begged and cajoled them to spare his life, which they did after they made her open the safe and give them every thing including all the jewelry and cash they had on them. They finally left, warning them to leave by the next day or else. She was at her wits end and didnt know what to do, or who to go for help. She tried the neighbors, but the Hindus and Sikhs must have left already and nobody responded to her pleas for help. She returned to the house and was trying to revive her husband, when the door slowly opened. She looked towards it in deep apprehension. It was her maid Ruxana and her husband Mustafa.

Ruxana had tried to reason with the other servants, when they planned to betray their master, but was threatened bodily harm if she took their side. She had gone home and waited for her husband Mustafa to come home, so that they could offer any aid. Mustafa lifted Bhupinder Singh and laid him on the sofa, while Ruxana gathered some stuff to tend to his injuries. After some ministrations, he revived somewhat, but was still groggy.

Once the immediate crisis was taken care of, the question was what to do next. Mustafa opined that it was not safe for them to stay in the house, because there were other marauders, running around. He also advised that they leave for Hindustan as soon as possible, because things were getting worse here. Bi ji was at a loss for what to do. She never had to fend for herself all her life. She had a brother in Sialkot and her husbands family home was in Gujjarawala, but for all practical purpose they might as well be in Hindustan. Finally Ruxana decided that they should spend the night in her house, while Mustafa, checks out what was possible, the next day.

Another problem was. that they had no money or any other valuable and if they were to travel to Hindustan, they would need some cash. So this time Bi ji herself went all over the house, while Ruxana and Mustafa, helped to find if the looters had overlooked some thing valuable. After considerable work, their efforts were rewarded when Bi ji found fifty rupees, in the inside pocket of one of her husbands coats, while Mustafa came up with a gold locket, which somehow had fallen behind the dresser. With this booty and a change of clothes, they left the house and walked the side streets to Ruxanas house. Bupinder Singh was still not quite himself and had to be helped all the way, by Mustafa.

Next day, when Mustafa was ready to go out to check the situation, Bi ji gave him the locket and asked him to sell it and get what ever cash he could. He returned in a few hours with some good news. There was train leaving next day for Hindustan carrying the last remaining units of a Sikh regiment and they would accommodate as many refugees as they could. He had also been able to sell the locket for sixty rupees. Next morning they boarded the train, after Bi ji hugged and thanked Ruxana for coming to her aid in time of trouble. She hoped they would be able to join up with their families in Hindustan and, was sure, her husband would recover and they would start life again.

However the fate had other plans for them. If thing were bad now, they went really went down hill later. First an army medic, who checked Bupinder Singh, announced that he had taken a severe blow to the head and even if medical facilities were available, they would be able to do little for him. When they did reach Hindustan they got lost in the deluge of refugees. The relief agencies were overwhelmed by the number of people in need and little help was available. She tried her best to find out if any of their relatives had survived, but to no avail.

The little money they had, was gone, but they survived on the kindness of strangers. Where ever she got a word, that people from their villages may be found, she went dragging her invalid husband with her. At times, she located some people from the area, but they had no information on their families. Finally tired beyond limit, she gave up. Another refugee took pity on them and let them stay in a room in a vacant house that he had occupied. The problem of roof over the head was solved but food needed to bought. She had no skills and her husband lived in an unknown universe, only occasionally surfacing in this world. So she found the only work she could do and had spent the last twelve years struggling and taking care of him. The irony of fate was, that while looking for her family she passed through Ambala Cantt on more than one occasion, and the place where the bus stopped, was less than a mile from our house.

I was getting late, and I wanted them to go with me to Delhi. I told her, my wife would be overjoyed to see her, but she was reluctant to do so, saying,

Eh is hal che nawiN jagah te jan joge nai.

[He is in no condition to go to an unfamiliar setting]

Finally, I pressed five hundred rupees in her reluctant hands and told her that I had to go, but would be back and not to worry about anything now. She walked me to the car and seemed reluctant to let go, As if she had reached through the time and grasped a bit of her old happy life and was afraid, that it would disappear like a mirage once I left. I returned to my nieces place and asked them to check on them once in a while. I also called my wife and related to her what had happened.

Afterwards we, my wife and I, occasionally went over to see them and to make sure that they were comfortable. I also had some doctors examine Bhupinder Singh to see what if any thing could be done to improve his condition. The consensus was that an operation at this late in time would be too risky considering his frailty and age.

A little over six months passed by and than one morning we received a call from my niece. Bhupinder Singh had passed away in his sleep. We rushed there as soon as we could. I found her understandably distraught and very listless. She just sat there and cried silently while the funeral arrangements were made. Afterwards we again urged her to return with us, but she refused saying.

Main apni badkismat zindhgi da daag tuhade wasde ghar te nai laaNa chandi.

[I do not wish to impose my ill fortune, on your happy family]

No amount of urgings and assurances that things would be alright swayed her. Reluctantly we returned home, hoping once she was over her grief she would agree to live with us. Another month went by and another call from my niece. Bi ji was sick and she had desired to see us, if we could come. We went back and she appeared to be weaker than before, but was glad to see us. I talked to the doctor and asked him what was wrong with her. He replied that other than age and frailty, there was nothing wrong with her physically. She just seemed to have given up on life. After seeing the doctor off, I went in and told her,

Bi ji, maiN huN tuhdi koi gal nai suNni. Kal ussi wapas ja rehe haN te tusi sade nall cholo ge.

[Bi ji, I will not listen to you any more. Tomorrow we will return to Delhi and you are going to come with us.]

She gave a non-committal nod and I thought may be she will agree this time. She hugged us both tenderly, when we left for the night. Next morning, when we returned she did not greet us out side as she did most of the time. We went inside and she was still in the bed, with a calm serene look on her face. I tried to wake her but there was no response. Her journey was over. She had struggled to take care of her husband and once he was gone she had no reason to live.