Who is she? Part25

All through the journey to Srinagar, I had never really felt scared but now fear gripped me. I had heard numerous stories of targeted as well as random killings but had never paid much attention to them. As I said earlier, Kashmir had been the least of my worries. Right since the day I had fallen in love, Kashmir had slipped into the background. I was so involved with Anita that I did not even bother to follow the events in Kashmir. It was only before I started for Srinagar that my father told me about all that had taken place in the valley and how the Pundits had suffered. Some had been killed and most had left. These people could be the ones who had come to know we were pundits and had come to shoot us. They were all wearing cotton pherans and I had no doubt in my mind that they were carrying weapons. Bhaisahab was the first to get out and I followed. It was nearing 8 but there was enough light for us to see all the faces. The sun in the summers sets late, quite late in Srinagar.

“Hey makhan Lal, kyasa waraya kaal gav,che aayi na sane yaad te!” (Makhan Lal, it has been a long time and you did not miss us at all) This was the first time I had heard someone addressing Bhaisahb by his actual name. The man hugged Bhaisahab tightly and refused to let him go. Bhaisahab was a short and frail looking man and I was afraid this bear hug may break his bones.

“Ha ye ha Chu panun Bittuji” (Hey, he is our own Bittuji) someone shouted and rushed towards me. Before I could react, the man embraced me and kissed me on my forehead. I was completely taken aback, in fact I was flummoxed. We were being welcomed like long lost friends. I had expected guns but I could feel and see only arms and eyes full of love.

“Bituji, don’t you recognize me?” The man who was holding me asked. I peered at him and immediately knew who he was. He was a Tonga Walla who used to take me to school when I was a kid of about 12. I recalled his name was Abdul.

“Abdul, isn’t it? How can I forget you? I remember the tantrums I used to throw when you would come to pick me up”

“Ah, you are a big boy now, I am sure you no longer behave like that?”

“Bittu, this is Majeed, do you know him?” Bhaisahab was talking about the man who had just released him from his arms. Of course I knew Majeed. He was our local milkman. Many a time I had gone to his shop to buy milk or curd and sometimes paneer. Majeed came up to me and put his arms around me.

“How have you been, son?”

I felt I was back among my own people. I had spent all my childhood with these folks; they were my people not the people of Punjab among whom I had spent the last six years. A wave of regret swept over me. Why had I left this place? I should have stayed on and I could have but the call of my parents had been strong enough to make me leave my homeland.

All this time Rasool had been just a mute spectator. He had been watching and observing everything but had not spoken a single word. It was Majeed who asked him his name and also where he lived.

“I live in Nowhatta” Rasool said.

“Hmmm, then I think you better hurry up. Makhan Lal, he lives in the interior part of the city. If he goes late, the security forces will give him a tough time. You and Bittu should also go home now. Babuji and Amma will be thrilled to see you. Amma is always talking about you, Bittuji, she misses you a lot. What a shame that all these years you never bothered to come and meet her. Anyway go fast now. May Allah be with you” My curiosity was getting the better of me.

“Why did you stop us in the first place?”

“This is predominantly a Hindu colony Bittu. Almost all the Pundits have left but a few families stayed back. We feel it to be our duty to protect them so we are always on the lookout for any strangers or a strange vehicle. We try our best but it is all in the hands of Allah. You go now, I will come to see you tomorrow” With these words, he and the rest of the group waved us away. We got into the car and this time we stopped right outside the gate of my house.

I got out of the car and stood rooted to the ground. I looked at my house, my dear old house and I was unable to take my eyes off it. It was a huge three storied building, at that moment it looked like a grand mansion to me. My eyes went up to the top floor, then to the second floor and last of all focused on the ground floor. This was the house where I had spent all my childhood days, in fact most of my life so far. I could not fail to notice that almost all the lights were off, the daylight had faded now, it was already dark and I was wondering why my grandparents had not switched on the lights. Then I remembered that the room of Babuji and Amma was on the other side and I could not see it from where I was standing. Bhaisahab and Rasool were busy in unloading the luggage.

“Hey, Raja Sahib, are you going to stand there and do nothing, come here and help us.” Bhaisahb almost shouted. We had only two suitcases and a small carry bag. I lifted both the suitcases but Rasool stopped me. Rasool carried both the suitcases and I held the carry bag. Bhaisahb was left with nothing in his hands. He rang the door bell. There was no response. He rang it again but nobody came out to open the door. After what seemed like an age, I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, the door was unbolted and a strong beam of light exploded in our faces, completely blinding us. Somebody was holding a flashlight in his hands.

“Babuji, Amma, it is Bittuji, he is back’ the man shouted at the top of his voice. It was our dear old Khalid. He switched off the flashlight and now we could see him clearly. He was the same Khalid I had grown up with; the only difference was that he looked a little old now. His eyes fell on Bhaisahab and another bear hug followed. He opened the door fully and we entered. I looked towards my right where we had our lawn, the place where I had played a lot of cricket with my friends and got a lot of scolding for spoiling the grass. It was dark so I was unable to see much. I walked ahead of everyone and reached the main door to the house. The moment I entered I saw Amma shuffling towards me as fast as her small feet could carry her. She was very short, not even four feet but the way she walked towards me was majestic. To me she looked like a queen, dressed in her traditional pheran, with a turban like thing on her head. It was called a Taranga in Kashmiri.

“Bittuji, Bittuji, is it really you? I can’t believe it, you don’t know how my eyes have thirsted for a glimpse of you” She was walking and talking at the same time and by the time she finished the last word she was in my arms. I had to bend down so that she could shower me with kisses. She started sobbing and tears rolled down my cheeks as well.

“How could you forget your old Amma? You know it has been six years and two months since I saw you last. Why, oh why didn’t you come to see us?” Her words made me feel very guilty. I knew I could have come to visit her every year but my desire to stay close to Anita had been stronger than the desire to meet my parents. I am calling them parents because they really were my parents even if they had not given birth to me.

“Amma, namaskar” it was Bhaisahb. Amma was reluctant to let me go, she held me by the hand and gently hugged Bhaisahab with one arm.

“Is all the drama going to take place in the corridor? Let us go inside, it has been a long journey for us and we would love to have something to eat” Food and Bhaisahab were inseparable. I looked around for Rasool. I knew he would have enjoyed this but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone home.

“We entered the drawing room. It was a big hall with wall to wall carpeting and the carpet did not just look expensive, it was expensive. An example of my Babuji’s honesty! Babuji was sitting  in an arm chair, fully dressed, with shoes on as if he had just come from somewhere or was about to leave for some place. This was his habit. He would dress up in the morning and change into his night clothes only at the time of dinner. He was wearing a grey jacket and navy blue trousers with a yellow turban on the head. He looked as handsome as ever although he must have been in his early seventies.

“Namaskar, Bhaisahab, namaskar Bittuji. Everything fine? How was the journey?” No show of sentimentality from Babuji. He was a complete stoic. “Remove your shoes and sit down. Khalid, make some tea for them” The last words came as a surprise to me and even Bhaisahab raised his eyebrows. As far as I could recall, no Muslim was allowed to enter the kitchen but there seemed to have been a drastic change, a change for the better, I thought.

“Babuji because of your stubborn nature, we had to travel all the way to this dangerous place. You should have left with Papaji, we would have been saved the trouble of this journey and saved some money as well” It was highly insensitive of Bhaisahab to say this and that too when we had just entered the house. I had known him to be a glutton, a miser but I had never seen him behave so callously.

“Relax, Bhaisahab, you are tired, we will talk about it tomorrow” Babuji seemed to be completely unruffled by what his son had just said.

 It was Amma who entered with the tea along with my favourite katlam; it is a Kashmiri bakery product. I used to love it with my evening tea and how could my Amma have forgotten it!

“After having your tea you go to your rooms and change. Khalid, please clean up their rooms”

“Bhaisahab and Bittuji, remember one thing. No matter what happens we are not going to leave this place. This is my final decision and I don’t want any arguments over this”

‘This place is not safe for Kashmiri Pundits, Babuji, why don’t you understand?”

“You people say it is not safe, come and stay with me and I will show you how safe it is” Bhaisahb looked at me and I knew it would not be an easy task to take them away from Kashmir. I had a huge task on my hands…!

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