Reaching Khanna, a small town in Punjab, Murti and Usha set up their small house hold. Murti had joined his job in a newly established college in Khanna, just a few months before their marriage in 1946, and had still not set up a proper house, that now both Usha and he would do.

Murti had actually applied for a teaching position in two different colleges the previous year, one in Khanna and one in Ludhiana and had been offered a position in both. For a few weeks, he had remained uncertain, whether to take one or the other, but had finally decided on Khanna. But the people in the college management committee in Ludhiana followed him and kept dragging him to Ludhiana, where he would go and teach for a couple of days and then would come back to Khanna, where he wanted to be.

Murti just couldn’t say no to these people directly. Hence, something that Usha also had to witness and be part of, was a drama, as one fine morning, there was a loud knock on the door someone shouting “Sharma Saheb! Sharma Saheb!” Murti had woken up Usha and told her to tell the people at the door that Murti wasn’t at home, to send them away, a lie that Usha had to tell through a ghunghat, with her face and head covered in her chunnie. Once they left, Murti and Usha laughed a bit, but then she was quite scared afterwards.

Murti had to finally front those people and tell them that he had joined the job in Khanna, and they finally left him alone. Interestingly the job he vacated in Ludhiana would be filled by a young fellow, equally dedicated to teaching, and Murti and he would become friends and much more in future. In the coming years, in another state too, they would meet, and he would many times, take up the positions that Murti had vacated, a trend to be repeated many times.

Well, Khanna was where Usha started her ghar-grahsti, her married life, setting up her house hold. It was a sublet house, a small one-bedroom set with a kitchen and a bathroom across the courtyard, at the back of a bigger house.

Even though, it was a shared house, the old couple who lived in the main house, and owned the property, never bothered to use the back court yard, which became Usha and Murti’s own private area.

A small covered varandah at the front of their room that Usha had turned into her small sitting area, with a chair and a divan, a day bed, also worked as Murti’s exercise place in the mornings.

Murti took his bath out in the open, on the hand pump, while Usha managed to go across to the covered bathroom, allocated to them.

Murti being an early riser, would wake up early and do his morning ablutions, exercise and would leave home to go to college around 7.30.

Usha could hardly wake up before 7 and their breakfast, which would usually be sweet bread with butter, washed down with a few tumblers of milky tea would be organised by Murti. Before going to his college, he would get her the groceries needed for the day, the vegetables, fruit, milk etc. He would be back around lunch time.

By then, Usha would have cooked some simple daal and sabzi and made the roti dough in her shiny small parat, the dough container.

And once, Murti was back, she would make fresh small round phulke, the puffed up roties, the Indian flat bread. Murti loved to eat, but he would always say

“Why don’t you make all the roties before I come so we can eat together.”

He wanted her to make a stack of roties in the morning, like his mother had always done in his village. Usha wanting to serve hot and fresh phulke, just as her own mother had done, couldn’t understand, hence, this tussle that would remain an issue between them even till much later, would be this idea of making roties beforehand or serving fresh phulke.

Moreover, Murti would usually be so hungry that waiting for the next roti was not easy. And in the beginning, a couple of times, he had unknowingly eaten all the phulke, that Usha had been serving hot and puffed up, that no dough was left to make any for herself.

Teary and hungry, Usha had eaten just the small amount of the left daal and sabzi with some left-over sweet bread, while Murti had not realised.

All her cooking pots and pans were quite small, like a doll’s crockery set, maybe not exactly that small. But cooking for and feeding Murti was not a doll’s tea party.

No matter, how much Usha cooked, Murti was always able to finish it.

Many times she had gone to bed still hungry. She felt sad and was annoyed at herself for not being able to manage her kitchen well, like her mother, in whose house there was always delicious fresh food, for them all and plenty of it. She missed her mother, her house and Srinagar, and couldn’t wait to go there. Summer holidays, June end, was still quite far, it was barely February end.

One morning Usha woke up to the delicious smell of paranthas.

She went out and found Murti had actually made a stack of paranthas with his favourite potato and tomato curry.

He beckoned Usha to come quickly for breakfast. It was a Sunday, Usha realised and Murti had made all this food for her. The curry was delicious and the paranthas quite big and not quite round, a bit dog eared, but dripping with clarified butter were heavenly. They both sat together eating when Murti asked her, if she would like to go somewhere that day, with a tummy full and a smile on her face, Usha said, let’s go to the movies this evening.

In the afternoon, after such a heavy breakfast, they both had a long nap and in the evening, Usha got ready in her beautiful pink satin suit and a pair of pink embroidered maroon velvet shoes. Picking up her maroon velvet shawl and her small purse she came out to join Murti, who looked at her as if he was about to say something, but then instead just saying “come Usha, let me take my cycle out”, he started to lock up.

They were about to step out on the street behind their house, when Murti’s two friends, who were also his colleagues, arrived.

“Yar Murti, aaj to Bhabhiji ke haath ka khana khayenge”, we would love to enjoy sister in law’s cooking tonight, one of them said rubbing his hands.

With a heavy heart, Usha looked at Murti.

Murti said to his friends,

“Tonight is Bhabhiji’s holiday, so no cooking, but come with us to the movies and we can all have dinner at the Pasha’s, some nice rogan josh, the muglai meat curry, with some big tandoori nan would be good after a long time”, and with a smile on his face he looked at Usha’s changing expressions with amusement. Suddenly, her face was filled with a smile which for a few minutes had disappeared, and he was happy just seeing her happy.

The few days, that Usha spent in the village, where she had come as Murti’s bride, gave her a new insight into life, filling her with quite new feelings. These were feelings of belonging with those whom she had no relations till only a few days ago, as well as some uncertainty of trying to fit in a new family.

It was certainly a new experience as was expected. First of all the village life, the house and the routine they followed was very different from a comparatively modern, and culturally more advanced city life she had so far led. In addition, in comparison to her own family, which was mainly a female dominated house-hold, as other than her father and two little brothers, she wasn’t used to having a few striping, grown up young men around. Hence, having her father in law, her three brothers in law, and a few male cousins always coming and going, talking loudly, shouting at each other, made her a bit conscious.

Other than Murti’s parents, there were Murti’s older brother and his wife, and two younger brothers and two sisters in the family.

Usha was supposed to keep her head covered all the time, and then also cover her face when Murti’s father or older brother were around. The younger brothers were both quite shy themselves, and it was Usha who would try to speak with them.

Murti’s father was a very affectionate man who had accepted Usha as his daughter at once, though he didn’t say much, but had shown his love and acceptance in other ways. The very second day, after Usha came to the village, he had gone to the nearby town, and brought some refined sugar for Usha to add in her milk or tea, as he said that she might not be used to the taste of gur, the unrefined jaggery, they used in the village.

Bibbee was quite a strong woman who ran the house hold with an iron fist, but Usha had experienced her love and warmth, though she remained in awe of her as everyone else in the family did.

Usha liked her sister in law, the wife of Murti’s older brother, who had a one year old son. She was quite a simple and straightforward person who called a spade a spade.

Like, looking at Usha’s arms, she had said one day, “where are the gokhrus, the heavy golden bangles, that Bibbee gave you?”

‘Oh, I gave them back to her, they were too heavy”, Usha told her.

“Good, she was going to ask them back any way”, she said quite seriously, as if sharing a secret, but her eyes were twinkling with mischief, and suddenly Usha started to giggle. They both ended up laughing on the floor.

Murti had two younger sisters, they were both married and already had a couple of children each. They were both visiting their parents’s house for the wedding.

They were both quite endearing, especially the younger one as she was quite giggly around Usha. She seemed to be a bit in awe of her.

Usha talked to her sisters in law often telling them about her younger brothers and sisters, and her college days, which was all quite foreign to them.

Usha was quite surprised that how come, only Murti had gone to college, while his other brothers and sisters had not even finished school. His older brother was helping their father in his work, while the younger one was interested in learning some technical know-how of lathe machinery and wanted to move to a bigger town to start his own workshop. The youngest brother, who had still not finished year 10, was staying at home, but was not sure what he wanted to do.

The sisters had both only finished year five, as the village school was only a primary school, and none of them had shown any interest in further study, or the most probably, traditions had moulded them, gearing them towards just getting ready for marriage.

Usha couldn’t understand them, though she found life in the village to be quite interesting. She got into some routine with the womenfolk, helping with thehouse chores.

Since the house was still a house of wedding festivities, and then was also full of grown up men, and a few small children, women had hands full.

Usha didnt mind, rather enjoyed cooking, chopping veggies or cleaning whatever her sister in law would be doing, but Murti wanted her not to get too much involved there, and would keep calling her to do this, find that, study this and pack that, or to just go with him for walks.

It was their last day in the village, when, in the afternoon, there was some event in some neighbour’s house. Bibbee asked all the females to get ready as it was an all-women function. She however didn’t ask the older daughter in law, as it was expected that someone had to be home to look after the house and the menfolk, to make their afternoon tea, dinner etc. She looked a bit disappointed. Usha was disappointed too and didn’t want to go either.

Looking at her disappointed face, Murti said to Bibbee that Usha could stay home instead and make tea etc, she didn’t know anyone in the neighbourhood, so it didn’t make a difference if she didn’t go.

Bibbee had wanted to take this opportunity to show off Usha, so she had to decide to do something about it now. She called her youngest son and ordered him to warm up food and make tea etc for everyone.

Murti winked at Usha, and with a smile, she and her sister in law went to get ready. Soon they were all ready to leave.

Usha was wearing her red silk suit and her cashmere shawl, that Fatima, her best friend in Srinagar had embroidered and gifted her. Her sister on law asked her about the shawl, and in reply Usha said, “My best friend Fatima made it for me”.

“Fatima?”

Bibbee and Usha’s sister in law both said at once.

“Yes, Fatima!” Usha replied innocently.

“That is a Muslim name!” Bibbee said.

“Yes, Bibbee, she was Muslim, and was my best friend, we used to study together and spent so much time….”! She became a bit teary, remembering her friend and her family and her life in Srinagar.

“But that is quite shocking, Usha! Did you eat at her place?” Bibbee said quite loudly, as if she couldn’t believe it, and it came out quite sternly.

Suddenly Murti came in the room and said, “What is wrong in having a friend who doesn’t come from the same religion. Bibbee, our neighbours are from different religions, we have so many Sikh friends.”

“But that is different. Muslims are not like us, they are not clean!”

Usha was ashamed of putting everyone in a difficult situation and was trying to find a place to hide. But then Murti stepped in and said, “Bibbee, all religions have good and bad, clean and dirty people.”

He went on,

“Last year, remember when I came home, and said it had been quite an adventure to travel through Punjab? I didn’t tell you everything. Actually, when I was travelling from Lahore to Moga in an overnight bus, our bus was stopped by some young rogues who started hassling people. They were some Muslim ruffians, who wanted to segregate Hindus from Muslims and started checking out the passengers. I panicked, as I knew if they found out that I was a Hindu, I could be dragged out of the bus and then who knows what they would have done. I looked at the person sitting next to me. He was a Maulawi, a Muslim religious man, as he had a long white beard and a white skull cap. Before the rogues could see us at the back, where we were sitting, he quickly took off his cap and put it on my head. He also put his arm around my shoulders and started to pray. We all sat quietly, and the rogues after a futile search left the bus”.

Suddenly there was silence in the room. Clearing her throat, Bibbee quickly looked around and said, “Girls, what are you all waiting for, we will miss all the good food, if we get there any later”, and headed towards the door. Her daughters with their children in tow followed her.

Usha wiped her eyes, and her sister in law put her arm around her waist and said, “Lets go”! It was a good evening and Usha looked so beautiful that every woman at the event wanted to see her, touch her and shower her with praise. She enjoyed the simple feast and festivity at the event but kept thinking about what Murti had told them, and silently thanking the Maulawi Sahib, who had saved him and she knew that Bibbie would be thinking the same.

A city girl in the village:

Once Murti arrived in the village with Usha’s doli, a beautiful name for the bridal vehicle, there was a continuous chain of celebrations. Usha just followed the procedure and was soon flowing in the rhythm, mostly in tow with Murti.

Murti had a pink stole around his neck which was tied to the corner of the red chunnie, the stole like two yards of chiffon, Usha had been wearing, hence they both had to walk together.

They were welcomed at the door of Murti’s parents’ house by Murti’s mother, whom Murti addressed as Bibbee. Dressed in a Punjabi suit, with a traditional gota kinari, gold and silver bordered red shawl covering her head and partially showing her beautiful face, she was a strikingly looking woman. She had a fair pinkish complexion, sharp features and salt and pepper hair that created a halo around her luminous face.

“Jee ayan nun beta, welcome my dear, it was a long wait”! She said after the ceremonious drinking of water from a big brass tumbler, which was circled around Murti and Usha a few times.

“What a beautiful kuri, girl, you have brought home, Murti”, she said with love and pride oozing out of her voice. Then addressing Usha, Bibbee said a bit forcefully,“Ghund kad le beta, cover your face child, soon women will be here to see you”. With trembling hands, Usha tried in vain to follow this order. Yes, it was not a request or suggestion, that much was clear, Usha understood that she had to do what was asked.

Murti helped her, as she had never used a chunnie to cover her head, what to say about covering her face.

‘Here, you have to keep chunnie on your head and cover your face when there are older men around. This is a village, betaji, not your Lahore”. Bibbee said as she led them in.

Once Usha was settled down on a cushioned seat on the floor in a corner, Murti disappeared. For a while, it was only Bibbee who was there with her in the room as other women of the family were busy in the kitchen or outside, taking care of the menfolk: Murti’s Father, brothers, and cousins who had come back with the doli. The journey from Lahore that morning to Murti’s village, in Ferozepur District, had been long, and they needed to rest, especially after a night of partying.  

Bibbee sat down next to Usha and lifting her chunnie, she inspected Usha’s face, arms and hands as if checking what jewellery, she was wearing.

Suddenly she left the room, and came back with a small bag. She took out a thick gold chain and put it around Usha’s neck, and then slipped a pair of quite heavy golden bangles on her arms. The bangles were carved beautifully with twisted snake heads. Usha looked up surprised and with a questioning rise of her eyebrows, she dared to look into Bibbee’s eyes.

“The whole village is talking of the Lahore wedding, and the khatrani, a girl from a different caste, that Murti has married, let the women see for themselves that Sukhmani’s new bahu is a real princess.” Bibbee said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Usha’s eyes were shiny with tears, as she realised that Bibbee was trying to keep her on a pedestal, posing her as a girl from a rich family, to get her respect of the relatives and village people.  She knew that considering the taboos regarding inter-caste weddings, that troubled families even in cities in India, people in an Indian village would look down upon a daughter-in-law from another caste.  

Murti’s family were considered to be higher caste, as they were Brahmins. His parents’, especially his mother’s acceptance of her into her family was a great thing. Her aunties and cousins in Lahore, airing the doubts that her own mother had, had warned her about some negative reactions from Murti’s family, and hurdles to her acceptance in the village. She bent down to touch her mother in law’s feet and Bibbee put her arms around Usha to give her a hug.

Meanwhile the women of the village had started to come to see Sukhmani’s new daughter-in-law and soon a procession of them started taking their turns to lift her chunnie, touch her face, checking her hands and arms, and slip some money in her hand. A few of them even checked around Usha’s neck for her jewellery.

Usha was finding it all a bit odd, as the comments about her face, her complexion and her jewellery were being made on her face. She was from Lahore, the most advanced city in India, and the mannerism of these women from a backward village was quite strange and disconcerting to her.

Well, soon, there was a consensus that Sukhmani’s son had brought a bahu who was rich and beautiful like a princess.

“Bhai manan payega, Sukhmani da jod hei Murti di votti, hai kinni gori, te kinni sohni hei, shagan ta doogna banda hei”!

One of the women’s comment summed up their feelings, “Murti’s wife is fit to be Sukhmani’s daughter in law, so fair, and so beautiful,  I’m going to give her double shagan money”!  

Bibbee was beaming with pride and happiness, and while collecting the shagan money from Usha’s hand, that women were slipping in, she was ordering around some younger women, especially her daughters and the other daughter-in-law, to bring in plates of sweets, and nuts, warm milk and water for the guests.

By the time the women and some men who were enjoying the sweets outside had left, it was late afternoon. Usha was tired and a bit hungry but happy, as she was relieved. While looking forward to seeing Murti, she dozed off soon.

When she woke up she realised that she was in another smaller room and Murti was with her.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked pointing at the plate of food that was sitting next to the bed on which Usha was lying down. He must have actually lifted her and brought her in the room from outside where she had fallen asleep. “Yes!”, she nodded with a smile, and reached for the food. “There is some warm milk for you too!”, Murti said mischievously as he finished a big glass of milk.

The auspicious day has finally arrived

January in Punjab, has a mixed weather, as the first half of the month is cold with chilly mornings, and freezing evenings, but as the Lohri passes, which is mostly on 13th January, it starts to warm up.

Then as Basant, the season of Spring approaches, the days start to become longer and warmer, plants turn colour as the leaves and flowers start to wake up stretching their green little spiky arms, opening their colourful hearts in their velvety petals.

In this weather, especially around Basant panchami, the fifth day of Spring, the date of Usha’s wedding, the garden in the Model Town house, truly fitted the theme, with the turmeric colour border of marigold and mehndi (raw henna) green leaves, decorating the white exterior of the house, and pink and white coloured rose buds, ready to burst into an explosion of colour, splattered everywhere, making it a perfect wedding palace.

The relatives, from both sides of Usha’s family, her maternal and paternal sides, who were going to attend the wedding, had already arrived. Every meal was a banquet and every evening a festival of lights and music. While men sat around discussing the political situation, that had been brewing up in the anticipation of the approaching independence and the partition of the country, expected in a few months’ time, women were busy doing the things, needed for the usual ceremonies of a Punjabi wedding, maiyan, mehendi, haldi, choora, ghadoli, chunnie, kaleere, shagan, and of course, the gaunn, the ladies sangeet , the thumping of the dholaki, the Indian drum, singing and dancing in the evenings.

Bhabhoji, befitting the role of the grandmother of the bride was extremely busy and excited. She had been waiting for a long time for a wedding to take place in her house, and having the chance at last, had fully opened her house and heart to celebrate the wedding of her granddaughter. In the day time, she would shine as the gracious hostess and in the evenings would be the soul of gaunn.

She would sing and dance and pull such pranks that any unknowing woman could get a heart attack, if she got to be the target of one of her pranks.

The night before the wedding day, all the women in the house were in the women’s area where singing and dancing was going on. Usha’s Tai and Bua, her paternal aunties, who were much sober than Usha’s maternal aunties and their friends, were singing on dholki, when suddenly a young man in a suit and a turban appeared and pulled one of the aunties up to dance.

There was a mayhem as the younger women and girls shrieked with laughter, enjoying the tussle between them, while a couple of more conservative women were about to swoon. Then as the young man, putting his arms around the auntie’s waist, was about to kiss her, she shrieked covering her face by putting her hands on it. Suddenly the young man’s turban got undone in this jostling, ‘his’ long hair escaping, and then the others realised it was Bhabhoji.

After that there was lighthearted bantering, tane mane, jestful complaints and comments, and a lot of noise and laughter which concluded the evening.

Next day, it was the big day.

In the late morning, after Haldi, the turmeric and oil ceremony, Usha had taken a bath. She was wearing her old favourite suit, brown shirt, with a pink salwar, the Indian pants, and a pink and brown muslin chunnie. Her hair had been combed and braided, and with no make up, her scrubbed face looked quite pale. Her arms were adorned with the ivory choora, sets of red and white bangles, while a few kaleere, small umbrella shaped silver tinsel ornaments, were tinkling against them. The dried whole coconuts and dried dates, also hanging with them, were making it quite cumbersome for Usha to move her arms easily.

The choora ceremony had been simple and emotional with Usha’s mother and a few other women and her sisters shedding a few tears amid laughter. When her relatives were tying the kaleere through the bangles on her arms, some were giving her advice, and some were giving her blessings.

There was also much banter, with people giving Usha interesting advice, to do this or not to do this after marriage, and lighthearted comments flew everywhere.

There were comments and jokes, especially about the bride groom’s party, the pendu or ganwar, rustic barat comprising of villagers, that was expected to arrive from a pind, Murti’s village in Firozepur, that evening.

How dazzled they would be with the huge Model Town house, which was in the most modern and the poshest colony in Lahore, and the reception, the party, the lights, the band, and things they hadn’t seen ever, how they would react, how they’d sit on the chairs, how they would eat, and how they would drink, were the butt of these jokes.

Most of such jokes were harmless as everyone wished Usha to go to a happy marriage, but sometimes, the comments were quite sharp and pricked Usha’s sensitive ears, bringing tears and fears, which were always there, to the surface.

After lunch, the congregation of gharaties, the bride’s side family and relatives, had gone to get ready for the reception, sawagat of baraties, the bride-groom’s side of guests, who will arrive for the wedding ceremony which will culminate in bidai, when Murti will take Usha with him.

Usha’s bridal clothes and jewellery were laid out, ready to be worn, and soon she would dress up as the bride, shedding her old clothes and her girlhood, to take her first step towards her future.

After marriage what happens to the bride always remains uncertain, and fills the bride and her parent’s hearts with the fear of the unknown, and there is always an anxiety of uncertainties that the bride has to face alone in her in-law’s house.

Usha was trying to keep the food that she had eaten, in her system, while her sister, Nanna was packing the box, that Usha would take with her to her in-law’s house. Another bag , with a few of her other personal items such as an extra pair of shoes, her towels, and her small make-up box, was waiting with its mouth wide open, for some other last minute things that she might need to fit in.

Mataji came with a small bundle of something wrapped in a cloth and gave it to Nanna to put in Usha’s bag.

What’s this Mataji?

“This is my shiksha to you, my advice, dear daughter”.

Curious, Usha opened the little bundle. She found a muslin cloth, fine and embroidered, size of a big handkerchief. There were a few coins wrapped in it, and a small vial of perfume, a silver spoon and a silver tumbler, a box of saffron, and some nuts.

Nanna seemed to be familiar with this routine and these gifts of the magi, the wise women of the family, that were to be bestowed upon the bride, as a parting advice and blessing, and was smiling with a naughty glee.

Mataji started to explain,

“The perfume is for taking with you the fragrance and beauty to your husband’s house, the saffron for the colour and culinary taste that you will bring to your kitchen”,

“The silver tumbler and the silver spoon are to bring, love, children, and prosperity to your married life.”

“and the silver coins are for you to spend if need be”, Mataji’s voice was trembling.

“And Usha, the tumbler is also to drink water if you are thirsty, if they forget to give you a drink of water”, Nanna added, “and the nuts, just in case you are hungry, and there is a delay in giving you food at your in-law’s house”, touching the coconuts and dried dates on her kaleere, she smiled mischievously.

“And finally, the muslin cloth my dear, is the symbol of the parda, the curtain, which needs to be always drawn between the parents’ and in-law’s houses, keeping their respective affairs separate”. Mataji said solemnly.

“Don’t talk about them to us and us to them”.

By the time, Mataji and Nanna had repeated these sentences, three of them were hugging and sobbing.

Usha had to internalise the advice pondering over it, while getting ready, and somehow, she was strengthened by her mother’s shiksha, her love and advice, as suddenly, she started feeling much more confident.

‘Yes, all will be good’, she was empowered by her love, her commitment to Murti, and Murti will keep his promise of taking care of her, keeping her safe and happy, she knew.

The rest of the evening was a blur, as the Jaimala, the garland exchange ceremony and phere, the seven steps of wedding vows around the fire, blended into each other. There were no women in the barat, and Usha’s father-in-law carried out all the rituals, sometimes requesting Usha’s mother to take care of the ceremonies.

The dinner that the baraties, the bride groom’s party, were served that night, would remain a talk of Murti’s family and friends circle, who had come from his village and similarly, the grandeur of the bridal house, the wedding, and the party, Usha’s grandparents had organised, would become a legend in the village, something to be talked about for many generations to come.

Early morning, just before the dawn, in the shade of the last few stars, the bidai, the send off of the bride, took place. Usha had to start walking away from her home, her family and whatever she was leaving behind, throwing handful of puffed rice on them as a symbol of her giving back whatever she had eaten at her parents’ house, while they were walking behind, catching the puffed rice as her blessing to them. Everyone had wet eyes as they all walked behind her.

Once near the waiting bus, Usha was hugged and kissed by every relative, before being given away to Murti. Mataji and Nanna had hugged her and were wiping their tears, and Pitaji was trying to keep his tears in control, holding Usha’s trembling hands, leading her to Murti, who took her hand. While he was leading her tenderly to the waiting bus, that would take her away from everything and everyone familiar, Usha’s teary eyes were looking around searching for her younger sister, who hadn’t come to see her off. The little ones, her youngest siblings, had fallen asleep during phere, and she had kissed them good bye there.

With a heavy heart, Usha got into the bus. She settled down in her window seat and wiping her eyes looked out to wave good bye to her relatives and parents.

Suddenly Burpi burst into the crowd which had gathered around the bus. She reached up and grabbed Usha’s arms as if to hug her.

Her eyes were shiny with tears as she called out, “Usha, remain happy, my dear sister. we’ll miss you.”

She was wearing the black velvet coat, Usha noticed, and looked so beautiful and grown up that Usha’s heart missed a beat. She squeezed her hands, miming ‘I love you’ with her lips.

Then as the bus started to crawl, Usha had to let go of her sister’s hand; and with her father-in – law showering a few hands full of coins on the moving bus, she started her journey into her future, her new life, leaving everything that she had loved and had been familiar with, behind.

Once the bus had crawled out of the familiar premises, shyly Usha looked at Murti and saw he was smiling with such love in his eyes that her heart was filled with relief and peacefully, she closed her eyes.

Usha’s grandmother Bhabhoji, who had given up on her eldest son, Channa getting married, had offered to host Usha’s wedding in their palatial Modal Town house in Lahore. Everywhere in the house, which already had its own mad schedule of activities, there was now even a greater hustle and bustle to do with the wedding of the year, 1947, wedding of the granddaughter of the town’s Civil Surgeon, Dr T.V., as Usha’s Grandfather was known.

Half of Lahore’s elite Punjabi community was invited. And as the wedding days were getting closer, the hum of the preparations was turning into a mad frenzy. The shamiyan walla, the sweet walla, the bhaji walla, the phool walla, all the time there were people, trades people, hovering around the house.

With many women and young girls in the house, as Usha’s sisters, cousins, and aunties, were all getting their clothes and jewelry made or polished, the tailor,the jeweller, the bangle seller, and the chunnie walla, were dropping by every day, for trials, alterations, and colour matching.

Usha was supposed to be in maian, a period of rest for the bride to be, lazing around the house, wearing old clothes, with no make up, and dishevelled unmade hair, so that when she finally gets dressed up on her wedding day, she would shine like a star.

Usha’s bridal clothes were almost ready and her jewellery which consisted of a traditional heavy necklace and a modern gold set was ready, shining in two beautiful blue velvet boxes.

Her wedding sari that was to be her jaimala dress, when the bride and the bride groom exchange garlands, and her red suit, which was for her phere, the actual wedding ceremony when the bride and the bride- groom take vows while going around the fire, were ready, ironed and hanging in the cupboard in the mirrored wall.

She was going to wear a beautiful choora, a set of red and white ivory bangles that her uncles, mother’s brothers, Channa and Kenny, would bring for her. She hadn’t seen it as yet, as it had to remain a secret till her wedding day morning, when she would sit for the Haldi ceremony, when her relatives will put tumeric and mustard oil paste on her face, hands, and feet, and her sisters will shower flowers on her, bathing her. And then she will wear the choora, which will jingle in her hands that will be covered with henna.

Usha was blushing at the image of herself, how she would look as a bride as everyone in the house was saying to her,

“Hi, Kya roop chadega dekhna” Oh you will look so beautiful!

The evenings were still quite cool in January, and especially on her wedding night, it would get quite cold by the time the phere ceremony would take place, so Usha’s mother had asked her to keep the black and red shawl handy, the beautiful Kashmere shawl that her best friend Fatima had embroidered for her.

Though, Usha also had a beautiful coat that Channa’s friend, Chandra, had given to her when she had finished her matriculation exams, a couple of years ago. She would have loved to wear it with her red suit, as it was quite stylish and had gold plated buttons. She had loved the coat, also because, Chandra had given it to her.

Chandra had been a kind of a heroine for Usha and other girls in the family. She was smart, quite outspoken and independent. She was a journalist that’s what Usha knew, but what she actually did, the girls didn’t understand. But they all admired her for being so bold and beautiful and because she always came and went in her own car.

She was Channa’s girl friend, and had been coming to their house since the time they had been together at college, many years ago. Bhabjoji had been patiently waiting for them to tie the knot, but the months changed into years, and nothing happened. They just remained close friends, and Channa refused to even talk about marriage.

Actually, Mataji had told Nanna and Usha that their uncle, Channa, whose real name was Presh, had been madly in love with Chandra right from their college days. He had actually even changed his surname from Talwar to Channa, for her sake. But she was not the marrying type, she didn’t want to settle down. She was a career woman. So they never got any further than having horse rides, playing tennis, attending social functions or sitting and playing cards, discussing, arguing, and laughing together.

And they continued to do so, remaining close friends, but none of them got married.

A sad love story, Usha used to think.

Well, the black velvet coat that Chandra had given to Usha a couple of years ago, was still quite new, but Usha couldn’t wear it on her wedding, as, it was an article of clothing from her unmarried time, and she wasn’t supposed to wear or even take any of her old clothes with her.

But, she had loved this coat, its smooth fabric, stylish cut, and shiny colour, and she didn’t want to part with it. So it was still hanging in the cupboard with her new clothes.

Her younger sister, Burpi, who had suddenly turned into an attractive, and beautiful young girl befitting her real name, Mohini, meaning bewitching, had her eyes on this coat. She wanted to wear it for the wedding with her pink satin suit. But Usha wouldn’t part with the coat, so Burpi was just waiting patiently.

One afternoon, just a couple of weeks before her wedding day, Usha was having a rest after lunch, when she heard some commotion in the house. Thinking that her sister, Nanna had arrived, she ran outside, but found out that Chandra had come to visit her.

Chandra hadn’t been coming to Model Town, the way how she used to, since she had taken up a position in a Delhi Newspaper, “The Hindustan Times”, a well established broad sheet English newspaper, and was always touring. She was rarely in Lahore.

That afternoon, she had come to see Usha, to give her a wedding gift. She said that she will not be in town for the wedding. She had to go on a tour to Kashmir. Her newspaper was covering the news there, much was happening and much more was going to happen there, when independence comes, she said.

Bhabhoji refused to come and see Chandra now-a-days, so it was just Usha and one of her Auntie’s daughter, who were entertaining Chandra. They were sitting in the varandah and drinking tea that had been served quite royally, at Bhabhoji’s behest though she herself hadn’t made an appearance.

For some reason, may be because Chandra had come especially to see her, or because she was emboldened by her unique situation of being the bride to be, Usha had the courage to say to Chandra something she had always wanted to say,

“Why didn’t you become our Mami, our auntie, Chandra, we all like you very much?”

Chandra was taken a back by this question asked so candidly, and for a minute she was lost for words, but then collecting herself, she said,

“Oh’ that’s an old story, dear”.

Usha was insistent, “Why didnt you get married?”

Chandra said, “Darling girl, because I didn’t want to marry. I didn’t want to settle down as a wife. I wanted to go to England and do journalism, and I wanted to work. There was so much to be done, I couldn’t just get married.”

“But Channa Mamaji would have supported you, I’m sure, he would have. Even after marriage, he would have let you study and work. Marriage is not a barrier to study, I don’t think so, look, I’m going to study, I will finish my B.A. and may train to become a teacher after marriage”.

Usha said it all in one breath, and then was surprised at herself, for saying it all.

After a minute of silence, Chandra said,

“Good on you Usha, and good luck in marriage, but for us, it is too late now”.

And in her voice, Usha heard emotions, such as regret and pain, that she hadn’t associated with Chandra. Without thinking, she took Chandra’s hands in her hands, they were cold and were trembling a bit, Usha squeezed them to bring some warmth in them.

After Chandra left, Usha walked back to her room, she was restless, feeling sad for all those people who don’t get to be what they want to be, and who they want to be with. Her friend Fatima, she would never be able to study or work, but hopefully, she will be content, and her uncle, he will never marry, and neither would Chandra, but they would always live in regret. She couldn’t do anything but feel sad for them.

Then she suddenly thought of something and rushed into her room. She opened the cupboard and grabbed the black coat from her side of the cupboard, and moved it, hanging it next to Burpi’s pink satin suit that had just been delivered that afternoon.

Usha had been walking around in a daze. The marriage date had been fixed for January 27th which was only three months away and the time in between, which earlier had seem to be crawling since Murti had left to go to his job in Punjab, had suddenly took wings. It was going so fast, that she wanted to beg it, “Don’t go so fast, please slow down”!

She wanted to savour the feel, the fragrance, the taste, the touch of her last days in Srinagar, cherishing her girlhood at her parents’ house, with them, with her younger siblings, her friends, before she became a woman, a married woman!

Since she had finished her exams, she had been spending most of her days at home helping Mataji in house work, or in doing the tens of things a bride to be’s mother had to prepare, and organise.

She would sometimes visit her friends, who would also visit her, especially, Fatima who had been her best friend since their school days. They had spent many afternoons in each other’s company, walking to and from each other’s house, lingering a bit on their way, walking hand in hand, talking endlessly, enjoying the beauty of nature, which wasn’t only in the gardens, but was everywhere in the surroundings of their beautiful city.

It had actually been a routine since their school days, as after their classes, Usha and a group of other girls used to come home, dropping one another, one by one, on the way. In these meetings the girls would share much, having heart to heart talks.

Especially, after Nanna’s marriage, Usha had come even closer to Fatima, sharing her own fears and doubts, desires and dreams for her future. Nanna’s marriage had shaken Usha a lot as Nanna hadn’t known Dutt at all, and he was also much older to her in age. She was married off to him because Pitaji had known Dutt’s father, a usual thing in the society at that time. Girls didn’t have any say in such matters. Luckily, Dutt was a very good husband, but it was always the luck of the draw.

Fatima herself was already sort of betrothed. She had known since she had been a little girl, that her cousin, either her uncle’s son or her maternal aunt’s son would be the one to marry her. She didn’t have much choice in that, as when the time would come, whatever her parents decide, would be.

She would say:

“Love and romance is within us, it doesn’t matter, who we marry, we have to do our best, be a good wife, loving the person we marry, and eventually, he would learn to love us too”!

Usha would try to understand how someone her own age could be so wise and so helpless.

Fatima was so beautiful that all the girls used to pretend swooning over her. Her skin was like porcelain, clear and fair, and her eyes were deep blue black. Her hair was dark brown with some gold flecks, here and there, and she had a lithe body, a very small waist that all her girl friends used to joke about:

Are Bhai kamar to hei nahi Janne kamarband kahan badhante ho!!

There is hardly any waist dear, where do you tie your waist band?

And she was beautiful all around, outside and inside. She had actually befriended Usha when she had been struggling to cope after her sister Bachho, who was only 4 years old, had passed away, after a long illness. Usha’s whole family had been shaken up, as Mataji had also become quite sick afterwards. It had been a depressing time, and Usha, who was in year 8, had taken quite a big break from school, missing many lessons.

Fatima was very good in studies, and was also a very good friend, she had helped Usha come out of her depression. She had encouraged her to study, helping and working hard with her. Since then, Usha and Fatima had become study buddies which had continued till both sat for their recent F.A. exams together.

For Usha, passing F.A. was to be her entry to B.A. but for Fatima, as she would jokingly say, it would be the end to her B.A. (Be a someone!! ) and becoming a B.B! (In Urdu Biwi means wife).

However, as it so happened, Usha was now going to be married before Fatima and the marriage was to take place in Lahore. Fatima wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding, and for that matter none of Usha’s other friends could, and none of their other family friends, Mataji’s friends in the neighbourhood, and Pitaji’s Arya Samaj cronies would be able to come too.

So, right after Diwali, before leaving for Lahore, Mataji and Pitaji decided to have Sangeet, a music party, which is a usual function before the wedding, in Srinagar, so all of their local friends could at least join in something to do with Usha’s wedding.

A shamiyana, a large tent was erected in front of the house, and a halwai was arranged to fry hot poories and jalebies for the function.

Everyone of their friends, and neighbours came. They were all excited and wanted to help in organising decorations, preparing and serving food, and they brought sweets, and gifts, trying to force Mataji to accept shagan, a customary monitory contribution, that friends and relatives make towards a girl’s wedding, and late into the evening, the girls danced and women sang naughty and soulful wedding songs on dholki, which would tickle as well as touch the heart strings of every one present.

Fatima who hardly came to any social events, came and brought a beautiful black and red Kashmere shawl that she had herself embroidered for Usha, and the song she sang in her melodious, melancholic voice that evening, kept echoing in Usha’s ears for days together, and when she was sitting in the train to Lahore, saying goodbye to Srinagar and everything she had loved there, she could hear that song resonating from everywhere:

Sada Chidiyan da chamba ve babul assa ud jana…

Sadi lambi udari ve, asan mud nahiyo anaa …

O father! we daughters are like a flock of birds, we will fly away far, never to come back…

By the time, Nanna and Dutt left for their new home in Jallandar, where Dutt had taken up a job at a college, it was already September, and the season had started to change. Murti had also found a job, in Punjab, in a newly established Degree college in Khanna, a tradition that Murti, in his career would continue from 1946 into the future. And finally, before leaving for this job, he had talked to Usha about their future together. They were getting married in a few months’ time, early in the new year, 1947. Usha had put her B.A. on hold, for the time being to get ready for the next stage in her life. She was excited and quite sure of their future together in a free India.

And the thing that had made all her doubts and fears about Murti dissipate, was when Murti had told her why he had gone to Haridwar to become an ascetic a couple of years ago and why he had come back. He had shared this story with her on a misty morning.

His bags were packed by then, as he was leaving in a couple of days time, and Mataji had very cleverly asked Murti to take Usha to the Shankaracharya Temple, for darshan. Pitaji didn’t believe in temples, but Mataji did, and would visit some temples, taking the kids with her sometimes. This temple of Lord Shiv, which was Srinagar’s most famous ancient temple, was her favourite and she had asked Usha to offer her prayers to Lord Shiv for a good life- partner, and Usha had prayed every single day for Murti.

While walking back from the temple, Murti had asked Usha whether she was happy about their forthcoming marriage. Usha had nodded, and looked at Murti, and for the first time, Murti had looked into her eyes. In her beautiful eyes he could see all her innocent love but in that sea of love he could see the turbulence, some clouds of doubts, which were threatening to melt in tears, and suddenly, he had taken her hand in his hand and had said,

“I promise to be always there for you, Usha, I will take care of everything”!

Then he had started to tell her about himself that he knew would give her an idea about the man she was going to marry. The incident that had shaped him the most, his trip to Haridwar, was the one he knew he needed to share with her.

After finishing his M.A., Murti had had some tough time in Lahore. His scholarship which had supported him for his study all these years, had stopped and he couldn’t be in the hostel anymore. He was now supposed to find a job, to eat, and to have a roof over his head.

As a student, Murti had started to attend freedom fighters’ rallies in Lahore, and had wanted to join the freedom fight, but now without any financial source to take care of his basic needs for food and shelter, he couldn’t just up and go to join the freedom fight full time. He needed a job. After all, he had to take care of his family responsibilities. He didn’t have a rich well to do urban family to support him, rather he might need to support them. His parents still lived in the village, where they had to work hard, in their fields, and his father ran a small shop, to make ends meet.

Murti applied for a few teaching jobs, and while he was waiting for the results, he didn’t have any reason or means to stay on in Lahore, so he had to pack up and go home to his village.

Usha had tears in her eyes, thinking that what hardship Murti might have been going through, while she had been enjoying the luxuries of her grandparents’ palatial house, in the same city.

In the village, though Murti had enjoyed being home after a long time, enjoying a simple, rustic life, soon he had become restless. He was young and restless to go and conquer the world. He had always believed in Gandhi and his teachings, and then as he read Ruskin and Tolstoy and other socialist writers’ writing, he was further influenced by their ideas towards creating an equal society. One way to do something for the society would be to help the poor and the illiterate.

He decided to start teaching children in the village, who didn’t have any interest in going to the only high school in that district, where Murti had gone, which was five miles from the village. It was a long, arduous journey requiring first walking, and then taking a bus or a horse cart, and not many children wanted to cover that distance everyday. He wanted to inspire these children, including his own two younger brothers, but he had no means to entice these children to study. Whatever little money he had saved from his scholarship, he had spent in Lahore.

His father was not a rich man, though, being a Brahmin, he was respected in the village and people listened to him. With his help, Murti had tried to raise the issue of illiteracy in the village panchayat, but the village zameendar, the biggest land lord, blocked any progress. He believed that these children were better off learning their family trades, whatever their forefathers had been doing in the village, whether it was iron smithery or shoe making. Many of the village families worked as kashatkars, the seasonal labourers, in his fields and he didn’t want the source of this cheap labour to dry up.

Frustrated, after seeing this endless forced labour and poverty of these families, and feeling helpless, Murti had become quite dejected and angry. There was so much suffering and what was the meaning of this life? This question started to trouble him.

And then in all this, a marriage proposal had come for him from a rich family, and he had panicked. Talking to his parents was not an option as he knew they would not understand. His mother had been waiting all these years for her favourite son’s wedding, and his father had been looking forward to showing off the harvest of educating his son, in terms of the dowry, the money this girl would bring.

As the decision was still in his hand, Murti had simply walked out leaving his house and the village and had caught the first bus leaving for Moga, the closest town. Once there, he had realised that he didn’t have any money to go anywhere else. While waiting at the bus stand, he had met a group of pilgrims who were travelling by a private bus to Amritsar and had joined them, and this is how he had reached Haridwar.

In Haridwar he had joined a Math, a Sanatan-faith-based order. After joining this organisation of sadhus, ascetics, who had renounced worldly life, Murti felt comfortable, as there were no worldly issues. The days were spent in studying and praying and meditating.

The period that he spent in Haridwar taught him patience and self-control as sometimes there would be very little food that they all had to share. However, during this period, he came across sadhus, those people, who had renounced worldly attachments, fighting over a blanket, a chillum or even a roti, which disgusted him.

But there was a library nearby, where Murti spent time reading and mulling over many religious books, trying to find the truth, the true way to god. He studied Hindu, Jain and Buddhist religious books, and also found books on Islam, Christianity and Judaism. He could see the similarities in all religions, asking their followers to worship truth, honesty, love and compassion, and avoid violence, greed and selfishness.  But then why there were so many differences, and how could a human being find the right way.

And then he happened to attend a Sadhna Satsang run by Swami Satyanand Ji and found the importance of reciting Ram nam “to find the right way”, for which one didn’t need to give up the world. By remaining a worldly man, one can lead a devoted and dedicated life, being generous and compassionate towards one’s fellow beings and without unnecessary attachment or over-attachment.

Swami Ji said that trying to run away from social responsibilities is not Sanyas, it is escapism.

Murti had then decided to go back, and face life with all its ups and downs. Once home, he had explained to his parents that he was not ready to marry as yet and his parents had willingly agreed to wait. They were just relieved to have him come back, and had encouraged him to take up the offer of a teaching position, and that is how he had taken his first job in Srinagar.

“And the rest is history, as you know”! Murti had laughed, but then becoming serious, he had asked her,

“Do you trust me?”

Usha was looking at him with awe struck eyes. Gautam Buddh had run away from home to find the truth, but her Ram Murti had come back home after finding the truth. She whispered back,

“Yes, I do!”

The foreboding

Life takes turns. One decides to go one way but then something comes up and changes the course of one’s life. We can say it is destiny, but then if we try to understand the “how, what and why” of these changes, we can see that it is also one’s own effort/one’s doing that brings these changes. It is the change in our own self that creates differences, and distances. If one believes that one cannot do something, it doesn’t happen, but on the other hand, if one believes that he or she can do it, it usually happens, as one puts efforts to do that thing! We may call it destiny or karam!

It is as true for individuals, as for countries, nations, as they also have a destiny/karam. (That is what in a few months time, on 15th August, the first prime minister of the independent India, Pt. Nehru would say about India’s “tryst with destiny”.

India/Pakistan and the independence from the British, the saga of partition, ‘what happened and why’, and how people from both sides, Hindus and Muslims, rather than standing together as they had done all along against their joint oppressor/coloniser, were reacting becoming each other’s enemies?

These discussions between Dutt and Murti were getting more and more passionate, as was clear from their raised voices. The argument that Murti had put was that

For the people, from both religions, it could be neither Congress, that was being supported by the majority, or the Muslim League which had gained majority in so called “Muslim seats” in the 1946 elections, that could bring true independence. It is for the people to choose and to uphold the dream of democracy, or Gandhi’s Swaraj.

Whereas, Dutt was arguing that it is different when a country, as a nation is fighting for its independence, but it is a different story when the country, as an independent nation is to be managed, and kept in order to do things for which the nation had fought for so long. It needs the majority to run, and manage the democracy.

Being a scholar of philosophy Murti had a view of the situation, beyond what was visibly there. He felt that each person had to think carefully rather than blindly follow what the leaders were doing. Make them accountable for what they were doing, as what the people were experiencing needed to be considered.

Dutt, being a history student and teacher, could find the value of understanding history, to build future. He knew that “the nations that don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it, including all the blunders that had brought them to a situation”, but he was always pragmatic, activist, not a dreamer.

The divide and rule policy of the British could be blamed, but what about the Indians, both Hindus and Muslims, and their leaders, what was their role? How did the people who had been working hand in hand for a long time to uproot the rule of the foreigners, decide to go their separate ways. What was the driving force?

Greed? Ambition? Fear?

Yes, all the three, for all those who were making decisions, the British, who were quitting India, and leaving, Congress which was ready to rule, or the newly minted Muslim party, Muslim League, ready to put its own stamp on people, and areas, separating what had been shared .

But the people from both religions, the common people from both sides, they just wanted to live in peace on the land, where their forefathers had lived. For them it was the dream of a free India, and not this nightmare that seemed to be unfolding.

The future didn’t look rosy.

Murti was making this point when Usha and Nanna entered the room, bringing some sweets and snacks for their afternoon tea, and a pack of cards to resume their usual afternoon rummy match. Both were quite disturbed about the whole thing, the division of India, and what was panning out, but they also had another world to build, their own households soon, and both were looking forward to the future, which no matter what happens will be beautiful.

With Mataji, and under her guidance, they had been busy embroidering pillow cases, table clothes, muslin chunnies, knitting and stitching clothes, bed sheets, getting Usha’s trousseau ready. They believed in their dreams, and were working on them.

Once things settled down, after Murti’s arrival, and the police saga, which had left everyone a bit unsettled, Usha didn’t know how to act, as suddenly she had become quite sceptical about Murti.

Who was he?

She knew who he was, but what kind of person was he? Usha couldn’t help indulging into self-pity, self-doubt, and fear of an uncertain future, with him, and also without him!

Dutt had told them a lot about Murti’s student life, as he had met him in his college in Lahore.

Talking of his intelligence and academic credentials, Dutt had related his own first meeting with Murti sometime in 1937-38 when Murti had stood first in the state of Punjab high school exams, breaking many records. He was invited by many colleges to study on scholarship, and he had to choose which one offered him the most.

Dutt was finishing his degree that year at DAV college in Lahore at that time, and one day, he had gone to the principal’s office and when he was entering the door, he saw Murti leaving the office.

Dutt had seen Murti’s photo in the newspaper. So he recognised him, and then the principal told him that Murti had accepted their scholarship.

Soon Dutt had started to hear a lot about this young handsome village boy who had taken the college by storm.

He was the most sought after student in the hostel where other students vied with each other to have him as their friend. Many wanted him to give them tuition as he was very good in English.

He also became popular for his body building gimmicks, and was the college wrestling champion that year. Many students wanted to be in his company for this reason, thinking that his fame could rub off on them too.

These students in return for his favours, or to get his favours, would share their goodies with him, sharing desi ghee and almond pinniyan and other sweets they received from their homes.

Murti was easy to please and enjoyed these exchanges and would teach them tricks in both studies and body building. He was generous in his dealings and had the charisma to motivate people around him to do their best.

Dutt liked this young man, and had kept following Murti’s achievements even after he had left the college himself.

After finishing his BA, Murti had gone on to do a Masters in English. Once he finished his higher studies he had had a chance to sit for All India Administration exams, but for the final test and the interview, candidates had to go to England, which Murti found not to his taste, it was too cumbersome and he couldn’t afford it either, so instead, he had started doing another Masters, this one in Philosophy and looking for a teaching job. Being the first person in his family and his village to go to university, Murti didn’t have any role models or someone who could give him career advice.

For a while, Dutt had lost touch with Murti, as he had himself moved to Rawalpindi, where he had got a job and then he had married Nanna. And that is how then, they had met again, right here in this house in Srinagar the previous year.

It was clear that there was a lot of affection between them and this had also endeared Murti to Usha’s family, and had also been the reason for the proposal for marriage. Seeing Murti and Usha together, Dutt had cleverly suggested to Pitaji that Murti’s was a good match for Usha. ! Usha’s parents had accepted Murti as their son it seemed and all her siblings were quite smitten by his charm.

But then what Murti’s father had told them about his venture into becoming a Sanyasi, when Murti had run away from everything to go to Haridwar a couple of years ago, made Usha worry, as what could that mean? And why had he been so evasive? Usha couldn’t rest.

After all, what is his reality? who he actually is? Usha was tormented by this question.

An acetic/sadhu, who could renounce and run away from everything that Usha loved, becoming a sadhu living in penury.

A horse whisperer, her handsome knight in shining armour, as every time Usha remembered the pony incident in Sonmerg, she blushed.

A pied piper, the way how he could mesmerize children with his stories, and their mother with compliments.

A magician, who could just produce a bottle of liquor like pulling a pigeon out of his sleeve.

And Oh! where did he get that bottle from? Does he drink?

Usha got a headache just thinking about it all!

But then it was also the Murti who laughs, and makes everyone laugh with him. He makes delicious tea, cooks tomato and potato curry, enjoys his meals like a child, and could clean up a basket full of phulkes in one meal.

He picks up such heavy mudgals, his exercise dumbbells and turns them around like Lord Vishnu’s Sudarashan chakkar. So strong and so handsome.

Usha knew that life with him will be anything but boring.

He is well-read, recites poetry, in many languages, English, Sanskrit, Urdu or Punjabi, teaches literature, and is also a student of philosophy, a self-made person, and how coolly did he deal with the situation the other day. He could do anything.

Usha thought with pride!

Then, how could she not think about him?

After all, he was the one person in the world, who could give her the most heartache and also make her heart go boom!

Murti the maverick! Usha whispered.

When Usha got home that evening, the rain had already started. It being the rainy season, rain was not unexpected, and it had started to pour, but something that was unexpected though that is what she had been waiting for, was the arrival of Murti! …

Hurrying, almost running on the road, Usha had reached her house in no time. The light at the upper floor had beckoned her like a beacon of hope and future, but would it deliver what she had prayed for?

There Usha stopped.

She wanted to run up the stairs, and open the door of the room upstairs, as she was sure he was there. She had already decided to tell him, that she would finish her study after her marriage. Murti being the professor could help her, and in two-three years she could finish her B.A. Yes, Murti will certainly agree with her, as Usha was sure that he would have missed her just as much as she had, and would be dying to see her all the time.

But she couldn’t go upstairs just like that. How could she barge in to his room! And what if it was not Murti there? So instead she went inside the house from the front door, checking everywhere, and on every face, to see from their expressions, what was the news?

Her father looked normal, and was dozing, while sitting in his favourite chair, he must have just got home himself. Her mother was somewhere else in the house, she could hear her, but what made her restless was how the kids were all excited, and there was a chatter and whispers all around, she heard them before she even saw them in the back varandah.

Nanna was holding the baby in her arms, while their younger brother Jay was clinging to her arm, holding her hand. While Burpi was holding the hands of her youngest sister, Teelie and brother Beeru, who were both crying softly, Mano, their younger sister, was running around, making all this noise.

“You will see, my Jijaji will come and fix this all! I’m telling you, go tell them to run away, he will come and beat these policemen with his mudgal (big exercise dumb bell)”. She was almost hysterical while Nanna was trying to calm her, in whispers, asking her to be quiet. Mataji was in the kitchen, and was making her own litany of strange words, reciting a bhajan, some hymns and mantras.

Usha was completely shocked and didn’t know what to and who to ask. Whats the matter? What is happening?

Her heart almost stopped when she saw two police men in their backyard coming out of their bedrooms, with Datt, still limping right behind them.

“I told you gentlemen, there is nothing in this house to hide”. Datt was trying to appease these policemen. Police did not have a very good reputation, as it was well-known that they took pleasure in troubling common citizens, and enjoyed such incidents where they had the upper hand. Though it was not always true, as these men were equally oppressed by the government, and at times were quite sympathetic towards commoners, but after all they also had to do their job and obey their officers.

Nanna waved Usha to go indoors quickly, as she didn’t want the policemen to linger around just because of her.

Usha decided to go inside to sit down next to Pitaji on the floor, and was turning to go in when she saw the policemen looking under the stairs. Her breathing stopped for a second.

“Oh Rabba, we are undone, they will find the boxes!” She prayed to her god for strength, and quickly went outside and called out to the policemen, “Gentlemen, would you care for a glass of hot kahwa? Mataji has just made some excellent ilaichi tea”!

The men turned around and looked at her. They were quite taken aback by this beautiful young girl with wild hair and flushed face.

“No we are on duty”, one of them said reluctantly refusing the offer.

“It will take no time, Mataji has already made it”. Usha insisted using all her charm to keep them looking away from the stairs.

Datt got the hint and joined in throwing another line at them “It is very cold Sir, a cup of tea will do no harm”.

“No, we are not allowed to have anything at a house we are raiding, it is against our rules”. But they were already softening up.

“What about something else, Sir, strong and in a bottle that you can take with you to have outside this house”?

Usha heard a voice, that she had been waiting for. Turning around with her breathing going crazy, she saw Murti coming down stairs with a bottle in his hands.

“Murti!” Was she dreaming, she almost pinched herself.

Once she had seen the policemen, she had forgotten about him, and his return. She rubbed her eyes to see clearly as her eyes were already brimming with tears.

Murti picked up Mano in his arms and walked to the spot where Datt was trying to keep the policemen at bay. One of them had already shifted the covering revealing a couple of boxes.

“You don’t want to go through this boring household stuff, on such a beautiful evening, Sirs, I’m sure you have better things to do”, Murti extended his hand towards them and the bottle quickly exchanged hands.

By the time Mataji finished making the tea and called Usha to take the tray outside, the police had already left and Murti was telling the small kids, all about the “gur ki dheli” the block of jaggery, he had brought with him.

They all sat and enjoyed the delicious, hot tea, and Mataji was beaming with happiness at Murti’s compliments. “Mataji, ilaichi tea is delicious, Ilaichi’ diyan lapta aa rahi hei! The fragrance of cardamom is permeating everywhere”!