“Yes, it’s strange that suddenly we have all become Hindu brothers.”
“The Muslims have behaved more like our brothers than the bastard Brahmins and Thakurs.”
But the stories kept multiplying: someone had been knifed in the bazaar in town; a sadhu hacked to death at the bus station; a settlement razed to the ground. The tension spread through the entire district. And it was all believable because it resembled exactly what people had been seeing in newspapers for the past few days: reports about arson and riots in large towns and cities; about mayhem and massacre on all sides; about the vast and terrible exchange of populations that had commenced across the new border.
The killings started in the poorer section of town, and began to spread; the next day the bazaar was empty. There were no fruits or vegetables to be bought, the milkmen did not stir, and the only bakery in town, owned by a Muslim, had already been burned to the ground.
“Bread is become rarer than gold,” said Ashraf. “What madness. These people have lived together for generations, laughing and crying together. Now they are butchering one another.” He did no work that day, spending the hours gazing out the door at the deserted street, as though waiting for something dreadful to make its appearance.
“Ashraf Chacha, dinner is ready,” said Narayan, responding to Mumtaz’s signal. Her husband had not eaten all day. She was hoping he would join them now.
“There is something I have to tell you,” he said to Mumtaz. “And you as well,” he turned to Ishvar and Narayan.
“Come, food is ready, later we can talk,” she said. “It is only dal and chapati today, but you must eat a little at least.” She lowered the pot from the stove.
“I am not hungry. You and the little ones eat,” said Ashraf, shepherding the four children towards the food. They were reluctant, having sensed their parents’ anxiety. “Go, boys, you too.”
“I take the trouble to cook and nawab-sahib won’t even touch his fingers to the dinner,” said Mumtaz.
In his present mood, her commonplace complaint assumed vicious overtones. He shouted at her, something he rarely did. “What do you want me to do if I am not hungry? Tie the plate to my belly? Talk sense once in a while, nah!” The youngest two started to cry. One of their elbows overturned a glass of water.
“You must be satisfied now,” said Mumtaz scornfully as she mopped up the spill. “Trying to scare me with your big shouting. Only the little ones are frightened of that, let me tell you.”
Ashraf took the two weeping children in his arms. “Okay, okay, no crying. See, we will all eat together.” He fed them from his plate, putting a morsel in his own mouth when they pointed to it. It soon became a new game, and they cheered up.
Dinner finished quickly, and Mumtaz began taking the pot and ladle outside to the tap for washing. Ashraf stopped her. “I was going to say something before dinner, before your shouting started.”
“I am listening now.”
“It’s about this… about what’s happening everywhere.”
“What?”
“You want me to describe in front of the children?” he whispered fiercely. “Why are you acting stupid? Sooner or later the trouble will come here. No matter what happens, it will never be the same again between the two communities.”
He noticed Ishvar and Narayan listening with dismay, and added in haste, “I don’t mean us, boys. We will always be like one family, even if we are apart.”
“But Ashraf Chacha, we don’t have to be apart,” said Narayan. “Ishvar and I are not planning to leave yet.”
“Yes, I know. But Mumtaz Chachi and the children and I, we have to leave.”
“My poor paagal nawab-sahib — gone completely crazy,” said Mumtaz. “Wants to leave. With four little ones? Where do you want to go?”
“Same place all the others are going. Across the border. What do you want to do? Sit here and wait till the hatred and insanity comes with swords and clubs and kerosene? What I am saying is, tomorrow morning I go to the station and buy our train tickets.”
Mumtaz insisted he was reacting like a foolish old man. But he refused to allow her the temporary comfort of turning her back on danger. He was determined to argue all night, he said, rather than pretend that things were normal.
“I will do whatever is necessary to save my family. How can you be so blind? I will drag you by your hair to the railway station if I have to.” At this threat, the children began crying again.
She dried their tears on her dupatta, and dissolved her opposition to the plan. It was not a case of being blind to danger — the danger could be smelt from miles away, her husband was right. Only, removing the blindfold was difficult because of what she might see.
“It won’t be possible to carry much if we are to leave in a hurry,” she said. “Clothes, a stove, some cooking pots. I’ll start packing now.”
“Yes, keep it ready for tomorrow,” said Ashraf. “The rest we will lock in the shop. Inshallah, someday we will be able to come back and claim it.” He gathered the children for bed. “Come, we must sleep early tonight. Tomorrow we have to start a long journey.”
Narayan found it unbearable to listen to or watch their troubled preparations. He doubted if anything he said would make a difference. Pretending he was going down to the shop, he slipped out the back to their neighbour and told him of the planned flight.
“Is he serious?” said the hardware-store owner. “When we talked this morning, he agreed there was nothing to worry about in our neighbourhood.”
“He has changed his mind.”
“Wait, I will come to him right now.”
He collected the coal-merchant, the banya, and the miller, and knocked on Ashraf’s door. “Forgive us for bothering you at this hour. May we come in?”
“Of course. Will you eat something? A drink?”
“Nothing, thank you. We came because we got some news that is causing us great grief.”
“What is it, what?” Ashraf was agitated, wondering if there had been riot casualties in someone’s family. “Can I help?”
“Yes, you can. You can tell us it’s not true.”
“What’s not true?”
“That you want to leave us, leave the place where you were born and your children were born. This is causing our grief.”
“You are such good people.” Ashraf’s eyes began to moisten. “But I really don’t have a choice, nah.”
“Sit down with us and think calmly,” said the hardware-store owner, putting his arm around Ashraf’s shoulder. “The situation is bad, yes, but it would be madness to attempt to leave.”
The others nodded in agreement. The coal-merchant put his hand on Ashraf’s knee. “Every day trains are crossing that new border, carrying nothing but corpses. My agent arrived yesterday from the north, he has seen it with his own eyes. The trains are stopped at the station and everyone is butchered. On both sides of the border.”
“Then what am I to do?”
The desperation in his voice drew the hardware-store owner’s hand to his shoulder again. “Stay here. You are with friends. We will let nothing happen to your family. Where is there any trouble in our neighbourhood? We have always lived here peacefully.”
“But what will happen when those outside troublemakers come?”
“Yours is the only Muslim shop in the street. You think so many of us together cannot protect one shop?” They hugged him, promising he had nothing to fear. “Any time you want to, day or night, if you feel worried about anything, just come to our house with your wife and children.”
After the neighbours left, Narayan had an idea. “You know the sign outside — Muzaffar Tailoring Company. We could put another one in its place.”
“Why?” asked Ashraf.
Narayan was hesitant to say. “A new one…”