Читать книгу Under the Moonlit Sky - Nav K. Gill - Страница 13

The breeze was warm and inviting. The light from the red sun was slowly fading away, casting a shadow on the mountains and hilltops. The grass was soft, just like Johnny’s hands, which now rested upon my own. As I laid my head against his lean shoulders and watched the sun dip lower and lower, I noticed how gentle the atmosphere was.

“What a beautiful day, isn’t it, Johnny?” I whispered.

“Just like you, Esha,” he replied.

“Oh, Johnny,” I sighed.

“Who’s Johnny?” a high-pitched voice bellowed in my ears.

“Esha, did you hear that?” Johnny asked as he turned his head in every direction.

“Ignore it, babe,” I answered as I held on tightly to his arm, refusing to lift my head off his strong, welcoming shoulder.

“Okay, let’s just enjoy this beautiful day.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “let’s enjoy this day. I’m happy wherever you are, babe.”

“Babe? Who is babe?” the mysterious voice appeared again.

“Stop it! Who is that?” I questioned as I lifted my head. When I looked again, Johnny was gone. “Johnny? Johnny? Where’d you go? Johnny!”

“Esha Puah!” screamed the mysterious voice just as I felt a sharp pain pierce my arm.

“OUCH!” I yelled as I sat up, grabbing my stinging arm. I rubbed my eyes and realized I was still in bed. I dropped my shoulders as reality settled in. I was in India, not in B.C. with Johnny. It was just a dream. I looked down at my arm and saw a bright red mark. Someone had pinched me.

“Sorry, Esha Puah, but you were talking funny.”

“Puah?” I repeated quickly. Curious to know who would address me as their aunt, I looked in the direction of the voice.

Standing before me was a skinny little boy. He had on blue trousers with a matching blue shirt and black sandals that were a bit tattered at the edges. He could not have been more than six or seven years old, yet the manner in which he stood, with his back straight, smiling widely with hands firmly on his hips, gave him an air of maturity. Also, his pointy blue turban added a few extra inches to his height.

“Esha Puah!” the boy said, breaking my concentration.

“Huh . . . what?” I struggled.

“Why are you so quiet? And who is Johnny and Babe?” the wide-eyed boy asked.

“What? Johnny? Here? Wait, wait, forget that. First, who are you? And why are you in my bedroom?” I was slightly embarrassed that I had been talking about Johnny in my sleep.

“Me? Ha! I am Bhagat, your nephew!” he exclaimed as he jumped onto the bed and threw his arms around me.

“What is it with your family and hugs?” I complained under my breath.

“What, Esha Puah?” the boy asked.

“Uh, nothing. So we’re, uh, family? That’s cool,” I muttered as I pulled him away and sat him up on the bed. “So wait a minute, who taught you English?”

“Everyone in school knows English.” He giggled as if I had said something silly. “I’m so happy I have a puah! I could not sleep last night, but you came so late!” the boy shouted.

“Yeah, about that, why do you keep calling me puah?”

“My daddy is your brother,” the boy replied with an even larger smile.

“You’re Ekant’s son?”

“Yes! My name is Bhagat Singh, like the proud warrior! I’m going to be like him when I grow up!”

“That’s interesting,” I said, pretending I knew who or what he was talking about. “Okay, Bhagat, how about you go downstairs while I wash up, and I’ll see you a bit later?”

“Okay, Esha Puah. I’ll tell Mummy you are awake.” He jumped off the bed and bolted out the door.

I got out of bed and walked over to the mirror to brush my hair. Ekant has a son. The thought kept running through my mind. I was feeling more and more out of place in this house now. I couldn’t believe that this whole family had existed all these years, and I didn’t even know them. Bhagat was my nephew, Jas was my sister-in-law, and I hadn’t even met Ekant, a man who saw my father as his own. And what about Dhadhi, my grandmother? She was my father’s mother, and I was seeing her for the first time. It made me uncomfortable to think about how I might appear to them. They seemed to be quite excited thus far, but the question was, how did they really feel?

I just hope we can do this final rite thing quickly so that I can go home, I thought as I made for the washroom.

Getting dressed took longer than I had anticipated. I struggled to find a suitable outfit. I had packed a couple of tank tops, figuring it would be hot, but my mother was adamant that I stick to something more conservative and not “show my skin,” as she phrased it. However, the heat proved to be unbearable. I finally settled on a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had torn patches at the knees. I also settled for flip-flops instead of runners, as the idea of wearing socks made me feel even hotter. Studying my hair, I concluded that it was an absolute frizz-ball, which had to be tied back. I wondered if they had any suitable salons in the area.

Jas already had breakfast waiting for me by the time I made it downstairs. Sunlight poured in from the many windows, but no breeze accompanied it. Instead, fans were placed in each room to combat the humidity. Bhagat could be seen through the screen door playing in the courtyard with two other little boys.

“Dear, what happened to your pants? Come here, quickly, I will fix it!” Dhadhi exclaimed as she entered the room.

“What? Where?” I asked, examining my pants from every angle possible.

“Your jean is ripped!” she cried out. She had made her way to the sofa and was patting the cushion next to her, motioning for me to join her. “Come here, let me fix it. I will sew it up.”

“Sew it? What . . . oh!” I finally realized that she was referring to the tears at the knees. “Dhadhi, they’re supposed to be like this. Don’t worry, they’re fine.”

“Fine? What fine? Come here. Your knees are showing,” she persisted.

“No, Dhadhi, I did this myself!” I said in a raised voice, since she clearly wasn’t getting the point. “I did this, they’re fine. It’s the style of the jeans.”

“Style? And you did this? Crazy children these days. You are ruining your pants. When you decide to fix it, come find me. I am going out to the courtyard to rest,” she answered as she made her way outside.

“Okay, see you later,” I said, relieved that she was leaving. I didn’t exactly enjoy having to justify my choice in style to an old Indian woman who’d probably never worn a pair of jeans her whole life.

“Esha, come eat,” Jas said, appearing from the kitchen. I nodded and joined her at the table as a slim, boyish looking servant placed two platefuls of parotas, yogurt and two cups of tea before us. In daylight, I was now able to see her clearly. Again she had on a plain green salwar-kameez, her hair tied back in a bun and no trace of make-up on her face. She was adorned with only a pair of gold hoop earrings.

Jas’s simplicity, however, did not take away from her beauty. She had a creamy complexion, large, round and surprisingly green eyes and a perfect smile. Ekant had definitely chosen well. Speaking of which, where was Ekant? Noon was approaching, and still I had not seen any hint of him around the house.

“Esha, you haven’t touched your food. Is everything okay?” Jas asked, interrupting my train of thought.

“Huh, oh, yeah, everything is fine. I was just wondering if Ekant will be joining us.”

“Oh! He . . . he was here this morning. He already left,” Jas answered in a slightly shaky voice. “Another meeting. Work can get busy sometimes, you know,” she continued with a weak laugh. “He is anxious to see you. Tonight for sure, uh, but first eat, then you should also call home to Canada and notify your mother of your arrival.”

I nodded and smiled, turning my attention to the plateful of food before me. I hadn’t called Mom yet. She would be worried, as usual. Right now, what concerned me more was the eerie feeling I was getting regarding Ekant. I’d met the other members of this family, but the main person was still missing in action. Perhaps he really was busy, but still something just didn’t feel right.

After breakfast, Jas was kind enough to give me some time alone in the living room so I could use the only phone in the house. It was refreshing to hear Mom’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Esha dear, how are you? How was the flight? Did you sleep, did you eat? Are you sick?” She was shooting off one question after another, and I’d barely had a chance to respond to one yet.

“Mom, Mom . . . Mom! Calm down, let me speak!” I pleaded.

“Sorry dear, I am just so happy to hear your voice. It feels like it has been so long. You cannot blame a mother, can you?”

“Of course not, mother dearest. Now, to answer your questions, yes, I am fine, the flight was okay. It was just very tiring and looong. But I’m okay, you don’t have to worry, it’s not that bad.”

“And how is your Dhadhi ji?” she asked in a slightly lower tone.

“Oh, she’s good. She was quite sad last night when she saw Dad’s . . . well, you know, but she’s okay.”

“And how . . . how is everyone else?” I could tell by her tone that it was getting uncomfortable for her to talk about the other family.

“Okay. Ekant has a wife and a son, and they’re both cool. I actually haven’t seen Ekant yet. Apparently he’s been busy with work. I guess I’ll see him tonight.”

“A wife and son? That’s wonderful,” she replied, her tone lightening again.

“Yeah, but Mom, there’s something you should know. Ekant’s mother . . . well, she’s not here. I mean, she’s already passed away,” I said. I didn’t know how else to tell her. It was best that I just come out with it now. Perhaps it would make her feel more at ease that she wouldn’t ever have to face that woman again.

“Oh no! That’s terrible, Esha, when did that happen?” she asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

“Actually, Mom, it’s been a couple of years. I ended up asking Ekant’s wife, Jas, where his mother was. It was so damn embarrassing! I’m surprised you didn’t know,” I answered.

“Esha, you know there was very little communication all these years between us. I don’t know, perhaps your father knew.”

“Well, it doesn’t really make a difference now. I already made a total fool out of myself. Anyway, do me a favour and let Mandy and the rest know that I’ve arrived,” I said, changing the subject.

“Yes, I will. Those girls are driving me crazy asking about you. By the way, your sister is doing great, in case you are wondering!”

“Of course she is, Mom, she’s always all right. I’m the one roasting here in this heat,” I muttered.

“I am going to pretend I did not hear that. So, tell me now, have you all discussed when you will be leaving for Kiratpur?”

“No, nothing yet. I got in pretty late last night, knocked out, and now I’ve just had breakfast. Plus, Ekant hasn’t shown up yet, remember. I have to wait for him to make the arrangements, right?”

“Yes, but be polite, Esha. Try not to be bossy and so headstrong,” she warned.

“Mom! I’m not stupid! I think I can handle some Indians. I was raised by you, wasn’t I?” I countered.

“You know how you can get sometimes. I’m just telling you that they are family, but you are in India, and you are a girl. You cannot go bossing people around. There is a way to do things over there. Just take care and speak to Ekant. I’m sure he will make the proper arrangements soon. Stay close to Dhadhi ji and don’t wander off. I miss you very much, my child.”

“Miss you too, Mom. Anyways, I should go now. Take care and talk to you soon. Bye,” I said before hanging up. Try not to be bossy? Oh, please! Above all else, my mother always made it a point to criticize me. “Don’t be like this and don’t be like that.” It was annoying. I wasn’t a child any more, yet she never stopped.

The day continued with little excitement. Dhadhi wouldn’t let me leave the premises, because she said it was “dangerous for a girl like me to walk around alone in the streets.” So I just wandered about inside the house.

I discovered a stairway leading to the open rooftop, which provided an extraordinary view of the surrounding city. The houses were extremely close to one another in both proximity and height, so I could see far into the distance on every side. On the rooftop were chairs and hammocks and tables. I brought up some of my magazines and settled into a chair by the doorway.

Every now and then, neighbours would come and stand and stare at me from their own balconies. It was odd that they found me so interesting. I mean, Delhi was the capital of the country. Many foreigners must come through these streets, but these people behaved as if they were seeing a foreigner for the first time. I felt like I was on display, and I soon realized that I could do nothing about it except ignore them until they disappeared.

Slowly but surely, the day passed by, and the sun began to set. Evening prayers from the nearby Gurdwara could be heard through loudspeakers. The day was coming to an end, and Ekant still had not shown up. As nightfall approached, I ventured downstairs to escape the mosquitoes and lizards that were starting to appear. Jas and Dhadhi were in the living room, and Bhagat sat at a desk doing his school work.

“Esha! Come sit with us,” Jas said, smiling up at me as she patted the seat next to her.

“Thanks,” I said, walking over.

“How was your reading?” she asked.

“It was fine. The rooftop is quite comfortable, and the heat wasn’t so deadly today,” I answered, stealing glances around the room as I looked for evidence of Ekant’s return. This was getting to be too much. I had planned on travelling to Kiratpur within a day or two of my arrival so that I could return quickly, but the man that was supposed to help me wasn’t showing up! “Dhadhi,” I said, looking in her direction.

“Yes, child.”

“I need to travel to Kiratpur soon. Do you think we can start making the travel plans?” I said plainly. I figured Dad’s mother would be concerned about his last rites.

“Oh yes, you do need to travel there soon,” she agreed, “but . . . you will need Ekant’s assistance. I am sure he will have some time tomorrow to discuss the plans with you.”

Sure he will.

“Are you sure he’ll . . .” I trailed off as a loud bang came from the front gate. Someone was here. Perhaps Ekant had finally decided to come home.

I stood up and walked over to the screen door. I peered through the dark, trying to see who had arrived as Chotu opened the gate to let the visitors through. In walked two women, both draped in shawls and wearing of course the traditional salwar-kameez. What was it with these women and their shawls in the deadly summer heat? The woman in front was heavy and swayed from side to side as she walked. Behind her was a much thinner and younger girl.

“Chotu! Who is at the door?” Dhadhi called out.

“It is Rano ji and her daughter,” Chotu replied.

“Ah, Rano! Come to the living room, dear. We are here.”

I stepped away from the screen door as the two females approached. The mother slowed as she reached me and pulled down her glasses to the tip of her nose, scanning me from head to toe. I matched her stare at every point until she pushed up her glasses and marched on towards Dhadhi and Jas. I watched her quietly, noticing her repeated glances in my direction.

While the mother had already been annoying, the daughter was quite different. After saying hello to both Dhadhi and Jas, she had quietly taken a seat in a chair at the far corner of the room. She was keeping herself busy with a book that she had picked up from a nearby shelf. Was she shy? Had she not noticed me? Perhaps she did not care to notice.

“Rano, this is my granddaughter, Esha. My Dilawar’s youngest,” Dhadhi said proudly in Punjabi. “She has come from Canada.”

“Really, all the way from Canada, hmm? It is nice to finally see someone from your son’s family. How long will she be staying?” Her tone was careful and inquisitive. I already didn’t like her.

“She is to travel to Kiratpur. After that we will see. So how is everyone at home?” Dhadhi asked.

“Oh, it is wonderful!” Rano exclaimed. “My daughter has received a magnificent proposal for marriage. Sardar Dalip Singh has asked for her hand for his son, Daya.”

“Really, our young Daya?” Dhadhi said without much surprise. She flashed the daughter a look that suggested she had already been expecting this proposal. Ignoring Dhadhi’s response, Rano carried on.

“Oh, Dhadhi, Daya is such a striking young man now. My daughter will go into such a rich and respected family. My heart is filled with joy!”

As the mother continued in her praise, the daughter carried on reading. She paid no attention to the ongoing discussion regarding her marriage. Meanwhile, Rano once again shifted her focus to me. She pulled her glasses down again to the tip of her nose and stared at me.

“And . . . what of your granddaughter, Dhadhi?”

“Esha?” Dhadhi looked at me. “Oh, she is young. I am sure her time will come when it is right.”

“I see,” replied Rano. “Well, she still has time then to fix herself up.”

Fix myself up?

“Excuse me?” I asked, deciding that it was time I spoke up.

“Oh child, you know you are so thin. Do girls in Canada eat anything? And look at your hair! If you are to be a beautiful Indian bride, you must grow that hair. Now, just look—”

“Oh, we cannot criticize children who have been raised in different countries,” Jas interrupted. “Besides, I am sure that Esha and her family can decide what is right for her. You need not worry.”

Just as I was about to add my two cents, Jas gave me a stern nod, suggesting I should let the moment pass. I clenched my teeth and suppressed the harsh words that were sitting impatiently at the tip of my tongue.

“Of course,” Rano sighed. “Well, we should get going. It is late. I just wanted to inform you of our wonderful news.”

“Oh, Rano, you have not had anything to eat or drink yet. How can you go like this,” Dhadhi said without much force.

“No, no, Dhadhi, next time. Come, Sumedha dear. Say bye to Dhadhi and Jas.”

The mother left without another look at me, and I didn’t mind at all. The daughter, surprisingly, stopped at the screen door and nervously turned in my direction. She had a tanned brown complexion, but her most extraordinary feature was her clearly defined unibrow.

“I am sorry about your father,” she said in perfect English. Her voice was so soft that I almost had to strain my ears just to hear her. “Jas told me about his passing.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” I replied.

“My—”

“Sumi! Where have you gotten stuck? Come on!” Rano barked in the distance. The daughter gave a nervous smile and hurried out the door to catch up with her mother. I was surprised at how different the two were. One was obnoxious and rude while the other was timid and sweet.

“Esha,” called Dhadhi, making her way towards the staircase. “Do not listen to that Rano. She talks more than she thinks.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” I replied, following her upstairs.

“Good. But her daughter is a very sweet child. She is your age. Her name is Sumedha, but we lovingly call her Sumi. While you are here, you should spend some time with her, to be around kids your age. If you are with Sumi, then I will not worry about you. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said, though I had no real intention of hanging around very long in the city.

“Good. Now, get some rest. See you in the morning,” she said as she turned into her bedroom.

“Goodnight, Dhadhi,” I replied as I made my way into my own room. I went straight for the bed and fell back onto it. A whole boring day had passed, and I still had not seen Ekant.

“Oh, I miss you, Canada, my girls, B.C., fast food, pizza, my bed . . . Johnny . . .” As I counted away my sorrows, my eyes became heavy, and I slowly dozed off.

The next morning, when I opened my eyes, I found a hot cup of tea next to the bed. I picked it up, wondering why anyone would serve me in bed while I slept.

“Ma’am, have you finished tea?” asked a small, quivering voice. “Um, would you like more?”

I followed the voice to the foot of my bed. There stood a short, dark-skinned, skinny little girl. Her gaze was lowered and fully concentrated on the floor, as though staring at her feet was the most important thing in the world. Her hands were behind her back, and she didn’t make a move until I responded.

“Excuse me?” is all I could come up with.

“More tea, ma’am?” she asked again without moving her gaze away from her feet. She looked absolutely terrified of me. I didn’t get it. I mean, I was pretty fit as an athlete, and I was known to get into a few rough situations on the field, but off the field no one had ever reacted to me in fear.

“Oh! No, no, thank you. I’m, uh, going to get up actually and shower and stuff,” I said, quickly sipping the warm tea and placing the cup back where I had found it.

“Okay, I will leave you alone then and make sure that food is ready for you,” she said quickly, turning to leave.

“Hey, wait!” I called out.

“Yes?”

“Who are you?” I asked. “I mean why are you serving me tea in my room? Why don’t you look at me?”

“My name is Sheila,” she replied, still refusing to look at me. “I work in this house. Dhadhi ji has ordered that I look after your needs in this house. I . . . I am sorry, ma’am, if I have upset you.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. So why haven’t I seen you before now?” I asked.

“I had gone home to Calcutta to see my family. I just came back this morning, ma’am.”

“I see . . . Now, tell me, why aren’t you looking at me directly?” I lightened my tone and tried to sound a bit more welcoming. Her fear was discomforting.

“Ma’am . . . I—”

“Oh, come on, raise your gaze . . . that’s it . . . higher . . . don’t worry, there’s nothing exciting going on with your feet or this floor, for that matter. Now, looking at me, there’s excitement!” I said, smiling.

“I am sorry, ma’am. For the first time I will be working for a NRI. You are from Canada, yes? I was not sure if you would appreciate me looking at you—”

“Sorry, NRI?” I asked, cutting her off.

“Oh yes, Non-Resident Indian, NRI,” she replied.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Sheila. I’m not Indian. My nationality is Canadian, okay?”

“Sorry, ma’am, I just—”

“And look me in the eyes when you speak to me. Don’t be so scared. It’s weird.”

“Yes.”

“All right, I should, uh, get dressed. You can relax. I don’t really need anything, but thanks for the tea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I headed for the shower as Sheila collected my teacup and quietly made her way to the hallway. A servant? Hmmm . . . I could get used to that.

When I walked into the dining room, a plateful of food was of course waiting for me. Sheila was very efficient. Jas walked in and out of the kitchen, as usual, preparing meals for the day, while Bhagat and his school friends met up in the courtyard. Dhadhi was doing her prayers in the living room, but today there was an addition. Beside Dhadhi sat a tall individual in brown sandals and white pants and shirt. The morning paper was obscuring the top half of the person. However, the large muscular arms and legs hinted that whoever was behind that paper was definitely a man. Suddenly I felt like Sheila, but why should I? My heart started racing. Could it be Ekant?

Uncertain if I should approach Dhadhi and the stranger or sit quietly and wait until I was noticed, I stood in the same position and tried to get a glimpse of the man. Probably it was Ekant. It would be about time that he showed up.

“Esha?” Jas was standing over the table, holding a plate of food. “What are you doing standing there? Come join me.”

I quickly turned on my heels and followed suit. As I walked towards the table, I could hear the rustle of the newspaper behind me, yet no voice followed.

“Did you have a good sleep?” Jas asked.

“Yeah, it was fine,” I replied.

Throughout our meal, I glanced back and forth between Jas and the stranger, yet she made no attempt to introduce me to him. Dhadhi continued her prayers, and the strange man continued reading his paper. It was only after Dhadhi put down her prayer book that she called out and broke the silence.

“Esha! Esha child, come here quick!” I walked over and stood behind the sofa that she was seated on. “Ekant,” she began, “put that paper down and meet your sister.”

It was Ekant. He slowly lowered his newspaper and revealed his face to me. I was shocked to see how closely he resembled my father. He was a big, muscular man. He had a black beard that reached down to his chest, and he too wore a turban. His long and narrow nose, large round eyes and thin lips all contained traces of my father. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Esha, this is Ekant. I am so happy that you two are finally meeting!” Dhadhi continued, with a smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Hi,” I said, offering my hand.

He studied me for a while, then instead of shaking my hand, he folded his hands before him. “In India, we greet people with respect and in our traditional way of putting our hands together. I guess they do not teach you this in Canada?” His voice was deep as I had imagined it to be, but I sensed the disapproval in his tone, and that didn’t sound the least bit comforting.

“Last time I checked, a handshake was considered quite respectful,” I retorted as I withdrew my hand.

“Hmm . . .” is all Ekant mustered before he opened up his paper once again and became lost in the day’s news, as though the little exchange between us had never happened.

Was this it? This was how we were going to meet for the first time ever? Was this all he had to say to me? Weeks of wondering what this moment would be like, what we would say to each other, and this was it. We had a brief and rude exchange on the correct method for greeting someone, then silence. He had made no mention of my father; no show of emotion or grief over his passing. Then again, why would he? Dad was his uncle in reality, and Ekant was a son born out of the crime of rape. But hadn’t Jas mentioned that Ekant viewed my dad as his very own father? So really, what was with the attitude? In any case, it didn’t matter. I was here for a reason, and I had to accomplish my task regardless of what he might think.

“So, when can we set out for Kiratpur?” I asked, pretending that his rude behaviour had gone unnoticed.

“Kiratpur?” he asked, almost sounding surprised.

“Uh, yeah, Kiratpur. You know, for Dad’s ashes,” I replied.

“Impossible.”

“What is?” I asked, confused by his curt response.

“Travel to Kiratpur is impossible at the moment.”

“What? How come?”

“Kiratpur is hours away. There is no safe passage right now. Travel is not an option.”

“So what if it’s hours away? We jump in a car and drive there. Simple. I don’t see the big problem,” I said, growing impatient with this sudden refusal. No one else had mentioned anything regarding unsafe passage to Kiratpur in the last couple of days. It was hard to believe that Ekant knew more than anyone else did.

“It has only been a few weeks since Operation Bluestar. Travelling to Kiratpur right now is not safe. The social and political climate is too fragile. It’s just not safe to travel, so I’m sorry if you—”

“Wait, what is Operation Bluestar?” I asked innocently.

Ekant abruptly put down his paper. “What is Operation Bluestar?” he asked, mocking my voice. He stood up and looked at me with what appeared to be pure disgust. What had I said?

“What is Operation Bluestar?” he repeated. “Dhadhi! Are you sure she is Dilawar uncle’s daughter? Are you sure Chotu didn’t make a mistake? Is she even Sikh?” he questioned, glaring at Dhadhi then again at me.

I just stood and watched in confusion as his anger grew with each passing moment. His sudden reaction was alarming and didn’t make any sense.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, getting defensive. “So I don’t know what it is. Why are you getting so angry? I don’t understand what this Operation Bl . . . uh . . . Blue . . . shit . . . Blue—”

“Bluestar! BLUESTAR!” he roared. “Every Sikh knows what Operation Bluestar is. It is a mark on our heritage, on our very foundation! How dare you be so ignorant?”

“Chill out! So this is some religious nonsense? Now what does that have to do with me going to Kiratpur, then getting back to Canada?” I asked, still not sure what his exact reservation was.

Instead of enlightening me, however, Ekant crumpled up his morning paper and tossed it onto the table. It was unbelievable. He was actually fuming. If I looked closer, I thought I might see steam escaping from his ears. But I didn’t really care. I just wanted to get to Kiratpur, so I just stared blankly at him. He turned around and stormed out the screen door, mumbling something under his breath. I watched in surprise as he paced back and forth outside in the courtyard, spitting out words. To an outsider, he would have looked like a psych ward patient. Jas simply shook her head and sat down beside me. I looked at Dhadhi, hoping for an explanation.

“This is a very sensitive subject for Ekant,” she said. “It is for all of us.”

“For the family?” I asked.

“No child. It is for all Sikhs,” she answered.

“What is Operation Bluestar, Dhadhi?”

“On June fourth, just a few weeks ago, the Indian Army attacked our Harmandir Sahib, or as many call it, the Golden Temple, in Amritsar. Thousands of pilgrims were there, and most were killed. The holiest shrine for Sikhs has been nearly destroyed. People say the complex still stands, but it is no longer what it was. Gunfire, tanks, cannons, all have ripped it apart. Our most respected and comprehensive library containing many original scripts from our Gurus has burned down. What is worse, the oppression continues. The army still maintains its control over it.”

“There must be a reason for all of this?”

“The government and army argue that they had no choice. They say they needed to bring out ‘terrorists’ who had taken refuge in the Complex. The problem is the army wasn’t clear on who it considered a terrorist. Some call the men under Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindrawale, who was a spiritual leader for many Sikhs, terrorists, but they never harmed anyone. Under him, many Sikh people became baptized. He brought back people’s devotion to the religion in a healthy manner. In the end, politics is politics,” she said with a loud sigh. “All this talk about terrorists and separation it is to make Sikhs seem like the aggressors. They are making it appear like something that it is not. Punjab needs better representation and an equal share of the resources it provides to the rest of the nation. Along the way, it turned into a discussion about a new Punjabi homeland. Sikhs led the fight, and somehow it all turned upside down. Regardless of how it happened, I am sure that there was a choice.”

“How can you be sure?” I persisted. I was baffled at how a simple question had turned into a political discussion.

“Sikhs are warriors, Esha. We have fought many wars during the time of our Gurus, and we make strong, principled soldiers. But we fight for justice. It is a cardinal rule for our religion. So it is understandable why the so-called militants devoted to Sant Bhindrawale persisted for their cause. Now, not every Sikh agrees with that. What matters most is the principle that builds the foundation of a Sikh’s fight or cry for battle, and that is justice. So I strongly believe that no Sikh would willingly sacrifice a holy shrine like the Harmandir Sahib without leaving a choice. That Sikh, like every Sikh, has to answer to God one day or another.”

“But maybe there really wasn’t a choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Dhadhi said, quickly cutting me off. “Can you imagine anyone carelessly attacking the Muslim holy shrine in Mecca or the Roman Catholics’ Vatican in this day and age? This was not just a golden complex. It was the heart of millions of people; it was the soul of a great doctrine. It survived British rule and Partition. When there are political disagreements, you do not attack the ancient foundation of a world religion. You do not burn scriptures that have a place in civilization. You do not mercilessly kill thousands of innocent pilgrims. It is a sin; a sin that was committed for what? Land, resources, pride?” Dhadhi dropped her shoulders and clutched the prayer book in her hands. “When will man give more importance to the soul of a human being?”

“But Dhadhi, to allow a completely new territory, a Punjabi homeland, I mean that would have shaken up the country, no?” I pointed out.

“Would it really? A separate Punjab was already promised during the time of Partition. India just has not delivered on that promise. But of course they do not want to give up that land now. Besides, separation is not what Punjabis or Sikhs were calling for. Later, it turned into a separatist discussion, because the central government had already painted Sikhs as separatists. The demands were for greater equality, to address diplomatically the issues that concerned the land. For example, Sikhs are not even legally recognized. We are still categorized as Hindus. Reforms were needed, but through discussion and appeals, as was the initial course of action. However, the government did not allow it.”

“Why not?”

“Because Punjab feeds this country, that’s why!” yelled Ekant. He had ventured back into the room and was standing over the table with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. “Punjab is rich in resources,” he continued. “The vast and bountiful farmlands, the five rivers that run through it, the clean air, the beautiful climate. The rest of India is heavily polluted or barren compared to Punjab. There is no way the central government will give up its control. Instead, they want to keep a tight leash over it, subjecting Punjabis and farmers to an unequal status. But all of this could have been debated. It was not a reason to attack Amritsar. Debate, discussion and choice are supposed to be the core of any democratic nation.”

“So why attack Sikhs by destroying their holiest shrine?” I asked. I wanted to know more. Ekant’s erratic behaviour suddenly made me very interested in the topic.

“Because they want to completely destroy the morale and the soul of Sikhs. Under Sant Bhindrawale, Sikhs were becoming unified. Since the day of the attack, reports have been coming in of forced disappearances. Sikhs are being randomly picked up, jailed and beaten. Innocents are being branded as ‘terrorists’, regardless if they are ten years old or fifty. The social and political climate is too unpredictable. If we set out on a long journey to Kiratpur, there is no telling what could happen. We are safe in Delhi, as long as we stick to our business. So, until I decide otherwise, you will remain in this house and only travel about in the city during daylight hours.”

“But how long—”

“Until I say so!” Ekant shouted.

“You really love to shout, don’t you?” I snapped, but Ekant didn’t reply. He turned around and left the room. I looked to Dhadhi for support, but she just patted me on the shoulder.

“I agree with Ekant, dear. It is not safe,” she said and walked off.

I turned to Jas, hoping she could see reason, but she only shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen. Now, this I wasn’t expecting. I quickly ran to the phone and dialled home. For sure my mother would find a way out for me.

“Mom, you have to help me!” I cried into the phone as she picked up.

“Esha? Are you okay, child? What’s wrong?”

“I’M STUCK!” I yelled into the phone.

“Esha, calm down. Tell me, what has happened?”

“Ekant says it’s too dangerous to travel. Some attack on the Golden Temple. Why didn’t you think of that, Mom, before sending me here?”

“Oh child, I was so caught up in the grief of your father that I was not watching the news when it happened, but these past few days, I have been seeing the sadness and frustrations in the community here. It is a terrible, terrible thing that has—”

“I know, I get it, Mom. I wasn’t asking for a lecture on politics, I’m getting enough of that here!” I said, cutting her off. “But what do I do now? I can’t just stay here. Who knows how long it’ll take, and Ekant didn’t seem like he’s in any hurry.”

“Oh! You met him! How is he?”

“Very rude,” I replied.

“Rude? Oh come on, Esha, do not be so negative all the time.”

“I’m not being negative, Mom; he is rude!”

“What does he look like?”

“Actually, a lot like Dad,” I muttered. I was quickly beginning to despise the fact that he resembled my father so much.

“Really? Oh, well then, you two must really look like brother and sister, right?”

“Unfortunately, but who really cares. Stop changing the subject and let’s solve my problem! I think I should come back home. I can come back to India and go to Kiratpur some other time. I mean nothing is happening to Dad’s ashes in that box.”

“No, Esha! You cannot leave your journey incomplete! You made a promise. Besides, it will be a very bad omen if you leave. One cannot desert their journey to perform the last rites once they have already set out on it. You have to complete it, only then can you return.”

“But Mom, what am I going to do here? I’ve really had it with all of your bad omen talks. Everything is a bad omen for you!” I snapped. Her reaction was more frustrating than Ekant’s!

“We are talking about your father’s soul, Esha! This is not a trip to the mall or one of your parties that you can just leave when you have had enough. Why must you always leave when things get tough?”

“What do you mean? When do I do that?” I demanded. I hadn’t been expecting her to attack me in return. She was supposed to be on my side.

“Every time—at home, in the hospital and even now, you want to give up. I understand you do not like it, but damn it, child, you made a promise, and those ashes belong not only to your father but to my husband. You will not leave India until you have put his soul to rest. Do you understand?”

As much as I hated to admit it, she did have a point. I had made a promise, and it was for my father. “Okay . . . fine . . . fine! I won’t return until I take Dad’s ashes to Kiratpur. That doesn’t mean that I’m just going to wait around here forever for Ekant to finally decide he’s not a coward.”

“Just do not cause any trouble, please?” she pleaded.

“Yeah, whatever,”

“Esha, take care of yourself. I love you.”

“Bye, Mom,” I said, hanging up. So much for helping me. Now, I really was stuck.