Читать книгу Under the Moonlit Sky - Nav K. Gill - Страница 9

After my father’s death, I found solace by sitting in my room and gazing out the window in complete silence. How many mourners visited the house, telephoned, or stood watching me as I sat in solitude, I never noticed. I allowed myself to become lost in my own quiet world of grief and regret. Memories of my father circulated in my mind constantly and pushed away all notion of sleep. Whenever I was lying in my bed, I half-expected him to come open my door as he always had when I was younger. It was a small knock, followed by a light whisper: “Esha, you awake yet?”

Maybe this is what that “phantom” feeling was all about. I had heard people describe such a feeling after they had lost something, like an arm or a leg. They had a hard time letting go of the expectation that it was still there. That’s how I felt now in my father’s absence.

Following that night at the hospital, I did my best to avoid my mother. I’m not sure if it was guilt or regret about the conversation we’d had right before we got the call about the accident, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye. So I avoided her altogether, until finally, one day, she came to my room.

I was once again perched up against my window, looking out at the mountains where they lined the clear blue sky, caught up in my own thoughts. She laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it slightly. Her touch brought me back into the room, and I slowly tilted my head towards her.

She was dressed in a white salwar-kameez, a simple Indian suit, with a shawl covering her from her waist up. Her face was pale and swollen. Her eyes were severely reddened from weeks of crying and sleepless nights. She had aged rapidly. Her once bright and striking appearance was nowhere to be seen.

“Esha,” she began, “our lives have changed a lot in the past few weeks. Waheguru only knows what the coming days will be like. No matter what, we must be a family.”

Hearing her use the word “family” brought tears to my eyes. I turned towards her, sinking my head into her stomach as she wrapped her arms around me. Feeling her warmth made me realize how lonely I had felt. Her warmth filled the longing I had been battling since the moment I had left my father’s bedside. She offered reassurance, comfort and love, and I accepted.

“I feel lost without Daddy,” I confessed. “I don’t know . . . anything any more. How I should behave, what I should do, who I should be . . . I’m lost.” I could no longer hold back my emotions. I felt a surge of energy and rage come from within, and this time I let it flow out. “I just feel so horrible. The things I said about him, those words, those feelings, they haunt me every moment, but . . . at the same time, it still doesn’t make any sense, Mom.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Everything! What’s true, what’s not, the things Daddy said to me before he . . . It’s too much!”

“Perhaps it is, but life does not stop moving because things get to be too much, Esha. Time does not stop. We have to pick up the pieces.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Life isn’t moving for me. Everything has stopped moving, everything . . .”

“Your father was a good man. He had a lot of respect and admiration for the people in his life, and he received just as much in return. Most important, he loved his kids very much. I hope you will remember that always.”

I nodded as she continued. “What you have heard about this . . . this other family in India . . . is partly true and partly fictional. The time has come for you to know everything.”

I looked up as she finally started to address a topic that was very disturbing for me. She turned away and walked over to my bed, where she sat down and gently folded her hands in her lap, staring at them intently. Perhaps she didn’t have the courage to look me in the eye as she spoke of this secret that obviously had been a burden on her marriage for years.

“You and your sister are not aware of this, but your father once had a brother. He was only one year younger than your father, but they were like twins, always together. Your father loved him very much, the whole family did. All the neighbours in the village would comment on how proud he would make the family one day. He was bright, handsome, and full of life.”

“Why haven’t we been told about him before? Why didn’t Dad ever say anything about a brother?”

“Because the family cut all ties with him not too long after your father and I married. It was agreed that we would never mention him again. Even now, I am not sure how to tell you about him.”

“Just say it, Mom. From the beginning,” I said eagerly.

“Okay, well,” she began, “he was a very carefree young boy, someone who was praised by his peers and adored by the elders. Like most boys, he was always up to some mischief, but never anything serious, and he could almost always get away with it. After your father and I married, he did his very best to make me feel comfortable within the family. We got along very well. He would come running to me and plead with me to calm your father and smooth things over whenever he was caught cheating on his school papers.”

“So what happened?” I asked. My curiosity was becoming unbearable.

“It was the evening of Diwali. The house was lit up with candles, and it looked beautiful, just like every year. The house was filled with people preparing for the evening’s festivities. Your grandfather was really particular about celebrating special occasions with family and friends. Diwali was always a very special day for him. Your father had just returned from the bazaar with sweets, and I was rushing him into the bedroom, pleading that he get dressed quickly so we could go outside and join everyone else. I was walking out to the courtyard when I heard it . . .”

She trailed off, and I hesitated a moment before pushing her to keep going. “Heard what, Mom?”

“A noise . . . It sounded like muffled screams. I looked around and tried to determine if what I heard was real or just in my head. So I stopped and listened carefully. Then I heard it again, and this time I followed the voices in the direction of the servants’ quarters. No one else was in the house, as most were either out in the courtyard, or just making their way back from the Gurdwara. We had given the servants the evening off to go and be with their families, so the noise immediately aroused my curiosity.

“As I made my way to the back, I saw a dim light emerging from the storage room, located by the servant quarters, and I heard it again; a faint scream and cries that could only belong to a female. I could hear a shuffling noise, which I later attributed to the struggle that was going on inside.”

“Struggle? Oh, Mom . . . what did you see?” My heart pounded as I made my way closer to where she was seated.

“I crept to the door and slowly pushed it open,” she continued with her eyes still carefully averted away from my curious gaze. “The door creaked a little, and I remember trembling at that moment. I was nervous and almost afraid to step inside. When I looked up, I was instantly filled with terror. The scene before me was . . . it was . . . to this day I cannot put it out of my mind. There he was . . . the pride of our family, the joy of the village . . . forcefully on top of an innocent girl. Her hands were pinned high above her head with his. Tears were streaming down her face, and her legs were pinned beneath his weight. Her clothing had been stripped off . . . the sight was so disgusting, I screamed and I screamed. I yelled at him to let her go. I was so shocked and so hurt to see him in such an act. I could not believe what was happening right before my eyes.”

“Oh my god . . . oh my . . . Mom, what did you do?”

“What else could I do but try and stop him? I ran to him, and I started pushing him away. I just threw myself at him. I was hysterical. I cannot forget how he just looked at me. There was no sadness or remorse; he just stared at me as he blocked my attacks. Eventually, he managed to push me aside, got up and walked away. He never once turned around. He just simply walked away.”

“What about the girl? What happened to her?”

“I took her in my arms, and I alerted your father about what had happened. He was furious. I could never have imagined the anger that I saw in his eyes that night. He decided that his father, your grandfather, should be notified and left in charge of the situation.

“In the end, it was decided that Jeet would marry that poor girl. She was so traumatized by what had happened. It was clear that she was terrified about the uncertainty of her future. She was scared, as most women back then were. There weren’t many options for female victims of rape then. Her life was ruined by Jeet’s moment of lust and insanity.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what she was experiencing, but marry?” I said. “Forcing her to marry her rapist is even worse! What about the cops? What about charging his ass with rape, dumping him in jail and tossing away the key?” I found it absolutely absurd that they didn’t jump to the obvious remedy.

“Oh, Esha, back then things were done differently,” she replied, waving a hand. “Families tried to salvage what they could of their honour. The girl’s father was worried that no man would marry her if the ordeal was made public. Also, a few weeks later, it was learned that she was pregnant. Marriage was the only way to save both families.”

“I seriously don’t agree, but, okay, what happened next? I imagine things didn’t go as planned, otherwise why would I find a wedding picture of Dad and that woman? That was her, wasn’t it?”

“Jeet wasn’t pleased with the idea of marrying her. He protested against the will of the family, and the night before the wedding, he ran away.”

“He ran away?”

“Yes, and this posed a serious problem for your grandfather. The girl’s father was very upset and decided that since the truth would now most likely leak out, he would take things into his hands. He threatened to cause a public stir and defame the entire family. Your father could not stand by and watch the family suffer for a sin that Jeet had committed. So he announced that he would stand in Jeet’s place, that he would marry the girl.”

“How was that possible? He was already married to you.”

“Yes, legally he was my husband, and he had already filed immigration papers to come to Canada. No outsiders were invited. Just the family conducted a small ceremony to give satisfaction to the girl and her father that her child would have a name. It was done to give her some peace of mind after such a traumatic experience. The villagers didn’t even know what had happened. So to keep the secret, your grandfather shifted the entire family to Delhi. When your father received his immigration to Canada, he left India and never went back, but continued to send money. Papers were doctored to show that Jeet had in fact married her, and the child was his.”

“Wow, that’s . . . that’s . . . that’s really messed up.”

“It’s a lot to understand. I had a tough time dealing with it, but I had seen the state that the poor girl was in. I understood why your father did what he did. I never had any complaints against him. If he hadn’t married her and made sure that she would be taken care of, then God only knows where she would have ended up, or if she and her child would have survived.”

“But why was a picture taken of Dad and her? I mean, if Dad just stepped in, why the photo?”

“It was leverage. The girl’s father wanted it taken, in case our family backed away from carrying out our promise to care for her and her son and giving them the family name.”

“I wish you had told me this sooner, Mom. It would have prevented my hostile behaviour towards Dad this past year. It would have helped if you had said something sooner.”

“I realize that, but I took an oath that I would never say a word unless your father deemed it necessary.”

“So why now? What difference does it make? He’s already gone. I can’t correct what’s happened in the past year, the way I attacked him and cut him out of my life.”

“It matters now, Esha, because your father wanted you to know. He . . .” Her voice trailed away as she got off the bed and walked carefully over to the window, staring off into the vast landscape that surrounded us. After a short silence, she continued. “Before he left us, your father made a request.”

“What kind of request?”

She turned around to face me now. “He wished that I tell you the truth regarding the family in India. He wished that you be the one to travel back with his ashes. He wished that you discover the family in India, and that along with the son, you travel to Kiratpur, the sacred place for Sikhs, and that you pour his ashes into the river as it has been done for countless Sikhs, including several of our Gurus. Esha, your father wished that you try, at least once, to discover what it is to be a Sikh.”

That sounded like more than just one request, and what was this about “learning to be a Sikh?” What did she mean? Travel to India? Me? The idea was laughable at best. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to meet that family.

“Mom, this is too much!” I finally objected. “What am I going to do in India? And it’s such a big responsibility to . . . to . . . well, the ashes thing. I’ve never been to India, I barely visit the Gurdwara here, so what do I know about doing stuff like that? I can’t do it, no way! And that family, I’m not even sure I want to meet them. I mean, you just told me all of this stuff now; I haven’t even begun to process it. It’s too soon, and what about my soccer season? I can’t just abandon the team . . . and—”

“This is your father’s dying wish, Esha! Can’t you even try?” she said, cutting me off. “Just once, try to do something for the father who spent his life working hard to give you this life; for the father who held your small hands and taught you how to walk; for the father who died waiting for his daughter to return . . . from . . . from what? What were you doing when your father was in his last moments, waiting and hoping that his youngest daughter would be by his side, huh? Where? I imagine you were out on a cigarette break? Right? What, you think I don’t know what you are up to?”

She knew!

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Mom! I was not having a cigarette. I don’t smoke!” I lied. “And don’t try to change the subject here. Honestly, you know I can’t go to India. I can’t do this!”

“Esha.” She walked towards me and placed her hands on my shoulders. I could sense she was shifting her strategy, but I wasn’t going to give in. “Your father and I have tried not to force you to live life the way we wish you would. Instead, we have always secretly prayed that one day you would find your way back to us. This is the time to carry out your responsibility. You are his daughter. Your father has passed on, but he has made one last request. It is your duty to follow through on that request.

“You have a whole life ahead of you. This is your only chance to discover that other part of you, discover the part that you have shut up and put away all these years. You are a Sikh. You may not care, but it was an important part of who your father was. He wants you to discover why. Think of it as a challenge or an adventure, but please do this one thing for him, child.”

She held my gaze for a long time, then she patted my cheek ever so softly before she walked away. Damn that guilt trip!

“Mom,” I called out in defeat just as she reached the doorway.

“Yes?”

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The son in India, what’s his name?”

“His name is Ekant, Ekant Singh.”