PART-II. LOVE HATE AND BETRAYAL: HOW PAIN RULED MANY LIVES DURING INDIA’S INDEPENDENCE

It was time for Lazmi to quickly regroup her life. Jogi was indeed dear to her and the disbelief at the brutality her brother inflicted on Jogi completely shattered her. Her first reaction was to flee Majora and head for Calcutta, where she had a dear friend – she believed things would work out anyway. She took the first train to Calcutta to reach the humdrum of muzzled people running to somehow eke a living out of nothing !!

Dear Reader, many of you had expressed desire to know what happened to the extraordinarily beautiful girl Lazmi. Her love for Jogi turned out to be fatal for the young guy as her wild  brother – Rehmat – a dacoit – snuffed the life out of the young peasant who had only paused Lazmi’s life with love.

                                                                             And lots of love!

Love for Lazmi would endure everyone to visit the earlier content. Let's help her build a life !!

It took two years for Meryl Reetherspoone to visit India again, now as Meryl Reetherspoone Dexter, wife of Bill Dexter – Tutor of English at Queens College.

During regular visits to Queens College, Adela, Meryl’s mother, chanced upon different teachers at the school. Bill Dexter was a sweet personality, Adela believed, and would be the right guy for Meryl, she thought. A meeting was arranged and Meryl agreed to the marriage as she knew her mother had little time with her - the cancer was aggressive and the doctors found no hope.

But Meryl was happy she was in India once again, the fiery roads and simple women folks – who endured many unhappy moments in their lives, as she came to acknowledge - and had in mind a profound desire to know this country many Englishmen spoke with a broad smile back home.

Couple of years back, as you know, Meryl had come to India for a week’s visit along with her mother, hosted by local British officer Charles Hope. Meryl announced that she was desirous to see India in all its forms. Meandering through several discussions Meryl said she avoided speaking to Indians unless they were her own servants, but amused everyone by saying I want to know India and I want to see Indians!

Mrs. Jennifer Morton, well known to Adela, had long been to India. A stupid British woman, Jennifer spoke without hindrance and more often than not left the audience bite the dust for her shameful utterances.

When Meryl stepped to visit the place and know Indians, Jennifer was left astounded:

“Wanting to see Indians? What I mean is I was a nurse before my marriage and came across Indian natives a great deal. So, I know. I really do know the truth about Indians. A most unsuitable position for any Englishwoman – in my native State one’s only hope was to hold sternly aloof."

“Even from one’s patients?” Adela asked wickedly.

“Why, the kindest thing one can do to a native is to let him die!!”

Mrs. Morton had been weird and hopeless with her non-stop blabber.

Enduring these two long years Mrs. Morton would still be in India and seeing her Meryl was disgusted and was ashamed at the half-witted Shakespeare-an English she gulped out, more so now when Bill Dexter would look at her disparagingly, “…what kind of friends do you make Meryl? I didn’t know her, she bounced on my lap in my earlier visit, I had a long stint with her, do you mind helping me with a glass of wine, dear?”  Meryl was irate, one with the hot sun and the other, with Bill’s pointedly disgusting remarks.

                                                       Bill strode to pour some wine for Meryl.

Next day Meryl went to the Ballard Pier. It is known that Bombay Port Trust reclaimed 22 acres of land at Ballard Estate between 1914 and 1918, Ballard Estate was named after Colonel J.A. Ballard, a founder of the Mumbai Port Trust, which constructed the Port and

Ballard Pier. Meryl was fascinated with the efforts at the Pier and she would love to know the endeavour her fellow Englishmen would have put to increase business from this seemingly important Port.

But to her consternation, Meryl was greeted with contempt at the Port with a large, angry crowd uttering abuses for the English and demanded they leave India immediately.

It turned out that earlier in the day, one Indian worker at the port was manhandled and subsequently killed by an English police officer.

She shouted at Bill and told to return immediately as the crowd was increasingly becoming restive. All of a sudden, an Indian officer, with khakis on, strode quickly towards Meryl, “Mrs. Dexter – no need to worry, I’m in charge and the situation would be fully under control in no time. Please be my guest and I’ll be honoured if you have faith in me”.

Meryl was struck by the confidence and power of his personality. Standing at almost six feet with bright eyes Rahul Singh was easy with his English and had an assured gait, Meryl felt, which was quite often not found among these people !!

Meryl was almost sure, but could not believe, and after days of thought questioned herself “Am I overly taken in by Rahul?”. She had no time to blush, all of a sudden Rahul had taken her senses completely and she was helpless as she could not overlook him. Bill had crossed her path with having very little or no impact on her life. She realised she did not love Bill.

                                            She muttered to herself, her marriage was in ruins !!

It was raining heavily and Meryl was quickly escorted by Shane Gough, the entourage manager, to a waiting cart and to safety. Did Rahul arrange all this(?), Meryl was not sure!

Nehru dreamed of an India, freed alike of the shackles of poverty and of superstition, unburdened of capitalism, an India in which the smoke stacks of factories reached out from her cities, an India enjoying the plenitude of that Industrial Revolution to which her colonizers had denied her access.

No one might have seemed a more unlikely candidate to lead India towards that vision than Jawaharlal Nehru. Under the cotton khadi he wore in deference to the dictates of Congress, he remained the quintessential English gentleman. In a land of mystics, he was a cool rationalist.

The mind that had exulted in the discovery of science at Cambridge never ceased to be appalled by his fellow Indians who refused to stir from their homes on days the sadhus forbade them to. He was a publicly declared agnostic in the most intensely spiritual area in the world, and he never ceased to proclaim the horror the word religion inspired in him.

Nehru despised India's priests, her sadhus, her chanting monks and pious sheikhs. They had only served, he felt, to impede her progress, deepen her divisions and ease the task of her foreign rulers.

And yet, the India of those sadhus and superstition-haunted masses had accepted Nehru for thirty years as he had travelled across India haranguing the multitudes. Clinging to the roofs and sides of tramways to escape the slums of India's cities, on foot and by bullock cart in the country sides, his countrymen had come by the hundreds of thousands to see and hear him.  Many in those crowds could not hear his words nor understand them when they did. For them, it had been enough however just to see, over the ocean of heads around them, his frail and gesticulating silhouette. They had taken darshan, a kind of spiritual communion received from being in the presence of a great man and that had sufficed.

He was a superb orator and writer, a man who treasured words as a courtesan jewels. Anointed early by Gandhi, he had advanced steadily through the ranks of Congress eventually to preside over it three times.

The Mahatma had made it clear that it was on his shoulders that he wished his mantle to fall. For Nehru, Gandhi was a genius. Not surprisingly, Nehru's cool, pragmatic mind had rejected almost all of Gandhi's great moves: civil disobedience, the Salt March, Quit India and many more!

But his heart had told him to follow the Mahatma and he, would later admit, had been right.

Gandhi had been, in a sense, Nehru's guru. It was he who had re-Indianized Nehru, sending him into the villages to find the real face of his homeland, to let the fingers of his soul touch India's sufferings. Whenever the two men were in the same place, Nehru would spend at least half an hour sitting at Bapuji's' feet, sometimes talking, sometimes listening, sometimes just looking and thinking. Those were, for Nehru, moments of intense spiritual satisfaction, perhaps the closest brush his atheist’s heart would ever had with religion.

Abhimanyu Sen (Abhi) had come to the Calcutta station to receive Lazmi. Abhi was a nice boy of good parentage and had been working at Lahore Talkies as an assistant to camera operator. They had met earlier once when Lazmi was in Calcutta to see her aunt. Lazmi felt assured of herself finding a good foot at this crowded city, more so to get Abhi know her tragedy and he promising her to get a job – she had to feed two mouths. Her mother Mehroz

Bano was still in shock what happened to Jogi back in Punjab. After all, Lazmi had Bano’s back when it came to Jogi.

Lazmi got a job at Lahore Talkies, helping technicians to fix the sets before a take. Abhi was happy for her as both grew affectionate towards each other, Lazmi often brought lunch for Abhi and he loitered with her in spare time.

Things took a turn when Saifuddin Khan, or Khan Saheb, or Saifu, spotted Lazmi in one of his visits to Lahore Talkies. Saifu was the Producer at Roy Talkies – a business house much bigger than Lahore Talkies and Khan Saheb had enough money power to produce at least two films a month. Lazmi was offered a dance role in one of Saifu’s films with a condition that she had to make an impromptu dance sequence of her own in one of Saifu’s many lavish parties !!

                               And she did dance to the amusement of the large crowd that night.

Lazmi was in, as a dancer in Saifuddin Khan’s next film. Over time she slowly kept Abhi aside as he was only an assistant to cameraman and Saifu had catapulted her  to be a rising star of Roy Talkies. She did not shed a tear when her friend, Sheila, told her that Abhi had lost his job at Lahore Talkies, Saifu did not like Abhi and now he was back to being out of employment.

                               Lazmi was reluctant to give Abhi a hand in his time of distress !!

Saifu was head over heels in love with Lazmi – she took it as an opportunity to further her career. Saifu was married with two children but how such triviality did matter to Saifu, he was besotted with Lazmi.

Abhi was pained at what Lazmi did to her, in fact it still did not go down with him that she was in Saifu’s arms – how did he not recognise such a licentious woman eager to splay for money, how could she be so indecent and lewd hurling Abhi out of the window in a flash not knowing that corrupt Saifu would milk every inch of her skin and would throw her away !!

Shreshta was right about Lazmi, when she assessed her as an opportunist swimming with the tide to make money. That day Abhi realised the worth Shreshta had in his life, how so different she was from the wine gulping and cigar smoking Lazmi !!

Abhi decided to marry Shreshta at the first opportune moment, immediately after getting a fresh job, his father would be very happy to have Shreshta at the Family.

As soon as Abhi got a job at Roy Talkies as a waiter he married Shreshta Roy – it did not matter to him a bit that Lazmi was working at the same studio - she was an actress now!

Life had taken a brutal turn for Abhi and he would reminisce his early days, the long walks with Lazmi, the happy lunch time together at Lahore Talkies, the friendly staff there always pushing them as a lovely pair and above all, the togetherness she showed. Was it all unreal? Only time would tell.

Between Gandhi and Nehru, a fascinating father-son relation grew up, animated by all the tensions, affections and repressed guilt such a relationship implied. All his life, Nehru had an instinctive need for a dominant personality near him, some steadying influence to whom he could turn in the crises engendered by his volatile nature. His father, a bluff, jovial barrister with a penchant for good Scotch and Bordeaux, had first filled that role. Since his death, it had been Gandhi.

Nehru's devotion to Gandhi remained total, but a subtle change was overtaking their relationship. A phase in Nehru's life was drawing to a close. The son was ready to leave his father's house for the new world he saw beyond its gates. In that new world, he would need a new guru, a guru more sensitive to the complex problems that would assail him there. Although he was perhaps unaware of it as he sat in the Viceroy's study that March afternoon, a vacuum had opened in the psyche of Jawaharlal Nehru.

Much had changed in the world and in their own lives since Nehru and Mountbatten had met for the first time, but the undercurrent of mutual sympathy which had warmed their earlier encounter soon made itself felt in the Viceroy’s study. It was not surprising that it should. Although, Mountbatten, of course, did not know it, Nehru was partially responsible for his being there.

Besides, there was a great deal to bind the scion of a 3000-year-old line of Kashmiri brahmins and the man who claimed descent from the oldest ruling family in Protestantism.

They both loved to talk and expanded in each other's company. Nehru, the abstract thinker admired Mountbatten's practical dynamism, the capacity for decisive action that wartime command had given him. Mountbatten was stimulated by Nehru's subtlety of his thought, he quickly understood that Nehru was the only Indian politician who would share and understand his desire to maintain a link between Britain and Delhi.

With his usual candour, the Admiral told him that he had been given an appalling responsibility and he intended to approach the Indian problem in a mood of stark realism. As they talked, the two men rapidly agreed on two major points: one - a quick decision was essential to avoid a bloodbath and two - the division of India would be a tragedy.

Then Nehru turned to the actions of the next Indian leader who would enter Mountbatten's study, the penitent marching his lonely path through Noakhali and Bihar. The man to whom he'd been so long devoted was, Nehru said, 'going around with ointment trying to heal one sore spot after another on the body of India instead of diagnosing the cause of the eruption of the sores and participating in the treatment of the body as a whole.' The gulf between Gandhi and Nehru had become wide apart !!

Meryl was immensely happy when Shane Gough arranged a tour to the Barabar caves. These caves are the oldest surviving rock cut case in India, situated on the eastern stretches of town of Gaya. The caves are placed in the twin hills of Barabar and Nagarjuni.

Shane had arranged for Rahul Singh as the safety and escorting officer for the tour, knowing Meryl was very fond of Rahul.

Except for the Barabar caves - and they were twenty miles off, the city of Gaya presented nothing extraordinary, edged rather than washed by the river Falgu, it trailed for a couple of miles along the bank scarcely distinguishable from the rubbish it deposited so freely. There were no bathing steps on the river front, as the river happened not to be holy here, indeed there were no river front, and the bazaars shut out the wide and shifting panorama of the stream.

Rahul had arranged for a makeshift wash room for the ladies, twenty-five of them laughing and giggling all the way to the banks, not a care in heaven for the extremely torrid sun on their heads!

Meryl would silently study the handsome Rahul and the expert way of him to arrange things. Shane was happy she enjoyed the company of Rahul – he often led her to different sites around the cave, sometimes holding her soft hands as she slipped through rough lanes muttered with stone and silt !!

The Gaya streets were mean, the temples ineffective and though a few fine houses existed they were hidden away in gardens and down alleys whose filth deterred all but the invited guests. Gaya was never large or beautiful, but two hundred years ago it lay on the road large and beautiful, then imperial, and the river, and the fine houses date from that period.

The rest of the decoration stopped to the 18th century. Scarcely there were any carving in the bazaars, the very wood seemed made of mud, the inhabitants of the mud moving, so based, so monotonous was everything that met the eye that when the Falgu River came down it might be expected to wash the excrescence back into the soil. Houses did fall, people were drowned and left rotting, but the general outline of the town persisted, swelling here, shrinking there like some low but indestructible form of life.

Shane had arranged an elephant ride for Meryl to the caves, she enjoyed thoroughly as Rahul was at the front taking care of the mahout and the roads that led to the mountains.

It was very dark inside, the local officer had allowed a large crowd into the cave, men and women who had braved the scorching heat quickly settled into the darkness, at least the heat had to be withered away. Rahul took Meryl’s hand and led her into the pathways to the cave. Soon, they were ahead of the crowd and though the darkness instilled fear Meryl would feel comfortable and assured in Rahul’s company. Slowly she came close to Rahul and in

one swift move hugged him tightly. The cave had become lonely then and Bill was outside with Shane – both were busy arranging food and niceties.

Meryl would not let go of Rahul as he planted a passionate kiss on Meryl’s lips, so profound was the togetherness that time stopped there for a while as if enjoying the love both had for each other.

Back to the cottage, that evening was so overwhelming in the life of Meryl. She loved India and loved Rahul dearly but was very unsure how future would behold for them. Bill had to be told of the development immediately after reaching England, Adela would have reached by now, she left early as the cancer needed immediate medical attention.

The next morning Meryl found an express telegram on her table, her mother had passed away as she could not brave the dreaded disease. Meryl was required immediately in England, the travel plans would have to be done quickly – Meryl had to reach in time for the funeral.

She moved swiftly, summoned Shane Gough and told him to arrange tickets. Seeing Meryl distraught with pain and grief, Shane assured he would inform Rahul about the plans and after sometime request Rahul if he was willing to pay a visit to Meryl in England !!

                                                        Meryl had to leave Rahul behind !

Maybe next time Meryl would come alone, Bill had to be on his own, almost surely, she felt, to tread a fresh path with Rahul, for a fresh journey into the soft lanes and muddy roads of her beloved India !!

                                         Over time, can Rahul reach out to his dearest Meryl?

                                                                               Who knows !!

References:

1.        India’s Struggle for Independence – Bipin Chandra

2.       India After Gandhi – Ramchandra Guha

3.       A Passage to India – E. M. Forster

4.       Train to Pakistan – Khushwant Singh

5.        Gandhi my Father – Amazon Prime

6.       Freedom At Midnight – Larry Collins & Dominique Lapierre

Disclaimer: The names Jogi, Rehmat, Lazmi, Adela, Meryl Reetherspoone, Charles Hope, Bill Dexter, Rahul Singh, Shane Gough, Mehroz Bano, Shreshta Roy, Abhimanyu Sen and Jennifer Morton are imaginary and do not hold any resemblance to any person(s) dead or alive.