RAGNI VOL 1 eBOOK

“I am sorry, but we really don’t have any vacancies,” the clerk said, starting to sound irritated. “Okay, I will just have to make due then,” Jaswant said as he hung up. Leaving his shirt and pants on, he fidgeted as Moheeni came into the bedroom from the washroom. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing how agitated Jaswant was. “This is the only bed in the room. We will have to share it,” he told her nervously. Unfazed, she shrugged her shoulders and climbed between the sheets. Gingerly getting into the bed next to her, he made sure their bodies didn’t touch. He kept as far to one side as he could. She turned her back to him and rolled over to the opposite side as well. Two or three hours went by; both of them were tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Pushed to desperation from the situation, Moheeni took a deep breath and turned over to face Jaswant’s back. Slowly moving her body closer to his, they touched. Jaswant jumped as if he had been shocked by electricity. Pulling back slightly at his jump, she once again inched closer to him until the length of her warm body was touching his. This time, he didn’t pull away but turned to her and laid his arm around her, pulling her closer. She began to move slowly, rhythmically, against him, her soft breathing becoming more audible. His hand moved over her body, softly caressing her through the sheer nightgown, and her breathing turned to soft moans as she moved her body to his touch like a cat rubbing its back against someone petting it. The waves caught them both up in its swells, and in an instant, Jaswant was kissing her as if his life depended on the love she gave him. It was as if he were out of his body somewhere while his physical body was moving automatically on its own. Her nightgown was off in his hands, and he dropped it to the floor. Before it left his hand, they were writhing in each other’s 103

arms, intoxicated with each other. His kisses flowed gently from her mouth to her neck. She was openly and softly calling out his name when a cold shock entered his brain and froze him in the middle of his passion. “I am having sex right after coming from God’s house without getting married! I cannot do this! It is wrong!” The thoughts shot through his mind. He raised his head from her undulating body, looked dumbly at her, and then looked away, ashamed of what he was doing. “What is wrong, my dear?” she said, her eyes half glazed from being carried out on the wave of love. Clearly troubled, he said to her, “I cannot go on …it’s not right. We are not married.” Taken somewhat aback, she gathered her senses and said, “But my dear, did I not ask God that we be together? Will we not soon be married anyway?” Looking back into her eyes, the love shining in them dissolved his troubled feelings. Reaching out with a willing smile, she pulled at him, and he let himself be taken back down into the warmth of her soft nakedness. His male instincts quickly took over any thoughts he had, and he tugged off his clothes and dove back into the wave of passion. They melted into each other’s arms as if they were one. Poised to complete their passion, Jaswant stopped again as reality slapped him in the face, tearing him cruelly from the magic of her embrace. He stiffened and slid off her and sat on the edge of the bed. His body was ready, but his mind would not allow it. Sighing heavily and with great disappointment, she sat up next to him. “I cannot help it. In my mind, I am thinking that it is not the right time, though my body and heart desire you,” he said dejectedly. He stood up and began pulling his trousers back on. Annoyed by this time, Moheeni reached for her nightgown on the floor and yanked it on over her head. 104

“Well, if we are both dressed, do you think you will be able to control yourself? I don’t want to keep putting on and taking off my clothes. Decide one way or the other, Jaswant.” It was as if he were out of his body while his physical body was moving automatically on its own. Her nightgown was off again in his hands, and he dropped it to the floor. Before it left his hand, they were writhing in each other’s arms, intoxicated with each other. His kisses flowed gently from her mouth to her neck. She was openly and softly calling out his name, and suddenly, he pulled him away again, stammering, “No, no, not before marriage.” She was very upset as she yanked her night- gown back on and lay down on the sofa. 105

CHAPTER 9 K anwar watched the sun’s fiery red rays sink beneath the horizon as if it were putting up a final fight with the night and losing to the encroaching dusk. A filmy coat of dust hovered over the land, having been stirred up by the slow procession of cattle being herded in for the evening. He could see the silhouettes of their sluggish, bobbing heads and, every once in a while, caught a glimpse of one of the young boys riding on their backs, directing them. The soft drone of the bells around their necks mixed with their lonely mooing groans sounded like an ancient forbidden chant. He was on the far western corner of the temple grounds amid the deserted remnants of a fifteenth-century Hindu castle—built, destroyed, and now all but forgotten. The only evidence of its past splendor was the broken stone- walls and wasted land. Taking a seat on one of the crumbling ramparts, he could see a few of the old superstitious village women lighting the small clay bowls filled with mustard oil and cotton wicks on the graves of Muslim Faquir (saints) from centuries ago, and the last vestige of another race of men who had been rulers of this land, only to be an insignificant part of it in the end. Just beyond the graves and before the dirt road leading to the temple were the mounds of packed orange dirt formed by builder ants and inter- spersed in the long flat sheets of shale, now inhabited by snakes. A breeze rattled the barren thorn bushes, making them click together like old witches’ teeth as they cast their spells.

The shade from the giant mango trees above him created a somber darkness as the starless cowl spread its massive branches over all it could cover, jealously hiding the ground beneath it from the waning sunlight. Down the sloping hill to the south, over the tall, green bajra stalks swaying in the soft breeze, his eyes followed the meandering river and spotted a boatman ferrying a group of people across, lunging his long pole to the bottom of the riverbed. To the left of the river, he could see two figures making their way over the old stone bridge above the gully. Though he couldn’t yet make out their definite features, he knew it was Ragni and Smitti leaning against the lone wall ruin. He pulled out his reed flute and began to play a happy tune. “Ragni, I am scared. I do not think we should cross the bridge. That land is cursed. There are old, dead things there. Let’s go back to the house,” Smitti pleaded with Ragni, tugging on her arm as the two girls were halfway across the bridge. Determined to cross, Ragni stopped struggling with Smitti for a moment and cupped her hand to her ear. “Listen, I can hear music,” she said, recognizing Kanwar’s flute. Smitti ceased tugging on her arm and momentarily listened too. Then, her fear intensifying, she continued her attempt to coax Ragni off the bridge. “Ragni, no! There are poisonous snakes there. It is a bad place!” Ragni, listening more intently, stopped resisting Smitti and stood transfixed. The gay melody had suddenly changed. It was now slower, sadder, more ancient—much different than the music Kanwar was playing before. As soon as Ragni stopped resisting, Smitti loosened the grip on her arm. Spellbound, Ragni started slowly walking across the bridge. Smitti, frowning and deeply troubled, followed a few steps after her. “Ragni, are you all right?” 107

“Wait here, Smitti, I won’t be long,” Ragni told her in an eerie calm voice. Smitti watched Ragni make her way over the bridge, gliding more than walking as if she were hypnotized. By the time she reached the broken ramparts of the castle ruins, it was dark, and the moon was on the rise. The music had become part of her innermost being, and as she drew closer to its source, tears began to flow, for she felt she was, at last, being reunited with this haunting, forlorn song. The last few yards to Kanwar turned into slow, liturgical, dance-like steps in pace with the music. Her eyes were wide open but unseeing, and tears were flowing freely down her face. Kanwar sat on the wall, one leg hanging off the side, his eyes closed and his face concentrating on the tune flowing from his heart. As if approaching an altar of sacrifice, she made her way willingly but also knowing somehow that her life might end when she reached the source of the coaxing, hypnotic music. When she was a few feet from him, she reached out to touch his face as if by doing so, her life would end and another strange life would take over—but she stopped before making contact with him. Her pounding heart thundered through her—up through her solar plexus shattering the insides of her head. In an instant of blinding white light, she paused with her hand in midair and tumbled toward the whiteness. “Ragni, Ragni! Are you all right?” Kanwar shouted as he fell to the ground next to her and cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair. As if coming out of a deep sleep, she rubbed her eyes and looked up at Kanwar, then looked around, trying to reorient herself. “I…I guess so. I am not sure. The last thing I remember was being on the bridge with Smitti. How did I get here?” she asked, obviously confused. As she asked this, Kanwar suddenly became confused as well. “I’m not sure… I don’t remember what happened either. The last thing I remember was seeing you and Smitti on the bridge as I started playing the flute. I was playing a happy tune I made up yesterday. I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I felt the music overtaking me as if I were traveling far into the past. The tune first came 108

to me last night as we watched each other from our bedroom windows. Seeing you seemed to remind me of how to play it. I felt I had learned that song long ago— many years ago. But how could that be? I just recently got this flute from my brother. I have never had flute lessons before. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground with you, trying to wake you up,” he said, frowning, unable to make sense of it all. Ragni nestled in his lap and said, “Somehow, I know that song you were playing. Can you play it again for me?” Picking up the flute off the ground next to him, he began the soft, resonant passage. The moon peeked through the thickly leafed branches of the mango tree covering them as the tune wove a mystical spell over the land. The birds singing high above in the trees ceased their chattering to listen, and from the dry, craggy ant mounds and shale slabs, the snakes came out, attracted to the music as the vibrations reached them in their lairs. Tears began collecting in Ragni’s eyes. Becoming frightened, she sat up out of Kanwar’s lap. “Kanwar, please stop. The music—it’s making me lose control of myself, and I’m afraid,” she pleaded. “Where is she?” Rajinder half-shouted while trying to calm down the frenzied and breathless Smitti. “Ma’am, we were walking in the night at Ragni’s insistence. When we reached the old bridge on the gully that led to the temple grounds, I became frightened. She wanted to go to the old Hindu castle ruins. I pleaded with her not to go. I told her there were poisonous snakes and evil things there, but she insisted. We heard strange flute music, and she left me. I waited for a time and called out her name, but there was no answer. That is when I ran home,” the young servant girl explained hastily. 109

“Come with me,” Rajinder said. She took the flashlight and pulled the Jeep from the garage. Smitti lagged behind, not wanting to go out in the dark. “Smitti! I need you to show me where Ragni went! Come now!” Rajinder commanded. The girl reluctantly followed her out the door. They drove the Jeep as near to the old bridge as the road would permit them. Taking the flashlight, Rajinder and Smitti walked over the ancient stones to the other side of the gully to the barren earth where the ants and snakes lived. As they gingerly stepped through the hard-packed clay, Smitti clung nervously to Rajinder’s arm; the air filled with the hissing and slithering of the snakes coming out for the evening. “I am frightened, Bibi Ji!” Smitti said, dragging her feet with each step they took. “Where did you see Ragni going?” Rajinder asked firmly, ignoring Smitti’s pleas. “Up there, among the ruins. Under the large mango tree,” she said with a shaking voice. Rajinder forged ahead, her protective maternal instinct overcoming any fear she harbored for her personal safety. In the distance, she could see the small yellow beacons of light flickering in the clay oil candles on the Muslim graves as if they were sentinels standing guard for spirits long passed. As they neared the crumbling walls under the great mango tree, she thought she could hear soft breathing nearby, or was it the wind sighing over this dead land? The skin tingled on Rajinder’s arms and neck as she took each step closer to the ruins. Moving the beam from the flashlight slowly over the ground, she saw what appeared to be a pair of legs stretched out against a wall. Smitti whimpered with fear as Rajinder strode boldly to the figure. As she shined her light closer, it fell upon the two youths: Ragni lying with her head in Kanwar’s lap and Kanwar sitting with his back against the stone wall. They were both asleep. 110

Calling out their names as she approached them, the two started to wake up. Seeing that they were both alive and breathing easily in slumber, Rajinder became a little sterner. “Kanwar! Ragni! What are you doing here this late at night? Don’t you know you could be hurt here all by yourselves? You had me frightened to death!” she scolded. Ragni jumped up out of Kanwar’s lap and stood up. Kanwar, sleepily opening his eyes, sheepishly rose too. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I couldn’t help myself,” she mumbled, unable to give a better excuse. “It’s my fault. I arranged for us to meet here. We must have forgotten about the time and fallen asleep here,” Kanwar explained, his head hanging low. Rajinder’s anger was intermingled with anxiety, but both were soon replaced with relief. “You both know I trust you, but how would you explain this to your mother and brother, Kanwar? What would you expect me to tell your parents, Ragni?” “I am sorry, Auntie. I promise it won’t happen again. I honestly don’t know what came over us,” Ragni said genuinely. Rajinder’s wrath subsided as the two appeared sincere in their apologies. Turning to Smitti, she gave a sharp look and said in a low and threatening voice, “Smitti, not a word of this to anyone—especially Shamsher. Understood?” Straightening herself up as if a pole smacked her spine, Smitti agreed readily, “Oh yes, Bibi Ji! I will say nothing! ” The group of them walked back over the bridge to the waiting Jeep. Rajinder drove Kanwar home first and then headed for her own home. She pulled into the gravel road that led to the house, thanking God that they had made it back home before her husband came home. She took light dinner and went to bed. 111

As soon as she was in a deep sleep, a bright light emitted into her room, and a question arose in her heart, “You said that when I always choose the action that love sponsors, then I experience the full joy of who I am and who I can be. Could you say more on this?” “Yes, the only purpose of life is for you and all who live to experience heavenly bliss. There is nothing else for your soul to do and nothing else your soul desires to do. This purpose is never-ending. Unending limits and God’s purpose is without boundaries. When the moment comes that you experience pure heavenly bliss—in that moment, you will imagine even greater bliss to fulfill. The more you are, the more you can become, and the more you can become, the more you will yet be. The deepest secret is that life is not a process of discovery but a process of creation. You are not discovering yourself but creating yourself. Therefore seek not to find out who you are but who you want to be.” “Many say that life is a school, that we are here for lessons, and when we graduate, we can go on to great pursuits, no longer chained to the body, is that correct?” It is a part of your mythology based on human experience “You mean that life is not a school?” “No.” “Then why are we here?” “To remember and re-create who you are. I have told you many times, but you do not believe me. Yet, that is as it should be—for if you do not create yourself as whom you are that you cannot be,” the angel replied “I have heard teacher after teacher tell us that life is a school. I am shocked that you deny this.” Ragni said. “School is where you go if there is something you do not know. It is not where you go if you already know it. Life, as you call it, is an opportunity for 112

you to know by experience what you already know in your mind. You need not learn to do this. You need merely to remember what you already know and act on it. Bye now.” Silence filled the room. She opened her eyes and watched as the bright light slowly drifted through the window into the space beyond. The next evening, Shamsher called for Segha, one of his farm workers (servants). “Have you seen Segha?” he asked his wife. “No. The last time I saw him, he was in the back cleaning up from having been out in the fields,” Rajinder said as she prepared a tray of pork pickle for the evening’s guest, Dilawar. “I can never seem to find that Segha when I need something to be done,” Shamsher muttered to himself. Though Dilawar was much younger than he, Shamsher held him in high esteem. He seemed to be the ideal citizen of Bhatian. Dilawar had just finished school at the university—no mean feat for a young man of only twenty-two years who had to run the largest farm in Bhatian. His father had been killed in the Pakistani civil war and left Dilawar and his mother the large farm as well as a good fortune. Those who were his detractors labeled him as being brash and spoiled, but all respected him for his ability to work hard and keep things together on his farm. Just then, Shamsher heard Dilawar’s Jeep pull up in front. He went to the front of the bethak to greet him. The two men sat on the couches in the bethak for more than two hours, Rajinder sent Smitti to ask Shamsher if they wanted their dinner yet. Smitti returned promptly, “They want to be served in thirty minutes,” she told Rajinder. Nodding, Rajinder went upstairs to check on Ragni. 113

“So, what do you think about the oxen race this year?” Shamsher asked Dilawar as he poured drinks for them both. “Well, it looks like it will be between you and Jaswant this year,” Dilawar said. “What do you mean? You won last year and several years before that. You have the finest team. Aren’t you racing this year?” Shamsher asked in surprise. “Not this year. I was practicing the other day, and the oxen got too excited and started running away with the wagon. I tried slowing them down, but the reigns popped loose on the faster one, and he spun the wagon, tumbling me out and throwing the wheel off. The wagon broke off and flew into the air, landing on the slow one’s foot, crushing it. I had to destroy the animal yesterday.” Dilawar said, matter-of-factly, upholding his pride and hiding his sorrow. “I’m sorry to hear of your bad fortune,” Shamsher said as he popped a piece of pickled red mango into his mouth. Both of them knew he wasn’t sorry at all, but both also knew he had to express his regrets as a matter of social grace. As they continued visiting and drinking, Shamsher heard a knocking at the main gate. “Smitti, there is someone at the front gate!” he called out loudly. Smitti opened the door to find Kanwar looking rather nervous. “Is Bhau Ji (respectful title to an elder) at home? I wish to speak to him,” he said. “Come around to the bethak. He is there entertaining Dilawar,” she instructed him. When he knocked on the separate entrance to the bethak, Shamsher opened the door. “Kanwar, come in. Let me pour you a drink,” he bellowed. “I would like to come in, but I don’t drink,” Kanwar replied meekly. 114

“But it’s common for farmers and cowboys alike to have a drink at the end of the day. Just as well. If you wish to abstain, that is your privilege. What brings you here, young man?” Shamsher asked, gesturing for Kanwar to come in. “Bhau Ji, I have come to tell you that your servant Segha and our servant Ammlee fought in the field today. Segha beat Ammlee severely with a shovel. Ammlee claims it was all Segha’s fault. I have come to you since Segha is your servant, but also because you are the Sarpanch,” Kanwar stated as if he had rehearsed his words carefully so as not to mix things up. Shamsher’s face grew more serious, and he put his arm around the boy and led him into the bethak. Just then, Rajinder entered the room. Seeing Shamsher’s arm around the boy, she asked angrily, “Are you trying to corrupt this young man with your drink?” “No, this is a matter of business. Where is Segha?” he said with an official air. “He’s outside the kitchen eating his supper,” Rajinder said. “Go fetch him. And have Smitti run over to Kanwar’s farm and bring back Ammlee,” he ordered. Looking at Kanwar, he gave him a fatherly grin and said, “Would you like some pickled pork?” “No, thank you, Bhau Ji,” Kanwar answered. Rajinder hustled the boy out of the bethak, fearing that Shamsher would try to get him a drink. “Ragni is upstairs saying her evening prayers. You may visit her if you like. I will be up shortly to say good night to her,” she told Kanwar. As Kanwar went upstairs, Rajinder ordered Smitti to take the bike to Kanwar’s for Ammlee while she went to the kitchen for Segha. When Ammlee and Segha were gathered in Shamsher’s bethak (common room), Shamsher, sensing Ammlee’s anger, poured a large glass of liquor for 115

him. Ammlee drained it in one gulp, smacking his lips and wiping his mouth with his ragged shirt, the scowl remaining on his face. “Tell me what happened this afternoon, Ammlee,” Shamsher said judiciously. Ammlee, gnashing his teeth and glaring at Segha with his bloodshot eyes, spat back, “Ask Segha!” Shamsher, remaining cool, said, “No, you speak first.” Shifting his weight back and forth on his creaking legs, Ammlee angrily began relating his side of the story. “I was at the irrigation canal. I had another thirty minutes of watering— eight hours apiece. That’s the agreement we have in the community. Eight hours apiece! Segha came to the dam and told me it was his turn. He told me to turn off my valve so he could turn his on. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon. I was to have the canal until two-thirty. Jaswant gave me his watch so that I would be able to make sure I turned the water on and off at the correct times. See? ” he held up his bony wrist, showing the gold watch. He continued, “Segha told me it was time to shut my valve off and started to argue with me!” Shamsher took the empty glass from Ammlee’s hand, refilled it with the clear, potent alcohol, and handed it back to Ammlee, who stopped talking to watch his glass being filled. “What happened next?” Shamsher said as Ammlee quickly drained the glass in one swallow. Dilawar, watching the whole scene in the background, winced as Ammlee tossed back the liquor. Ammlee smacked his lips again, but this time didn’t bother wiping his mouth with his sleeve. A dumb-looking grin came over his face as the alcohol began taking effect, and he wavered back and forth visibly now. Shamsher repeated his question, and Ammlee grew serious again. 116

“Oh, yes…Segha said my watch was behind and that it was already two- thirty. I looked at his face and saw that he had been drinking. I knew he just wanted to fight, so I tried to ignore him. Then he started breaking up my dams with his shovel. As I bent over to stop up the dam, he hit me in the back with his shovel. He hit me seven or eight times. See? Look at my poor back. There are still welts from the shovel.” He turned around and hiked up his shirt, showing several ugly red welts. Shamsher grew stern and asked sharply of Segha, “Is this true? Why did you do this?” “He tried to argue and pick a fight with me,” Segha said defiantly. “It was two-thirty, according to my watch, so I hit him a couple of times.” Ammlee broke in at this point, shouting, “I will get even with you! I will show you what it is like to hit a man while he is not looking! ” Segha, a strong young man of not more than twenty-three, became belligerent and rose to the threats, and the two started shouting at each other. Shamsher shouted above them, “Enough, Segha! Be quiet! You are the one at fault. Leave Ammlee alone!” The two servants grew silent, Segha looking at the ground, and Ammlee, the alcohol erasing the pain, as well as most of his memory, was satisfied at having the Sarpanch side with him. Dilawar, who was quiet up to this point, came forward. “Why do both of you fight? It is not your land; it is not your water. You are merely hired workers. The owners are the ones who make the profits. Beating each other to death will not increase your pay. Just be friends and live and work in harmony. Do not worry about the other’s land; just take care of your own business. Be friends with each other, and all will be well!” Shamsher saw the wisdom in his words, and spoke up, “Yes, now, the two of you be friends again. Shake hands.” Ammlee, still rocking back and forth, had his arms folded. Segha, his head hung down, stretched out his hand to Ammlee. Upon seeing his gesture, 117

Ammlee thawed his stance and reciprocated by shaking Segha’s extended hand, and the two of them smiled at each other. “Good. Now, the two of you go outside,” Shamsher said, shuttling the two servants out of his bethak. Once they were out, he turned to Dilawar and said, “Now, it’s time to eat, and then we can have a serious discussion over our drink.” Upstairs, Kanwar tiptoed to Ragni’s open door, not wanting to disturb her in case she was still praying. He could see her kneeling figure with the chunni draped over her head as she was deep in her prayers. Debating if he should go back downstairs or wait for her to finish, he stepped on a loose floor- board; the slight creaking noise was loud enough to catch Ragni’s attention. She turned around and, surprised to see him, smiled and gently kidded him, “What excuse did you have to be here tonight?” Clearing his throat in slight embarrassment, he said, “Ammlee and Segha had an argument this afternoon; I had to tell Bhau Ji.” “I’m glad you came,” she said quietly to him, rising from the floor and walking closer to him. Kanwar showed signs of nervousness as she drew nearer to him. “Rajinder will be up shortly to say goodnight to you. I cannot stay long,” he stammered. Both of them were disappointed. They recalled the warmth they shared in each other’s arms last night and longed to hold each other just once more. Instead, their eyes met in a gaze that locked them in their places, both of them wondering if the other was experiencing the same warm and tender feelings. Acting almost as if there were another entity moving their bodies, they started moving closer to each other, reaching out to embrace when Rajinder’s footsteps could be heard coming up the wooden stairs. The trance that was overtaking them broke quickly, and they retreated from each other. “Hello, Kanwar. Ragni, I came up to say goodnight,” Rajinder said, giving the two young people a hint that it was time for Kanwar to leave soon. 118

Pausing for a moment, Rajinder asked, “I am still a little troubled about the incident last night. Have either of you figured out exactly what happened?” The two of them shuffled their feet uncomfortably. Kanwar spoke up, “Well, after I started playing the flute, I saw Ragni coming to me from the bridge. After that, I don’t remember anything. We must have dozed off together. I’m sorry, I can’t remember anymore.” Ragni remained silent as if his explanation of the story were sufficient for the two of them. Still troubled, but seeing they weren’t trying to hide anything, Rajinder bade them goodnight and went downstairs. She was happy that Ragni and Kanwar liked each other, but, at the same time, she feared for their futures— that they wouldn’t be able to handle such a strong emotional relationship. Kanwar started following Rajinder out of the door and stopped. Ragni was close behind him. Just before walking through the doorway, he turned, took Ragni’s face in his hands, and kissed her forehead. Releasing her, they shared one last quick gaze into each other’s eyes and pulled away before it became too difficult to do so. 119

CHAPTER 10 In the early days animals were the major source of support for the agri- cultural industry. During 1940 petroleum engine tractors became popular in the market, later replaced by diesel engines. Tractors were very helpful to ploughing the land, distribution of the fertilizer and pumping the water along with several other applications   Seeding, planting, and transplanting; cultivation; pest control; harvesting;  storage; premarketing processing; drainage; irrigation and erosion control; and water conservation, Livestock production was all done by manual labor. At the end of day, farm workers got tired; in order to boost their energy, farmers served them country liquor or opium products which were common in the agricultural state of Punjab. Jaswant approached him in the field later in the afternoon. “Hey, Ammlee, your eyes are very red this afternoon,” he said, letting Ammlee know he recognized the telltale sign that he had recently had a share of nagni. “Yes, Sardar Ji. God bless Kishan. I was dying, and now I’m alive again,” he said, showing a toothy grin. “This nagni is the same you gave me from the carpenter—some of the best I’ve ever had.” 120

“How did you get it?” Jaswant asked, his interest piqued at the mention of Kishan, Moheeni’s elder brother. Ammlee began relating his story. “Early this morning, I thought I saw Kishan’s Jeep pull into his gates. He always gives Jullo more nagni than he could ever use, and Jullo is always generous with me, so I went looking for him. As I entered the gates, I saw Kishan sipping tea on his porch. He called out to me, ‘Hey, you! Ammlee ! How are you doing?’ He knew I was looking for Jullo so I could get some nagni. Then he called out to me again, ‘Come over here for a moment.’” “When I reached him, he pulled out a quarter-pound bag of nagni and handed it to me. I hesitated and told him, ‘Sardar Ji, I am not a rich man, my wages are small,’ but his eyes grew wide when I said this, and he broke into a grin and asked me, ‘You would refuse a gift? Please, do not insult me!’” “What could I do but accept it?” Ammlee explained with a wide grin. “Now, I can be an independent man for perhaps two months. I will not have to beg others for nagni, and Auntie cannot nag me,” he said triumphantly. Jaswant’s brow was crinkled pensively. “Ammlee, would you take a gift of thanks to Kishan?” he said finally. “But, Sardar Ji, I have already thanked Kishan,” Ammlee replied. “Well, just go to him and tell him that I wish to thank him too—and if he is not there, tell Moheeni,” Jaswant said, stumbling over his words. Ammlee cocked his head slightly as he scrutinized his master. “Sardar Ji, I am one of the Ammlee, this is true, but I am neither stupid nor untrustworthy. If there is some manner in which I could be of service, I would prove to you that I am deserving of your trust.” 121

Jaswant met his piercing gaze and let down the wall of classes between them, speaking to Ammlee as one man to another. “Ammlee, you understand the repercussions I would have to face if some of my actions were made known to Kishan, or to the public.” Ammlee grew impassioned and spoke quickly, “Sardar Ji! I have served your family for over fifteen years. I have known you since you were a boy. If you were to face disgrace or threat, would I not have to share in your misery? I have little to live for, for my life is of little consequence. It would be one last gesture of nobility were I able to die for your cause. If you are in need of me to help you in any way I can, please allow me to prove I am worthy,” he said. The tears welling up in the corners of his eyes convinced Jaswant of his sincerity. “Ammlee, I need you to be a messenger for me,” Jaswant told him gravely. “Go to Kishan’s farm and find out from Jullo or one of the house servants if Kishan is still there. If he is there, try to find out when he will be gone. If he is not there, ask Moheeni when it would be safe to see her.” Ammlee nodded, concentrating as hard as he could on Jaswant’s instructions, and left without a word. As Ammlee walked the last few yards to Kishan’s, he noticed Kishan’s Jeep was gone from the driveway, so he knocked boldly on the front door. Moheeni answered with a look of surprise. “Well, what brings you here, Ammlee?” she asked gaily. “Bibi Ji,(mam) is Sardar Kishan at home?” he answered, knowing well that he was not. “No, he left an hour ago. I’m not sure where he went or when he will return. Why?” she asked curiously. 122

“I wish to thank him again for the gift he gave me this morning,” he said. Smiling and guessing what this “gift” was, Moheeni said, “Well, in the meantime, don’t eat too much. Your bones are already like dry tree branches. If you eat too much, you won’t even know if you’re dead or not,” she joked with him. “Bibi Ji, there is another message,” he collected his dare to talk. “What is that”? There was a little smile on her face. “Sardar Ji is missing you,” he said boldly. “Tell Jaswant I wish to see him also, but I do not know when my brother will return tonight. When he left the house, he said if he hadn’t returned by evening, he most likely wouldn’t be home till next week. Tell Jaswant that I will hang a green cloth in my bedroom window and place a lamp behind it if Kishan has not returned. The green light will shine outside, and he will know it is safe to come to me. If Kishan is home, I will place a red cloth in front of the light in the window, and he will know to stay away.” “The message will be relayed,” he said solemnly and left to report to Jaswant. Jaswant crept stealthily down the stairs so he wouldn’t wake his mother or servants. In the outer yard, he led his horse out, quieting her muzzle so she wouldn’t whinny. Waiting until he had her far from the farm, he mounted her and rode the mile or so to Moheeni’s house. Tying the horse to a tree in the back, he climbed the twelve-foot wall, pulling his chin over the top. Peering cautiously, he could see all the lights in the large estate farmhouse were darkened, with the exception of a window on the second floor from which a pale green light glowed. His heart jumped, 123

and he pulled himself over the wall and jumped to the ground on the other side. Moheeni, her ears primed, heard him jump from the wall and stuck her head out of the window. “Jaswant,” she whispered, “Come to the front, and I will let you in, but we must be quiet. Kartari, the maid, is asleep.” She hurried downstairs and carefully opened the front door to see Jaswant’s tall figure waiting. Without a word, she took his hand, and they tiptoed up the stairs to her room. Once inside, she locked the door and turned to face him. The combination of climbing the stairs, the risk of secretly being together, and their desire for each other had them breathing hard and their hearts beating strongly. Feeling that he should say something to break the silence and the suddenness of being together so intimately, Jaswant complimented her. “You look wonderful tonight,” he said, feeling self-conscious as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Seeing his discomfort, she laughed softly and joked with him to make him feel more at ease. “Maybe it’s just the way you are looking at me,” she said, inching her way toward him. Taking his hands in hers, she drew closer to him until their bodies were almost touching. She whispered in his ear, “Where were you all this week? I missed you so. School is out, and I’ve had nothing to do but think of you the whole time.” Her hot breath curled in and tickled his ear, and the sweet smell of her neck set Jaswant’s skin tingling, making his head lighter as if he were intoxicated. Thoughts raced through his head, playing against the emotions and feelings his body was experiencing, setting up a dichotomy and confusing him. He thought of how they had to hide their love from Kishan. Jaswant was not afraid of Kishan but knew if Kishan ever found out, his honor would demand that he fight Jaswant to the death. He loved Moheeni but knew that their present situation would never allow them to be accepted in society. The most important thing to him was that Moheeni not be ostracized in order for them to be together. He 124

wanted to protect her from any shame and harm. If there was a way to make this work, he vowed to find it—but how? He hated the strict social moral codes. Moheeni brushed her cheek against his and moved her hands up his arms and around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She could no longer hide how much she loved him, but she was scared, too, for different reasons. In the back of her consciousness loomed the dark figure of Dilawar, the largest landowner in the town—rich, spoiled, and recently taken to reap. The last month of classes, he had constantly badgered her on her way home from school. It was a well- known fact among the other poorer farm girls that he would overpower them in the tall corn fields and rape them whenever the chance presented itself to him, and there was nothing that could be done to stop him. No unmarried girl in society could ever accuse a man of raping her, for it would mean no man would ever be willing to marry her. She would lose her respect in society and be branded as unclean. As a result, rape was a hidden, unspoken plague in the culture—more rampant than anyone would care to recognize. The victims had to bear and suffer it quietly, hoping no one would ever know. Several times a day, she would see Dilawar driving past her house in his Jeep, circling like a hungry shark waiting for his chance. She could not tell Jaswant, knowing his honor and temper would lead to a death fight with Dilawar. The winner would end up in prison, the loser in a grave. If I had asked God in the Golden Temple for the love of Jaswant, and this love transcends any moral law of a village. I love Jaswant, and my body is his. I can only give my virginity to one man, and I want it to be him, she thought. Jaswant noticed a distance in her and held her face in his hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you want me to be here?” She snapped out of her mood and looked up at him; the sheer force of her flashing eyes caused him to jump back a bit. Her arms pulled him tight once again, and the suddenness of her action, combined with the mild shock of feeling her firm breasts against his chest, caused him to lose his breath for a moment. 125

“I want you to be here with me tonight. I want to be with you forever… please, Jaswant, marry me and take me in your house. I can’t bear the thought of living without you in my life anymore,” she cried, burying her face in his shoulder and hugging him tightly, partly from love for him and partly from fear. He held her close to him and stroked the back of her hair, comforting her. Laughing softly to himself, he wished it could all be that easy: just marry her and have her live with him in his house, and they could be happy forever after—discounting the fact that he would have to fight her brother and, if he survived, would lose his honor from having married a girl from the same village. His mother would leave him in disgrace, and no one in the village would ever talk to them or have anything to do with either of them. No, it was just not that simple. Trying to console her, he said, “I want to be with you now, but wait until the crops are harvested at the end of May. Somehow, I will try to find a way that we can go away to be married,” he said, wondering if such a plan could ever really work. Moheeni looked up at him with wide, deep, dark eyes—eyes like a baby’s, so trusting, so innocent. Her face took on a look he had never seen before. Was it the illusion of love, or was he truly seeing this? Her face became smooth, almost translucent as if she had no cares, no worries. She spoke in a voice so soft; it was more like a whisper. “Jaswant, my love, I do not know what the future holds for us. If the future would be cruel and keep us apart, then it would be God’s will, but if we are lovers tonight, then let this, too, be God’s will. I only know that all I have, I wish you to have. Stay with me tonight, and let me give myself to you.” Her face was so pure; he felt he could see through her to the golden white light that softly illuminated her inner being. All the tension and fear, the concerns of tomorrow, all of them evaporated as he looked into her eyes. Without looking away, he moved his hand to the wall and flicked the switch, and the light in the window went off. The moon shone through the window and played its smooth, yellow light on her face, making it glow even more. A warm 126

breeze made its way into the room, whisking her sheer powder-blue night- gown like clouds. Taking her face in his hands again, he moved closer, letting their lips touch, softly brushing against each other. A warm charge cruised from his heart outward as if they were now joined together with a mild electric current. There was no rush, no guilt, no frenzy as there had been the last time. And there were no doubts. So softly, their lips brushed each other, exploring, opening a door of intimacy between them. Warm and wet, she opened her mouth for him to enter with his tongue. A chill of excitement buckled her knees, and she had to cling to his shoulders to keep from swaying. His hands caressed her shoulders and moved down her back where they found the drawstrings to her gown. Loosening the ties, his hands floated over her shoulders, down her arms, slipping the sheer blue gown lower and exposing her skin to his touch. Shivering from the heat of his fingers, she pulled him deeper against herself with her kisses, and he found her smooth, rounded breasts waiting for and wanting his touch. Circling them lightly with his fingertips, she writhed closer to him. He held them first lightly, then caressed them with the fullness of his hands, and she whimpered, tugging and urging him on. His kisses moved to her neck, under her chin, and around her side. Breathing hard, she was almost panting now. Her head rolled slowly from one side to the other; her eyes closed as she basked in the pleasure his hands were giving her. When she could stand no more, she drew away from Jaswant, taking his hands and leading him to her bed. As she stood at its side, she let the gown fall from her waist. It fluttered to the floor, exposing her soft curves; the moon revealed her wheat-colored skin and firm, rounded breasts. He drank in her womanly features—the gentle curves, the dark triangle between her legs, and let his own clothes fall to the floor as she took in his body with her eyes as well. They stood before each other, naked and silent. Without a word, she turned down the sheets on her bed and reclined against them, letting her flowing black hair cascade over the pillow. He leaned over and kissed her again, and as he 127

eased himself on top of her, electricity tingled and prickled them all over. He eased his weight upon her, and as she took more of his body on her own, he wound his arms around her. In an instant, they were writhing, clinging to each other, setting off more electrical charges with every pore they touched. The newness of it all had them on the verge of another world, and as they looked in each other’s eyes, they lost all sense of separateness. It seemed like all they felt, they felt with one body instead of two. There was no more need for words now; instinct took over. Lying in each other’s arms, they were as two shipwrecked passengers who found themselves totally spent on shone after a storm at sea. Hours later, Jaswant opened his eyes as if he was seeing for the first time, like a newborn babe. As he sat up a bit, Moheeni made little moaning noises and curled up to him in her sleep, reminding him of what had happened. He looked at the clock on her dresser. It was almost five in the morning, and he had to get back before everyone at his farm found him missing. He smoothed the hair from her face and kissed her lips softly. Her eyes still closed, she raised her head to gather another kiss, like a newborn calf helplessly nuzzling her mother for nourishment. “Moheeni, it’s almost dawn. I must go. I will come for you again,” he said quietly. Dressing quickly, he left the sleeping girl and cautiously looked out her bedroom door for any sign of the maid, then left. She didn’t want to get up at all today. Savoring the love of last night, she languidly turned over in her bed to look at her clock; it was noon. Deciding that she better get up so the maid wouldn’t become nosey, she walked uneasily to the washroom to perform her morning ablutions. When she felt sufficiently awake and presentable to the world, she went downstairs to find Kartari, the housemaid, bustling in the kitchen. 128

“Good morning, Ma’am. I tried waking you earlier, but you did not answer. I thought you were still sleeping,” she said.“Yes, I wasn’t feeling well last night, so I rested a bit longer; I feel better now, though,” Moheeni said. “I’ll bring you tea in bed; why don’t you go back upstairs and rest easy the remainder of the day?” Kartari said. It sounded like a good idea to Moheeni, and she went back upstairs without arguing. As she sipped the warm brew and broke a biscuit to spread some marmalade on it, she thought about last night. It was a dream come true. Her thoughts drifted back a few days to when she was attending classes in school. How incongruous it all seemed compared to having been loved like that last night. Just those few days ago, she was a schoolgirl, concerned with tests and grades, and now, she had just entered the fullness of womanhood. She would never look at life through the same eyes, for now, she understood what love between a man and woman was about. Tossing the bedcovers aside, she put her teacup on the tray on the bedside table and shuffled to one of the living rooms. Curling up in one of the large sofas, she picked up a novel and tried reading, but after looking at the same paragraph half a dozen times, she put it face down in her lap. She thought of what it meant to be a woman and the pressures she had to face. She knew she was different than the other women in her village. She didn’t have parents to be concerned over her welfare, which allowed her the freedom in many ways to do and take what she desired. The speech she gave last month at the school’s annual function came back to her. She had rehearsed it so well, it was still burned into her memory, along with the fiery emotions she felt as she spoke it and the wild cheers she invoked from the audience. She ran it through her head once again, reliving the whole thing. She remembered the Master of Ceremonies announce her name as she waited in the wings of the stage. She started running the speech through in her mind once again but realized it was an automatic reaction to nervousness and that she really knew it, and besides, she would be giving it in a matter of 129

seconds. She laughed at the mechanical panic of her mind. She took a deep breath, gave her flowing green gown a last smoothing, and strode purpose- fully to the center of the stage where the M.C. was waiting with the micro- phone for her. She felt alone and nervous out there in front of a sea of faces. She felt she could pick up the hundreds of thoughts from the stage, reading them as they came from the people’s faces as they stared expectantly at her. The staring of those hundreds of eyes was hypnotizing, and she had to consciously with- draw her attention to her task at hand before she forgot what she was doing and just stared back. Taking another deep breath, she wondered if she would remember her speech. Opening her mouth, the first lines came out without a problem, and she knew the rest would now be easy. “My young friends and guests, college administrators and principal: The topic of my speech directly concerns my fellow women students and friends, and yet, it also concerns every man as well,” she began. It was as if a new person was talking through her as she held the microphone. Any feelings of anxiety or inadequacies were quickly dispelled, and she felt a surge of confidence and poise come over her. “In the old days, women were considered to be less than men. Women never received the same good employment opportunities as their male counterparts. If an Indian girl gives birth to a child out of wedlock, it is still considered a sin, even if it is no fault of the mother. The women of the western nations took their rights on their shoulders and placed them right next to the men equally. These women enjoy the full privileges that we here in India only dream of. A woman in the west can gain a job anywhere, even in the armed forces, where they can fire guns and pilot flying jets. Women are proving that they are as capable as men and that they have as much courage and, given a chance, can excel in any field they wish to. 130

The intellect of mankind today is reaching a high point in history. Science is learning to harness nature, from the oceans, the skies, and space, down to the very atom. We care, realizing our potential is unlimited, and our dreams of yesterday are becoming working realities today. Our civilization is considered to be one of the oldest. They call our country the Land of the Gods, but look at how they treat the women! The advanced countries look at us and laugh. These countries that are traveling into space and harnessing the power of the atom make fun of US. They call us backward while we sit like proud peacocks, preening ourselves on our achievements of the past, while our present and future are crumbling under the weight of old, useless, and even harmful customs. From the time the infant girl in India takes her first breath, she is looked upon as being weak. These thoughts and attitudes affect the way we grow! There are so many psychological reasons why one person is weak, and another is strong. It all has to do with the attitudes placed upon a child when they are young, and a child that is constantly told and treated as a weakling will only be able to grow up fulfilling those limiting attitudes. As the young girl grows up, every step of her life is a fight against these crushing inferiority complexes. The young girls are even fed less than the boys. If a girl grows too fast and she becomes too attractive too quickly, the parents frown on it, so they try and retard her natural growth! Is this right? It is the mother that is the one creating these inferiority complexes. It is the mother who installs these weaknesses as the child grows and who destroys the future of the girls. It is the education system that is at fault as well. When we are sent to school, we are made to take classes that train us to become housewives. The start of a healthy woman starts with the raising of the brain as well as the body. When a young girl is growing up, she cannot even go outside to play. Her youth is a signal of danger—something to be protected. Girls are raised to be protected, sick, and weak. Why aren’t we given the same education choices and encouragements as the boys? 131

All of you young men in the front row here, when you get jobs and prepare for marriage, you’ll ask the bride’s parents for a dowry. These poor parents must empty their bank accounts, sell their farms, and go into deep debt just so their daughter can be married into a nice home. If no one marries the daughter, she has no future; there is nothing for her to do, nowhere for her to go. She becomes a lost, hopeless person. In the old days, women were things—palace decorations for the kings and princes. They were traded or auctioned off from one king to another. These thousands of young, beautiful women were nothing more than toys for spoiled princes. As our constitution became fairer and stronger, the men thought we were making great humanitarian leaps and bounds, but the role of women hasn’t changed very much in spite of all their great claims and pats on their own backs. Men are still the main fools of women. Look at the role of servants today. When a man compels a young female servant to do his sexual bidding, what can these poor women do? If they resist their desires, they are told to find work somewhere else. What can these young women do when they are living below the poverty level? Where can they go? Most of them are victims of prostitution. The majority of prostitution is caused by men! Years ago, some herrmit (rishi), in his great wisdom, told us that women are shoes for the feet! These kinds of people are the real murderers of women. I’m asking these people, where do you think you came from---the sky? Where would you be without women? Is this what we are? Shoes for the feet? If so, what does that make you, who came from the womb of these shoes? The Indian women are among the most honest, trustworthy, dedicated, and loyal on this planet. We have a great power that man needs for their success, and that power is love. It is a power they cannot live without, yet she gives it freely. Men should treat us the same with love and respect. When the young girls are out of school and going home, the boys make fun of them, taunting and teasing them cruelly. The girls cannot retaliate; 132

they can only hide their shame. As these children grow older, many of these girls are violated by these young boys. What can they say? What can they do? If they go to the police, all will know about it, and they will be shamed forever. Society has no place for a girl that has lost her virginity before marriage, even if it is not by her own will. Her life is ruined forever! When a woman loves a man, society won’t allow or accept it. Our society compels a woman to marry a man she doesn’t even know. What kind of a society do we live in when we allow a social custom to overrule love—the one gift that God has given to us as human beings? If we do not allow ourselves to express love, this one divine quality that separates us from the mere bipeds and animals—if we cannot love, what will we become—a society lacking in love and humanity. Whenever an affair occurs, no matter who is at fault, even if both are at fault, it is the women that take the blame; the boy is never blamed! Even in the western world, they use the naked bodies of women on their advertisements as showpieces. I would like to ask these advertisers: how would they feel if they were to see the naked bodies of their wives, mothers, and sisters in magazines and on billboards? Over the centuries, the saying, behind every great man is a great woman has proven to be more than a girl-power chant. As it turns out, the long shadows cast by alpha males throughout history have obscured many stories of truly intriguing women who acted as their right hands and muses—the magicians behind the screen. For these intrepid females, supporting their famous husbands and partners by helping them achieve their destinies was frequently a Herculean task, accomplished in spite of sagas of alcoholism, infidelity, breakdowns, divorce, and despair—usually on the men’s part. How did these women do it? Were they members of some more evolved species than the rest of us equipped to handle the good, the bad, and the ugly sides of power? By casting light on the wife (or girlfriend) behind the famous man, we can begin to understand these better-halves who left 133

indelible lines on the visage of history through their husbands and their own works. But the women profiled here are not those who commandeered time in the spotlight themselves, as their biographies and stories are already part of our cultural psyche. Women have been the mothers of all inventors, politicians, religious leaders, and every man that has ever done a great deed for humanity. Women are the mothers of gurus, philosophers, saints, kings, and warriors. If men destroy women, they also destroy themselves through their own indulgences. I address my sisters and brothers as well—come to the forefront. Fight these injustices! Change the pages in the constitution! Let the law of love rule our lives, not the oppression of antiquated, backward customs! Join together, and change these written and unwritten laws so that we can give a new shape to our nation, that it may stand proudly in the world of today!” The great assembly hall exploded with a thunderous roar. The applause was wild, and all rose to give her a standing ovation. Moheeni’s palms were sweating, and her body was taut from reliving that moment in her life. Blinking her eyes, she brought herself back to the present. The quiet solitude of the living room, in contrast to the thundering applause she just heard in her mind, surprised her. Setting down the book on a nearby table, she looked at the large clock on the wall--two o’clock in the afternoon. “Moheeni, are you awake? I have prepared lunch for you if you are hungry,” Kartari, the maid, called up the stairs. Sighing, she got up off the couch. 134

CHAPTER 11 T he moon was rising over the evening horizon, a glowing orange disk maturing into a pale yellow as it took over the higher skies. Ragni was happy this night—her uncle Shamsher had left this morning for Chandigarh to take care of some official business. She knew he would be gone at least three days, for it was one full day’s travel each way, and finishing up his business would take another day. Shamsher’s bedroom was right next to the front gate, and he was an extremely light sleeper—one of the habits he had acquired from being the village Sarpanch. As a public official, he kept a loaded shotgun by his bed because he never knew when one of his enemies would try to seek revenge on him. Rajinder usually turned in early and never heard anything in her sleep, which meant Ragni would be able to sneak out of the house undetected. Though she felt closer to her aunt than her mother, she could never bring herself to ask her for permission to see Kanwar as much as she would prefer to see him with permission rather than sneak out to meet him. She and Kanwar had made arrangements to meet at midnight at the corner of the road. She went to bed early to catch a quick nap before meeting Kanwar. As soon as she was half-asleep, the light emerged in the room again, and she asked questions. “Do prayers ever go unanswered?” “A prayer is nothing more than a strong statement of what is so, and no prayer goes unanswered. Every prayer, thought, statement, and feeling is creative to the degree that it is strongly held as truth—it will be made manifest 135

in your experience. When it is said that a prayer is not answered, what has really happened is your strongly held thought, word, or feeling has become active. But the secret is that it is the thought behind the thought that is controlling thought. If you beg, there is a much smaller chance that you will experience what you think you are choosing because the controlling thought behind this begging is that you do not have your wish. So, the controlling thought becomes your reality. The only controlling thought that can override this thought is the thought held in faith that God will grant whatever is asked without fail. Some people have this faith, but it is very few. The process of prayer becomes much easier when, rather than having to believe that God will always say yes to your requests when you understand psychically that the request itself is not necessary. Then the prayer is a prayer of thanksgiving, not a request, but a statement of gratitude.” “When you say that prayer is a statement of what is so, are you saying that God does nothing? That everything which happens after prayer is a result of prayer action?” “If you believe that God is some all-powerful being who hears all prayers and says ‘yes’ to some and ‘no’ to others, you are wrong. By what measurement would God decide? If you believe that God is the creator and decider of all things in your life, you are mistaken. God is the observer, not the creator. God stands ready to help you in living your life, but not the way you would expect. It is not God’s function to create or not create the circumstances or conditions of your life. God created you in His image. You created the rest through the power he has given you. God created the process of life as you know it, yet he gives you free choice to do with life as you will. In this sense, your will for you is God’s will for you. You are living your life by the choices you make. If you doubt what I say here, then you’ll live in fear and guilt your whole life. If you doubt God’s intentions and ability, the ultimate outcome is that you would never have peace in your heart. God has full power to match your intentions with results. Most humans will not and cannot believe this, even though they say that God is all-powerful, so they must create in their minds a power equal to God in order to find a way for God’s will to be sabotaged.” 138

Ragini had a bright glow on her face, the long black hair enhancing the innocent beauty of her face. She was standing near the open window looking at the stars; a cool breeze entered the room. Her eyes were wide open. She woke up and went to the bathroom to freshen up. She washed her face and changed from her nightclothes into jeans and a T-shirt and put on long leather boots. From the cattle shed, she pulled her uncle’s blue horse, put on the saddle, and got ready for a ride. Earlier in the day, she had fed the horse and brushed its mane to familiarize herself to the horse. The horse walked majestically at midnight; there was a full moon with the stars shining brightly in the sky. There was a wildness to the inky evening with things hidden in shadows and strange night sounds. She could hear a rooster crowing in one of the faraway coops, an unlucky omen for its owner. From the direction of Kanwar’s farm, she could hear the deadened mooing of the hungry cows neglected by Ammlee, who, overindulging in nagni and playing cards with his friends in the shade, had forgotten to feed them that day. As she made her way to the part of the road where she was to meet Kanwar, a small dog started barking at her. Dropping to one knee, she held out her hand for it to sniff, and after cautiously coming closer, it allowed her to pet him. Satisfied that he had made friends with this stranger, he trotted off quietly. It was only a few hundred yards to the bend in the road where they agreed to meet since it was not safe for a young girl to ride alone at night. In the shadows of the road, she could see Kanwar waiting for her on his horse. When she was sure it was him, she called out his name in a muffled shout and rode quickly to meet him. Out of breath and happy to see his bright smile, she took his hand in hers, and they rode together briskly to the west---the area of the temple grounds. They always headed this way since it was a place no one else would have willingly gone. The town was to the east, and all the road traffic congregated there. Once they reached the temple, they bowed reverently, if not mechanically, and kept going. Through the cover of the mango grove, they could see the eerie clay candle bowls in the Muslim graveyard, and a little further, the Murhian, the Sikh place where the dead were cremated. Once they were past the grove and 139

the river was in sight, they slowed down. Ragni grew thoughtful—the slower pace allowed her thoughts to surface more easily. They reached the banks of the river, tied their horses to a nearby tree, and sat down to speak. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m searching for something I will never find in this world,” she said in a distant voice. Kanwar looked at her out of the corner of his eye, unsure of what to make of this strange girl. “I’m looking for a golden place, a place where love rules the world, but I don’t know if I will ever find it,” she continued. “Wherever this place is that I think I will find this love, it’s ancient, far away. And even though I don’t know where it is, or if it even exists, I miss it.” She was staring up at the stars now, and though her thoughts were far away, she squeezed Kanwar’s hand as they walked, assuring him that she appreciated being with him. “I’m looking for the land where the moon is always shining, and you can always see the stars, but at the same time, the sun never sets. I’m looking for the place that lovers and gods live in harmony. Are true lovers less than the gods? Are they not equal?” she said dreamily. She said, “Life is a big mystery,” and closed her eyes and told Kanwar, “I have not told you this before, an angel comes to me like a bright light, and sometimes I can see Him.” Kanwar was curious and asked, “Do you dream lately?” She said, “Just a few hours ago.” Ragni broke her gaze from the stars and turned to him. “Are you happy?” she asked. “I’m happy as long as you love me,” he said playfully, giving her hand a light squeeze. Ragni grew serious. “Right now, we are still young and still growing, but when we are old enough, I will not be able to live without you. Wherever you live, I want to live with you,” she told him. 140

Kanwar became a little frightened at her seriousness, and the two walked to the river’s edge without saying anything more. It had probably been a hundred and fifty years since the old tree started a sapling. Back then, it had doubtless grown far from the riverbank. But as time changed the river’s path and the tree grew in size, the water eventually eroded the vital soil around the tree’s roots until the tree drowned, and the massive trunk and gnarled branches hung over the rushing currents. Now a haven for woodpeckers, its roots leading into the shore waters became a seat for Kanwar and Ragni. They could hear the quickened gurgling and echoing of the waves further out on the mile-wide body of flowing water. Above, the moon and stars illuminated the edges of the bluish silver clouds, outlining the craggy fingers of the deadened, naked branches. “Kanwar, do you dream at night?” Ragni asked, breaking the silence between them. “Sure, lots of times,” he replied nonchalantly. “What do you dream about?” she asked. “Oh, I dream about playing hockey, running the tractor in the fields, studying for my exams in school–sometimes about getting in fights at school with some of the other students. You know, things like that,” he said, naming off some of the things he dreamed about as if he were counting cattle in his barn. Ragni folded her hands on her knees and leaned forward a bit and asked him, “Kanwar, do you ever dream about other things—special things?” Kanwar looked upward, trying to remember any dreams he had that were extraordinary or special. Finally, shaking his head, he said, “No, not anything really special that I can think of. They’re just dreams anyway, aren’t they?” 141

Ragni rocked herself back and forth a bit, staring out across the river and up to the stars. “Sometimes, I see a river--a dark blue river, running through a city with houses built right on its edge. There are hills on both sides of it, and there are many boats on this river. The houses are pretty and well kept.” Turning to him, she asked, “Have you ever had a dream with these things in them?” Kanwar laughed and answered, “No, Ragni. I don’t dream those kinds of things. I am a farmer. Those things you talk of are too sophisticated for me. I dream of things I am familiar with—tractors, field hockey—you know, things like that.” Ragni giggled as he grinned at her. He liked making her laugh. At least that was something they both understood. “What about you? Do you see those things in your dreams?” he asked finally. Growing a little more serious, she said, “Yes, I dream of this place often.” “What do you see?” he asked, encouraging her to go on. She folded her hands in her lap and cocked her head to the right, remembering. “I see the dark blue river like I was telling you about. There are hills on both sides of it, and there are many plants on these hills—trees and bushes and flowers. The sky is clear blue with some late billowy clouds floating slowly by. On the right bank, there is a house with a porch overhanging the river. I live in this house, and my bedroom overlooks the river on the second story. Then a young man rows a small boat to the house. He is playing a reed flute, and the music is the same tune that you played for me the other night,” she said, turning her head to see his reaction to her last words. His interest was clearly piqued. “So what do you do next?” he asked. 142

“Well, I put my head out the window and call out to the young man. Then I run down the stairs to the boat. It’s about thirty or thirty-five feet from my room down to the water’s edge. I climb into the boat with him, and he rows us up into the river. Other boats, some larger, some the same size as ours, pass us. Every once in a while, he stops rowing, and we let the boat drift as he plays a tune on the flute for me. When the sun starts to set, we start rowing back to my house.” Kanwar was rapidly losing interest. “What’s so special about that?” Ragni grew a little defensive. “Well, it is something special! In my dream, I am in love with this young man in the boat. But there is more. Sometimes, I have another version of the dream.” “Oh,” he replied with little interest. “Yes,” she told him matter-of-factly. “This version of the dream starts out the same way. The young man comes for me in the boat, and I get in, and we row for a while. But on this day, it is a little cloudier. After rowing for a while, we forget where we are and how far we have gone. I ask the young man to play the flute while I row. I become so entranced in the tune he’s playing that we lose track of time entirely. We are in a part of the river we’ve never been to before, and it is getting dark quickly. It is so nice out, though; we don’t want to turn back. We decide to keep rowing to see where we will end up. The moon rises, and the nighttime is upon us. We put the oars up in the boat, and I sit back in the boat listening to the young man play. We float off into another world with the strange, haunting melody of the flute. Suddenly, we hear rushing water, and before we can grab the oars, we are falling over a waterfall. I scream, and the boat goes over the edge.” “So what happens to you? Do you drown?” Kanwar asked with renewed interest now that it was getting exciting. “At that point, I always wake up. I sit up in bed, perspiring, and I realize it was just a dream. But I am out of breath and shaking; it is so realistic,” she said. “After calming myself down, I go back to sleep, but then the dream always starts up again.” 143

“The boat is lost, sinking to the bottom. Water is churning us all about. I am afraid we will drown, but after thrashing about in the water, we are pulled downstream, away from the crushing waterfall. We are able to swim easier here, and with great effort, fighting the strong currents, we swim to shore using a tree branch overhanging the water to pull ourselves out. “It is totally dark and difficult for us to see. We find a road near the river’s edge and start walking on it. It winds through a forest and into some hills. I hear the cries of animals and become scared. The wind picks up, blowing dark clouds over the moon. In the distance, we can hear thunder, and we know there is a storm brewing. The young man and I hold hands as we walk and, although we are lost and it is dark, we are somehow not afraid. “Eventually, the road ends, and we must walk through a path in the woods. After a while, we come to a wooden building of some sort. There are no lights inside, and the young man knocks on the front door. No one answers, so he gives it a shove, and it opens easily. We grope in the dark for a light, and on a shelf against one of the walls, he finds some matches. Lighting them, he finds a candle so we can look around. It appears that the building has been abandoned for many years. It has only two rooms, and there are holes in the walls and on the floor, and we have to be careful where we walk, so we don’t fall in them. It looks like it used to be someone’s home, but now there is nothing left inside but a few scraps of paper and leaves from the trees that must have blown in through the broken windows. Outside, the lightning and the thunder have started, and we know it will be raining soon. He goes out to get some firewood before it gets wet, and we build a small fire on the floor. “I am starting to shiver from the wet clothes and ask him to turn around so I can remove them and dry them over the fire. He is a gentleman, and during the whole time it takes to dry my clothes, he never looks. The floor is hard, but we are so tired we lay down on it anyhow. He holds me as we doze off. A little later, I wake up, and…and I see you, Kanwar, there lying next to me!” “No! That’s not possible!” Kanwar shouted, half jumping off the tree where he was sitting. 144

Surprised and slightly irritated that he found this so disturbing, she paused, looking at him. Realizing there was nothing she could do to convince him otherwise, she continued explaining her dream. “When I awaken from the short nap, I get a glimpse of the woods each time lightning illuminates the dark sky. The wind picks up and starts to howl. The rain finally comes, splattering against the roof as it pours down. I say to the young man, ‘It’s a neat storm outside, isn’t it?’” “‘Yes, it is, he replies.” “‘Gunter, you haven’t been seeing me as much lately, and I miss you,’ I tell him.” “‘I have been practicing flying a glide plane,’ he tells me. ‘Have you ever seen one fly over your house in the early mornings? That’s me!’” “‘Why do you spend so much time flying a glider?’ I ask him.” “‘Because it’s what I love. I don’t want to be anything else but a pilot. Not a doctor, not a politician, nothing. I want to be a pilot,’ he tells me very emphatically.” “Will you take me up someday?’ I ask him.” “‘Sure! Why not? You would enjoy it,’ he assures me.” “I feel safe with him and cuddle in his arms. It must be very late in the night, and we sleep again. The next morning, the rain has stopped, and the sky is sunny and cloudless. The forest smells rich with greenery, and the birds are singing again, happy that the storm has passed.” “Gunter and I look out the door of the old, rickety building—out to the clean, fresh forest, and he looks into my eyes, smiling.” “And that’s when I always wake up, and the dream ends,” she said with a troubled look on her face. 145

She glanced at Kanwar, who was staring at her, not knowing what to think anymore. As she looked into his eyes, he became confused. She was having a difficult time seeing the differences in Kanwar’s and Gunter’s faces. The water lapping the riverbank brought back the memories of the river she and Gunter rowed on in her dreams. She was losing the ability to distinguish the line that separated her dream world from the waking world. She reached for Kanwar’s face and started stroking it as she did Gunter’s in her dreams. “Gunter…Gunter…I have been missing you so,” she said half-dazed. “Hey! What are you doing? It’s me! Kanwar!” he shouted, taking her hand away from his face, more afraid than anything else. Ragni blinked several times before slowly coming back to reality. Covering her face with her hands, she apologized. “I—I’m sorry, Kanwar. Please forgive me. I—I don’t know why I did that. Please, forgive me,” she pleaded, still trying to make sense of everything. Relieved that she was coming to her senses, Kanwar put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “That’s okay. It’s getting late—maybe you’re just a little tired. I get confused when I get sleepy too.” “Yes, that must be it,” she repeated after him, still confused. Raising her head a bit, she snapped out of her deep thoughts. “The village festival is next week. Will you be going?” she asked, perking up now. “Yes, of course. Would you like to go with me?” he asked. Smiling warmly, she put her hands on his knees as she sat forward again. “Oh, yes! I would love to go with you.” Then she grew silent, her happy mood fading like a wilting flower in the hot sun. “I have to leave after next week. But I will be able to come back in the fall to see you again. I am going to miss you terribly,” she said sadly. 146

Kanwar was getting uncomfortable with all her emotional attention. “Ragni, why do you love me so much? Don’t you think this is a little too much?” he asked, slightly exasperated. A hurt look washed over her face, and she turned to the ground. “I can’t help it, Kanwar. I don’t know why I feel the way that I do. I feel it is something that runs deep in my blood. I can’t explain it. It is a feeling I have,” she said sorrowfully. Sighing, Kanwar stood up and offered a hand to Ragni. He liked Ragni, but he felt they were both too young to be thinking about love in this manner. “Come on. Let’s go back,” he said 147

CHAPTER 12 Founded by Sir Henry and Lady Honoria Lawrence, Sanawar is believed to be the first co-educational boarding school in the world. On the 15th of April 1847, a group of 14 boys and girls camped at the top of the foothills of the Himalayas. They lived under canvas for some weeks, anxiously waiting for the first buildings to be completed before the arrival of the monsoon. Thus did Sanawar come into existence. By 1853 the strength had grown to 195 pupils, and it was then, the school was presented with the King’s Colors. It was one of the only six schools and colleges ever to be so honored in the entire British Empire, the others being Eton, Shrewsbury, Cheltenham, the Duke of York’s Royal Military School, and the Royal Military College, Sandhurst. Sanawar has held its Colors for the longest unbroken period. From its foundation, the financial burden of the school was borne by Sir Henry until his death in 1857, when the government assumed responsibility for the finances as a mark of esteem to his memory. Under these arrangements, control of the school passed from the Honourable Board of Directors to the Crown. This is the most unusual arrangement, not repeated in any English Public School. The tradition of military training at Sanawar has always been strong and of such a high standard that several contingents of boys were enlisted from the school and sent straight to the battlefields of the Great War. In appreciation of this, the school was redesignated in 1920 as the Lawrence Royal Military School. In 1922, the Prince of Wales personally presented the school with new Colors. The school colors continue to be displayed at the Founder’s Celebration in early October to

this day. Sanawar pupils continue to make a major contribution to the defense of the country. The Centenary year (1947) was crucial to the development of the school. With Independence, the bulk of the staff and children at Sanawar returned to the UK. However, the then Governor-General, Lord Louis Mountbatten, presided over the Centenary celebrations of the school and read out a special message from King George VI. Thereafter, control of the school passed from the Crown to the Government of India, Ministry of Defence. Early September the beginning of the fall term at the Sanawar School, was always pleasant, with the flowers and plants in full bloom and the days warm and sunny. The grass was lush green, the earth smelled fresh, and the birds chirped sweetly. But ever since she arrived, Ragni noticed none of this. It could have been winter for all she cared. Whenever she picked up a book to study, it became a futile effort. The image of Kanwar’s face would not go away. She didn’t feel like eating or sleeping, and her bright complexion was turning sallow and gaunt. In her imagination, she fantasized that she had no parents or relatives to hinder her. Then she could run off to be with Kanwar right now. Nighttime came, and, in the early hours of the morning, when no one else was stirring in the dorm, she took out a pad of paper and a pen and slipped down to the dorm common area where a small lamp burned all night. Settling into the plush couch next to the table with the lamp, she began to write a letter: My Dear Kanwar, Two weeks have passed, and I feel as if it’s been a year. I feel as if a curse of the rishi is upon me. I miss you so much; it seems that our being apart is not a natural thing. When we are together, I am a complete person. But when we are apart, it is as if my heart is missing from my body. At school, I am like birds whose wings have been clipped and no longer have the freedom to fly. My only solace is in my tears. 149

Outside, it is warm and beautiful. The flowers and trees are full, and the fragrances abound, but I see and smell none of it, for I am only half alive. When I was a small girl, there were few restrictions in my life, but now that I am becoming a woman, it surprises and makes me shy when I see myself in the mirror. My parents and Aunt see that I am becoming a woman too, so they try to protect me even more. I must find an excuse to come to Bhatian to see you. But it is getting more difficult to do so. It has only been two weeks since we parted, and I wish I had looked into your eyes more when we were together. Each moment, I feel the pain of centuries of missing you. I wonder how many ages and lifetimes I have had to bear this pain. When I try to sleep, my dreams will not allow me to rest, and I cry in my dreams as well. I hope this bad dream will end soon and that we can be together. I n December, during my school break, I am hoping to come to see you. But I am an only child, and my parents miss me too. I don’t know if they will plan a trip for my vacation or not. If they do, I think I shall die if I don’t see you again. Lots of love always, Ragni (Please write!) Reading the letter over, she folded and sealed it in an envelope. Tomorrow, she would drop it in the mailbox, but for now, just writing her feelings down made her feel better. The evenings were beginning to cool off now that it was September. Ragni had been home for few days and was becoming desperate to return to Bhatian 150

and Kanwar. But she had to come up with a good excuse so she wouldn’t raise her parents’ suspicions. Her chance came in the mail that afternoon. As she accepted a letter from the mailman, she saw her Aunt Rajinder’s return address in the upper corner of the envelope. “Mother, here is a letter from Aunt Rajinder in Bhatian,” she said, handing it to her. Tearing open the envelope, she studied the writing on the ornate stationery while Ragni waited with bated breath. After an eternity, Sukhi finally told Ragni what it was about. “It seems that Rajinder is holding a small, informal first birthday party for Ginder in a couple of days, and we are all invited. There is also a village festival a few days later that we are invited to stay for,” she said. Trying to contain herself, Ragni asked, “Will we be able to go?” Sukhi, still looking the letter over, replied, “I don’t know. Your father is very busy now. I think if he were going to go somewhere, he’d rather take us all somewhere other than Bhatian. But I know that Rajinder will feel hurt if we don’t go. Maybe I will go, and you stay with your father at home.” Disciplining herself to wait a full three seconds, Ragni asked in the calmest manner she could, “Mother, if you go, may I come too?” After considering her options, her mother answered, “I will check with your father, but I think it will be all right.” Trying with all her might to refrain from hugging her mother and jumping for joy, Ragni beamed and skipped out of the house. That evening after dinner, Sukhi brought the issue of the letter to her husband. “Well, I’m too busy to go. Why don’t you go instead, Sukhi? But leave Ragni here with me. It’s so rare that I get to see her,” Mohinder said. 151

Sukhi shot a glance at Ragni, whose face dropped and turned white. She knew Ragni wanted to go with her but didn’t realize it meant that much to her. “Dear,” she said to her husband, “your days are spent at the office, and you’re home so seldom. Let me take Ragni with me. I can be with her the whole time we are there.” Leaning back in his chair, Mohinder clasped his hands behind his head in thought. “How long will you be gone?” he asked as if his mind were already made up in the matter. “Oh, three or four days—not long,” Sukhi replied. “Take the chauffeur, and have him pick you up a few days later,” he said as if he were a king proclaiming a declaration. Ragni looked down at her lap, trying to mask the overwhelming joy in her heart. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and most of the guests were seated in the living room of Shamsher’s home. The women, Rajinder, Sukhi, Smitti, Moheeni, and Ragni bustled about in the kitchen with the food, while the men, Shamsher, Kishan, Dilawar, and Jaswant, downed glasses of liquor. Seating themselves at the table, the men started in on the Tandoori chicken, still drinking country liquor. As talk centered around the upcoming village festival, Dilawar, sitting directly across from Jaswant, remained unusually quiet. Known for his ability to consume large amounts of liquor without feeling the effects, this day, he passed his limit early into the festivities. While the idle chatter of oxen races circled the table amongst the other men, Dilawar stared quietly at Jaswant, his emotions heating up with the increased alcohol in his system. 1521

With each drink he took, his anger, hatred, and jealousy for Jaswant grew as if the country liquor were gasoline he was pouring on a fire. His eyes were so focused on Jaswant that he no longer saw the face of his hated rival, but instead, his memory replayed scenes of what he had witnessed weeks before. He saw Jaswant laughing and picking up Moheeni in his Jeep at the college, while he sat helplessly in the distance wishing that it was his Jeep in which Moheeni was riding. He saw all the times he was politely rejected after offering her a ride home, only to see her ride with Jaswant or board the public bus alone. He saw the time in the movie theater when he sat alone in the dark watching Moheeni and Jaswant cuddling closely together, laughing softly, while it tore his heart to shreds. He saw the time he waited for her in front of the bridge on the way back to the village from the school. He was on his motorcycle, and he knew she would be riding her scooter past the bridge on her way home. He had left classes early to stop at a bar and get a few drinks to bolster his confidence. He wondered, was he not the most handsome young man in the college? Was he not the richest farmer in the village? There should be no reason why Moheeni should not like him. As he saw her riding toward him, he waved her off the road. Stopping, she had said, “Hello Dilawar. Are you having troubles?” “No, I just wanted to talk with you for a moment,” he said quietly. “What about?” Moheeni asked cautiously. She knew he liked her, but she could not tell him she was in love with another. Sucking up some courage, Dilawar replied, “I want to know what you think about me.” Moheeni knew something like this was coming and tried not to appear uncomfortable or shocked. “Well, I think you are a nice person, Dilawar,” she told him evenly. 153

He pressed on, “Isn’t there anything special about me? Don’t you feel anything special for me?” She knew she had to be absolutely honest with him because any encouragement would mean she would never be able to stop him from harassing her. If she didn’t totally discourage him now, Jaswant might see him trying to make overtures to her, and the two would surely fight. In the most businesslike tone she could gather, she flatly stated, “No. I don’t feel anything special for you. Not anymore than anyone else in the college. Will you let me go now?” Feeling he was losing his battle, he played his last card. “Moheeni, before you go, there is one more thing I have to tell you,” he said, almost meekly. “What?” Moheeni asked impatiently. “Moheeni…Moheeni, I—I love you,” he said quietly. Slightly stunned but undaunted, Moheeni upheld her cool appearance. “Thanks, I appreciate that, but it’s no use.” She tried to start her scooter. Hurt, Dilawar asked, “Why? Why isn’t it any use?” Sighing hard, she no longer tried to hide her exasperation. “Women can only love one person, and I already do. I can’t give my love to anyone else. I belong to another.” Dilawar knew it was Jaswant she was talking about, but something inside made him want to hear it from her own mouth. “Who is it?” he asked. “It’s not important!” she said briskly as she started up the scooter engine. “Maybe it’s not important, but I want to know anyhow!” he said desperately. Finally, in anger, he shouted harshly, “Jaswant! It’s Jaswant!” 154