A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There by Krishna Sobti

Author:Krishna Sobti
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9789353054762
Publisher: Penguin Random House India Private Limited
Published: 2019-02-07T05:00:00+00:00

Shanti Aunty spent a long time talking about the old land—the property and home she’d left behind—how the Kashmiri nursemaid had protected Sat and Savita, her two children, and delivered them safely to Kashmir. And they’d never have a chance to repay that debt. ‘May the Almighty fill her bag with a thousand blessings,’ she said. ‘Our beautifully decorated home lay empty and we were separated from it. We’ve received no letters or notice from there about who became the owner of our house. It must be that some poor soul came from here and reached our doorway there. There was no shortage of hand-stitched damask sheets, quilts, blankets. When I wrap myself in an embroidered bedspread, I laugh and think, God, you work in mysterious ways. With the strength of a pen, your leaders handed down a punishment to all humankind. Each according to their means, they may go abroad—to England, Canada, Africa. But darling, how is it just to uproot people like so many trees, cut them up, kill them? God, this was not right.’

Each of Aunty’s gold bangles on her wrists had a story to tell. She knew that as soon as Shanti had come to Delhi, whatever jewellery she had was sold. She said, trying to sound cheerful:

‘Shanti Aunty, you will settle down here now. You and Uncle will become whatever you wish. Your heart’s desire.’

Shanti Aunty gave a hollow laugh.

‘You are quite right. The people from there are here, and those from here are there. Those that were killed in the middle can send their claims to the Almighty. He can do as he pleases. He can fulfil them or rip them up and throw them away.’

The two laughed together.

‘Sometimes when I pick up my crocheting,’ said Shanti Aunty, ‘I think about how different our good, green earth was from these mill settlements full of labourers. If we stay a while amongst them, then we’ll become just like them, like my sister Prakash. When in Rome . . . You know, she is always after me—“Shanti, give up your salwar kameez and wear cotton saris,” she says. Mukul Sahib has set up your uncle at the mill. He looks after the books. And now he’s started talking like the people here, kemcho, he says . . .’

‘Aunty, what’s wrong with that? The Gujrat district there has gone to the Pakistanis—now you’ve got this one, the Indian Gujarat.’

‘Tell me this, where you’ve got a job, is that also in Gujarat?’

‘No, Aunty. It is sometimes in Gujarat and sometimes in Rajputana, Rajasthan. There are the same battles there too. Since the Gujaratis’ temple, the Ambaji temple, is in Rajasthan, Gujarat is putting up a fuss, saying that since this is Ambaji’s temple, Sirohi must be in Gujarat.’

Just then, the two children, Savita and Sat, returned home with Bhalla Uncle. They took off their shoes and placed them in the corner, then came and greeted her with a namaste.

‘Show each of your bags to Didi. Sing the baby song.

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