ZIRA, January 1999

A speeding motorcycle broke the pin-drop silence of the dark winter night. Shammi was driving home, with his wife Tina, sitting on the backseat. A dense cover of fog made it difficult to see the road, but the newly wed couple waded through it fast. Tina had tightly wrapped Shammi into her arms. She was full of passion...whispering sweet nothings... kissing...biting his earlobes softly...occasionally giving a jerk to Shammi...vehicle swerving!

“Hold on baby. We are only ten minutes away from the house,’’ Shammi muttered. Tina blushed.

A screech of car wheels caught them off guard. Shammi stomped on the brake. He saw two shadows of hurly burly men walking out of the car. One of them shouted, “Hey Shammi. How are you?’’ Shammi was scared.

"Who is it?" Shammi said.

"Your mother’s yaar," came the reply.

Somebody hit Tina. She screamed. "No."

"Hey leave her," Shammi pleaded.

Tina fell on the road. Somebody pulled out the key from the ignition of the motorcycle. He saw two more shadows moving towards him. Somebody punched him into his face. Another pulled out a sword and slashed his chest. Shammi cried for help. He was lying on the ground. Somebody threw torch light over his face. One of them said, "Let us leave. The job is done." Within seconds, they drove off.

A bleeding Shammi was pent up. No energy to get up even. He tried to drag himself towards Tina. He couldn’t. "Tina. Are you okay," he asked. She did not respond. She lay like a corpse. He cried loudly, "Tina. Tina. Please wake up. Talk to me."

When Shammi opened his eyes, he found himself in a hospital, surrounded by a team of doctors. "Where is Tina?" he shouted. One of the doctors instructed a nurse to inject him with a sedative. He wanted the patient to sleep for several more hours.

Shammi’s mother, Iqbal Kaur was worried. Both her son and daughter-in-law were in serious condition. She was wailing. The doctors tried to calm her. Shammi was out of danger, but Tina had suffered grievous injuries, that could be fatal. Police had visited the hospital twice to record statements of the victims. But the statements could not be recorded. Cops asked Iqbal, if she knew who could be behind the assault. She did not reply, although she knew who it could be.

A month ago, she was a happy mother and a very happy mother-in-law as Shammi had brought her a beautiful daughter-in-law. But in her hearts of heart, she had a lingering fear. Tina’s father had not been happy with the wedding. How could he be happy? His daughter had dared to go against his wishes by choosing Shammi as her life partner. Tina had eloped with Shammi. They had tied the nuptial knot secretively. Ever since he brought Tina home after the wedding, Iqbal felt uneasy. She had sleepless nights.

As Iqbal was engrossed in her thoughts, someone shook her by the shoulder. It was the night shift doctor. "Your son has gained consciousness. You can see him now," he told her.

Iqbal rushed to the ward, where Shammi was lying half conscious wreathing in pain. He was staring at the ceiling. Iqbal touched his face. "How are you my son?" she enquired.

"How is Tina?" Shammi asked.

Iqbal was quiet.

A uniformed police officer marched into the ward. He was Inspector, Hardial Dhillon. The officer was in his early 30s, with small beard, big turban and a medium build. He looked different from other cops. He was not pot bellied. He was extra polite when he spoke to Shammi. “Don’t be scared of anyone. If you have any idea, who is behind the attack, tell me clearly. I have come to record your statement’’.

A reluctant Shammi murmured, "my father-in-law."

“How sure are you?’’

“He was opposed to our marriage.’’

“Your wife is also injured seriously. How can a father think of getting his own daughter killed?’’

“He is a heartless father and a ruthless politician.’’

“His name?’’

“Bikkar Singh Brar.’’

The officer was shocked to hear the name. He took down quick notes and left the room without saying anything more.

Shammi was wondering if this officer was going to book his father-in-law. Probably, he won’t. Brar was a Member of the Legislative Assembly (MLA). More importantly, he belonged to the ruling party. His proximity to the Chief Minister was widely known. Who could dare to arrest him? However, Tina’s well being was more important to him right now than her father’s arrest.

The doctor allowed Shammi to see Tina from a distance. She was in the intensive care unit (ICU). He could see her lying on the bed. A bubbly and a chirpy Tina was unconscious. Shammi said to himself, “How long you are going to be silent sweetheart? Get up sweetie. Get up my love’’. Tears rolled out of his eyes.

In a reverie, Shammi recollected: Tina had always been a talkative person. She would hardly attend the class calmly. He remembered how she used to bug the teachers and her classmates all the time. Nobody could defeat her in arguments. She was witty too. Shammi, like many others, used to be fed up with her pranks. She had nicknamed him as, sarhu (an introvert who keeps on burning from within). He, himself, spoke only during classroom debates. He did not have many friends and used to loiter alone in the university. His only passion was his books. He spent his time either in library or attending lectures delivered by the visiting faculty. Though it had taken a long time, it did dawn on him that Tina appreciated his wisdom and knowledge.

In the university, boys with affluent backgrounds often ignored Shammi, a barber by caste. Tina teased him a lot with her pranks. But he was never rubbished aside by her. On her birthday, she invited everyone from the class, including Shammi. Almost none used to invite Shammi for such celebrations, as he came from a small town and was not rich enough to buy flashy clothes.

One fine day, Tina gave him a surprise. It was his birthday and she walked into his hostel. A beautiful birthday card tucked in a bouquet, said it all. Tina was in love with the boy.

Waiting for the Valentine’s Day, Tina kept her feelings corked within her heart. Came the D’ Day and she softly asked Shammi whether he knew how handsome he was. “Your ideas would impress anyone, what to talk of me,” she had said while all others remained busy in the party.

The love, by now, had started blossoming. During vacations, Shammi would prefer not to visit his widowed mother living alone in Zira. He just wanted to be with Tina: dating. It was Tina who ushered him into a glittering world of a big city. Shammi used to move around in her car.

One day, when they were sitting in a coffee shop, Tina noticed that somebody was staring at them constantly. She looked at him carefully. He was a friend of her brother. Tina’s face turned pale. “My brother would not like my friendship with you...there is going to be some trouble... I am scared...,” she murmured to Shammi.

She was proved right. From the very next day, she stopped coming to the university. A scared Shammi started getting butterflies in his stomach. She sent him a note through Jyoti, which read: “Do not phone me. My father is angry. He might harm you. I will contact you at an appropriate time’’.

One night, somebody knocked at the door of his hostel room. A tall boy with trimmed beard and short hair barged inside. Three more boys accompanied him. They were all strangers to him. Before he could ask them what they wanted, the bearded boy slapped him on his face.

“I am Micky. Tina’s brother. Don’t dare to meet my sister in future’’

“But why?’’

“Oye, don’t talk rubbish. We can kill you right now and dispose off your body. We are sparing you because of your mother. Go back and look after her’’, Micky roared. Thereafter all vanished.

As several weeks passed, Jyoti came with good news. Tina was waiting for him at her house. Jyoti’s parents were out of town. Tina had come on the pretext of working on her a thesis with Jyoti’s help.

Shammi was happy to see Tina after a long time. They both hugged each other. She cried like a child. Tina told him that she is willing to elope with him. “My parents will not accept our relationship. My father is dead opposed to the idea of marrying outside the Jat community. We have to take a decision,’’ a disillusioned but confident Tina told Shammi.

Shammi phoned his taxi-driver cousin. In a few minutes, he came and took them to Moga. He knew a Gurdwara priest, who reluctantly solemnized their wedding. For almost one week, they stayed at the house of Shammi’s cousin. Shammi’s mother also joined them. Micky tried to trace the couple with the help of police and supporters of his politician father. They also raided his house, but did not find him. A police party also raided the university hostel.

After the situation seemed to have cooled down, Tina mustered courage and telephoned home. Her mother picked up the receiver. A virgin no more, Tina told everything to her. She learnt from the mother that her father had lodged a criminal complaint against Shammi, accusing him of abduction. They postponed their idea of returning home in the near future. Shammi’s uncle advised that the two should appear before the district magistrate, Kuljit Sidhu and apply for police protection. After all, how long could they stay with their relatives?

Shammi was reluctant to see the district magistrate. He feared more harassment, but did not have a choice. His uncle was familiar with somebody in the district magistrate’s office. They took an appointment with Sidhu’s assistant.

Sidhu was known as a bully officer. He belonged to the region from where the Chief Minister hailed. The Chief Minister trusted his abilities. That’s why he had appointed him as an administrative head of a district close to the international border. Shammi was frightened to face an officer, who would probably be biased against him. Tina was confident. She had learnt about Sidhu’s behaviour from her brother. She assured Shammi that he wouldn’t harm them.

When they appeared before Sidhu, the officer was scanning through the application filed by the lovers. He looked at Shammi suspiciously and turned to the girl. “Did you marry him with consent?’’ he asked Tina.

“Yes Sir.’’

Sidhu ordered Shammi to go out of his room for a while. He wanted to grill the bride. Shammi’s heart was pounding. He felt relieved when Sidhu called him back. He wanted them to furnish the marriage certificate issued by the Sikh temple priest, and asked his personal security officer to escort them to their village.

A few days later, they learned that the police complaint against Shammi was withdrawn. The bad days were gone they felt. A new life was waiting. Iqbal Kaur threw a small party. She wanted to invite the Brar family too, but Tina dissuaded her from doing so. She knew her parents would not come.

One day, Shammi’s uncle came with shocking news. Sidhu was transferred out of the district. A newspaper report suggested that Bikkar Singh Brar had got him transferred. He had a personal grudge against Sidhu but the report did not elaborate.

Shammi’s uncle advised that he should take extra precautions. The new the officer appointed in Sidhu’s place was more close to Brar. Unlike Sidhu, he might succumb to pressure.

Sidhu’s transfer became a talk of the town. Some eyewitnesses claimed that they had seen Brar arguing with Sidhu at a wedding party of a leader’s son in Chandigarh. Differences between the two had started coming up when the Chief Minister had appointed Brar as the head of a committee to prepare for massive state sponsored celebrations to commemorate the tercentenary of the Khalsa Panth. Sidhu was assigned the administrative work connected to the proposed festivities. They both were in serious conflict. For Brar, it was an opportunity to establish control over the party and to shower favors on his sycophants by assigning them some inflated contracts. But, Sidhu was a big bottleneck. He did not let Brar succeed.

Brar wanted a contract for constructing a bridge be awarded to one of his supporters. Sidhu had shot down the proposal, saying there was an old bridge that could be repaired instead of laying a costly new bridge. The Chief Minster appreciated Sidhu, who was evidently “handling the public money with a sense of responsibility.’’ Brar was already annoyed with Sidhu. His refusal to help implicate Shammi in one or the other case added fuel to the fire.

Shammi fell asleep outside the ICU, while Tina was still battling for life inside. His mother came and woke him up.

“Get up son. Go to your ward and sleep there’’

He again enquired, “How is she?’’

“Doctors say, trust God’’.

Shammi was full of anger. He wanted to retaliate. But he was helpless.

Next morning he went to the police station that wore the look of a Gurdwara. Prayers were going on inside the police station building. The police guards had untied their beards. Some of them were serving tea to a crowd of people. Inspector Hardial Dhillon was sporting a saffron turban and white pyjama kurta. He was into a scrum of people, who were wearing traditional clothes. Shammi was surprised. He did not understand what was going on. Suddenly a fleet of buses halted outside the police station gate. These buses were on way to Anandpur, the venue of the proposed state celebrations to mark 300 years of the Khalsa Panth.

Shammi made his way through the crowd and came close to Dhillon. He recognized Shammi and asked him to go to his office and wait for him. After a fifteen minutes wait, Dhillon came in. He told Shammi that they are still looking for suspects. “Unfortunately, we do not have eyewitnesses, who could give their description,’’ he said.

Shammi asked him to lodge a formal complaint against Bikkar Singh Brar and his son. “That is not possible. We cannot book them on mere presumption’’, the officer replied.

Shammi asked him a straight question, “Are you under pressure?’’

"No", the officer replied after a pause. “Excuse us now. We are busy with state celebrations. We do not have enough men to look into this case. Most of the staff has gone to Anandpur. I am leaving for Nanded tomorrow morning to bring certain holy relics.’’

Shammi was convinced that the police was not going to help him. As he walked out, he saw a dozen policemen holding a drill in religious uniforms. A balladeer was singing, “Jo lare deen ke het, Sura so pehchaniye …’’

Shammi went to his cousin, Jaggi’s house. They boarded a bus for Anandpur where they planned to meet a leader of the opposition party. His name was Piara Singh, whose party stood for the rights and welfare of the “untouchables.” Firebrand Piara Singh was a politician too critical of the ruling bourgeoisie. He had called for a statewide agitation to protest against the humiliation meted out to the lower castes by the government. He was holding a convention in Anandpur to launch his Jan Jagriti campaign.

When they reached Anandpur, the city was being decked up. Signboards read, “Welcome to the birthplace of Khalsa.” City walls were being painted in white. Vendors at the bus stand told them that the whole city was to be painted white before the final celebrations scheduled to be held in April. Volunteers from as far as Delhi were coming to paint the city buildings.

They went straight to the ground in front of the main Gurdwara, where Piara Singh was addressing a mammoth rally. “Dear friends, the authorities are holding state celebrations to mark the tercentenary of the Khalsa Panth. But, they are forgetting that the first Khalsa army of five had three members from lower castes. As a tribute to the Khalsa, the government is going to construct two big gateways. One is to be named after Daya Singh and another after Dharam Singh. No gateway for other three. You know why? Other three were neither Jats nor Khatris. What a shame! The ruling party calls itself as the custodian of Sikhism. They are liars. Guru Gobind Singh administered Amrit to five men from different caste groups to establish a Khalsa army. But the self proclaimed custodians of his religion are trying to exclude us. I assure you. We won’t rest in peace. We are going to block the highways. I will go on a fast unto death.’’

There was a big applause from the crowd. Shammi applauded too.

When Piara Singh was done, Jaggi went to him and whispered into his ear. Piara Singh took them to his office that was situated near the Gurdwara. Shammi narrated the whole story. “We want your help, Sir,’’ he pleaded.

Piara Singh was quiet. After a brief silence he only said, “I will look into it.’’

Jaggi said, “Piara Singhji, you can force the police to register a complaint against Brar.’’

“I know, what I am supposed to do. See me after two days,’’ he coldly replied. He turned to his supporters.

All hopes for Shammi’s were shattered. But Jaggi was optimist. “Don’t worry Shammi. Piara Singh will help us. He is a person of reserved nature. Do not misunderstand him.’’

Zira was too far from Anandpur. It was not feasible for them to come back after two days. They decided to stay back in the Gurdwara. No room was vacant in the Sikh temple’s lodge. They decided to spend the night in the veranda of the temple. It was very cold outside. Jaggi borrowed some blankets from the Gurdwara’s hospitality office. Shammi was worried about Tina. He went to the phone booth to make a call to the Zira hospital. He was able to talk to his mother after a long wait. Tina was still unconscious. This saddened Shammi.

Throughout the night, he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about Tina and prayed for her recovery.

Next morning, Jaggi took him to the bazaar. They loitered until afternoon. Shopkeepers were busy. People were pouring in everyday to look at the preparations. The shops were crowded. There was a tent erected at the end of a street, where people had lined up to see the colts brought here from Nanded. A banner outside the tent read: “Pedigree of Guru Gobind Singh’s horse”. Shammi was excited. He wanted to have a glimpse of the horses. As they went inside the tent, people were seen touching colts’ hooves. Women were picking up the excreta to wrap it in their shawls.’’ Shammi was amused by their reverence.

As they came out of the tent, they saw three burly Sikh men with flowing beards and dagger belts hanging around their shoulders beating up a lone rickshaw puller. The victim was pleading. He sounded to be a poor fellow from an eastern region of India. “Sardarji, please stop beating me...I am innocent....’’ He was crying in pain.

“Behen***d bhaiye. You people think we are foolish?’’

One elderly woman came to his rescue, “Please have mercy on him. Let him go my son.’’

“Don’t plead for him. He is a very clever man. He was trying to cheat by asking for an inflated fare. These Bihari rascals think we are idiots.’’ One of the three Sikhs shouted. However, as more and more elderly people intervened, they let the rickshaw-puller go.

Jaggi was familiar with the area. He took Shammi to a hill, where the celebration committee had installed a foundation stone for the proposed Minar E Khalsa.

The head priest of the Gurdwara, Prof. Mohan Singh was briefing the media about the highlights of the upcoming festivities. They were told that Bikkar Singh Brar had assigned the head priest with special responsibilities. He was to take care of Maryada. Strangely, he emphasized more on an amusement park that was under construction. Jaggi whispered to Shammi that Prof. Mohan Singh owned a property next to the park. The price of his property would go up manifold, if Anandpur becomes a tourist attraction.

Suddenly an angry Sikh leader from Delhi barged in. He wanted to talk to the media. “Bhapaji, we have a bigger story for you, a big scandal’’. He lamented that the state government was going to assign the job of whitewash to a private company, whereas the Delhi Sikhs were offering to do it free of cost. The journalists suspended the media conference with Prof. Mohan Singh. They were now taking down the notes of what the Delhite was saying. Prof. Mohan Singh was embarrassed. He called a supporter of Brar. Soon he appeared on the scene with a dozen companions. They had some interesting documents. “Don’t believe this ghuggi. He wanted us to buy paint from the factory of his brother. Why should we do that, when we are getting free paint from a local trader? We had to engage a private company when they threatened to pull out their volunteers.’’ Nobody knew who was lying and who wasn’t.

Suddenly, a fleet of cars came running towards the hill. It was the Chief Minister’s convoy. The crowd dispersed. Everybody rushed to the Gurdwara’s main office to have a word with him. The Chief Minister had called a meeting to see the arrangements of the festivities. Jaggi whispered into Shammi’s ear, “I believe Bikkar must be here with the Chief Minister. Let’s leave this place immediately. If he comes to know that you are here, we will be in trouble.’’

They slipped out of the place with muffled faces. Shammi wrapped himself in shawl. He smartly covered his face, but made the shawl open his face leave small windows to let him see. As they passed through a small street adjacent to the Gurdwaraoffice, Shammi saw Bikkar Brar bending down to take the blessings of Prof. Mohan Singh. Shammi felt like knocking him down, but didn’t have the courage to do so.

“Bikkar Singh Ji, now you are the head of a committee that has been entrusted a very sacred task. Try to be a good Sikh. Stop trimming your beard. Be baptized,’’ Prof. Mohan Singh was directing his father-in-law.

Bikkar was pleading, “Singh Sahib, I will do that very soon.’’

“How soon? The date for the festivities is drawing near. We are asking the youngsters to grow hair. We cannot afford apostate leaders like you to be in the forefront of this campaign’’. Prof. Mohan Singh sounded angry. Shammi was drawn into their conversation. He stopped there for a while.

Prof. Mohan Singh called his assistant. “Kaka Singh Ji, tomorrow, Bikkar Singh Ji will be administered Amrit. Make some special arrangements for his stay.’’

An agitated and helpless Bikkar Brar pleaded, “But Singh Sahib.’’

“These are my orders,’’ Prof. Mohan Singh said firmly and moved away.

Shammi was laughing in his hearts of heart. Once baptized, Bikkar won’t be able to drink wine or consume tobacco.

After roaming around the whole day, a tired Shammi came back to the Gurdwara. He hoped that Piara Singh would give him a pleasant surprise next morning. The whole night he couldn’t sleep. The ebb and flow of Tina’s thoughts continued pricking him. Whenever, he closed his eyes, he would either, see a bloodied face of his wife or the three Sikhs beating up a rickshaw-puller. He felt as if Bikkar Brar is staring at him with anger from some unknown corner mysteriously.

When he got up, his eyes fell on a newspaper in the hands of a devotee. An unusual picture on the front page of The Tribune shook him. The picture of Bikkar Singh Brar shaking hands with Piara Singh dashed his hopes. He snatched the paper from the devotee and began reading the story. The report revealed that the government had shelved a controversial plan to construct two gateways, following negotiations with Piara Singh. The two leaders had a closed-door meeting last night, where Brar announced that Piara Singh would be taken into the advisory council constituted for the celebrations.

Shammi felt having been deceived. He went to a newsagent in the bazaar and asked for the telephone number of The Tribune reporter. The newsagent gave him the phone number. His name was Hartosh Grewal. He lived in Nurpur that was a few kilometers away from Anandpur.

Grewal listened to his story carefully and asked him to stay there and wait for him. Grewal arrived with a cameraman after one hour. He was a budding journalist. He bought Shammi and his cousin some tea and snacks. Shammi had all the documents with him to corroborate his claims. Grewal took down notes, while the cameraman took his pictures.

After listening to his story, Grewal phoned Sidhu, who was now posted at Chandigarh. Sidhu confirmed that he had resolved the matter and the couple were under threat from Brar. Grewal later phoned Brar to get his version of the story. Shammi could listen to his father-in-law arguing with Grewal and threatening him over the phone. But Grewal was a determined reporter. He faxed the story the same evening.

Next morning, The Tribune carried a front-page news-report that embarrassed the Chief Minister. How could he appoint a controversial person like Brar as a head of a sacred festival committee? There was a ruckus in the assembly. The Chief Minister sacked Brar and ordered a probe into the whole affair.

Shammi was happy. He had won the battle, it seemed. He thanked Grewal and left for Zira. But his joy was short lived. As he arrived at the hospital, he saw his mother wailing inconsolably. The villagers surrounded her. Tina had died. He rushed to the mortuary. He did not have courage to see her dead. He fainted and fell down.

After Tina’s funeral, Shammi became a mental wreck. His world was shattered. He remained home most of the time. His appetite was lost. He often cried by locking himself inside the room. Iqbal Kaur was tired of consoling him. Being a widow, she understood the pain of separation, but couldn’t help her son recover from depression.

One evening, when Iqbal Kaur was in the kitchen, Shammi slashed his wrist. When she went to his room with dinner, she found him lying unconscious, with blood dripping on the floor.

Iqbal Kaur rushed Shammi to a dispensary with the help of a neighbour. The doctors on duty refused to attend to him. “It is a case of attempted suicide. We cannot handle it, unless the police arrives,’’ said one of the doctors. Iqbal Kaur rushed to the telephone booth. Nobody was picking up the phone at the police station. She made several attempts. Finally somebody picked up the phone. It was a clerk. He sounded drunk. She narrated the whole incident.

“Wait till tomorrow bibi. There is nobody at the police station. Everybody has gone to Anandpur,’’ the clerk responded and hung up the phone.