5 Flight
The peahens had lost their mate. Their loud cries for the peacock were drowned by the dying sounds of the wedding celebrations around Harpal's house. The last of the guests flowed out of the abode, some of them that knew Nand Singh making their way to his house.
The palanquin bobbed up and down, around the narrow village lanes, carried by Ranbir's cousins Dhail and Jodh and two others. Mohurs had been thrown at it as the carriage left and now it followed Satwant's horse, the janate: the wedding party, tailing behind.
Ranbir felt the men place the palanquin down. The curtain lifted and Taro helped her out. She was taken to the door, where Satwant joined her. Preetum now turned a metal tumbler filled with milk three times around their head, and drank from it. Oil was splashed on the threshold and the two were let in. Behind them Ranbir could here the eunuchs wrapped in their saris singing provocative songs. She lifted her head slightly, and peered under her purdah. To her it seemed a score of accusing female eyes pierced her soul. She is so old! How can Nand allow a daughter-in-law so old in his house? Our good good girls will be married when they are ten! But she knew this to be her imagination. Nand did not believe in children being married, and as he had encouraged her father it was only right that he took her in. If he had not, she would probably remain a spinster forever. She spied a look at her husband. Thank you, Waheguru! He looked so handsome as he took off the veil attached to his turban. She felt exhilarated. The night would be long. She had been careful; she knew blood would be expected on the manja. She had been told of this too many times. Women were meant for this, her mother had said. The Sandhu's are different she remembered saying they will look after me!
Satwant looked across from his manja. Ranbir was quietly sitting, expectantly on her one next to his. Above the two of them whips of marigolds slung from the roof, encasing them in a saffron cage. He reached forward and lifted her dupatta from her face. Her almond skin was soft to the touch. Her eyes oval and light brown. The nose was short and small, guarded on both sides by two high cheekbones and straddled above two luscious lips. He could never have asked for a prettier wife! The lottery of the wedding had provided him well. She looked away bashful rather than afraid. She was as fair as the moon.
Satwant's mind tugged him away from the beauty of the moment. It threw him back into the folds of his ambitions. He wanted to leave here! He could not be a farmer forever! He knew in his soul that his calling was with the Khalsa. Not the brotherhood that the tenth Guru had created, but specifically the warrior saints whom fought for the Lahore Darbar. He had missed one opportunity and allowed kismet to lead him here. But now married, he was his own man. Now he could control destiny.
Satwant's guilty hand recoiled from her skin. He could not allow himself to love. But what else could he do? It was wrong to betray her. He should grab her in his arms; show her his love, his weight upon her, fulfilling the expected. No, that was wrong. That was what he should not do, could not do. How could he leave a baby without a father? Father! Nand Singh would kill him. To leave his family with a burden he should take. Burden? How could such a pretty creature be a burden? Perhaps he should steal he away with him? Or face the family in the morning and tell them what he wanted to do, take Ranbir with him.
Satwant's emotions were mixed. Confused. His manly instincts kept at bay for so long yearned to take her. His ambitions and juxtaposed morals told him not to. Not if he did not want to take her with him. Did he? Not really. He had already planned his escape. Himmet Ali the slightly dozy strongman was standing outside the village with a camel, awaiting Satwant's escape. An escape he had not planned with Krishan, who he knew, would have appealed to his better nature. An escape that did not include this innocent angel. And Himmet had been the best choice, as mentally he was a little underpar. If Satwant changed his mind he could confuse the boy and get out of it.
Himmet Ali was a large boy, whose tongue was too large for his mouth, and eyes as oval as a Mongolian. His fat head caused him to have an expression that resulted in ridicule and fun from many. Despite his looks giving away that he was disabled, he was lucky in that he was fairly intelligent for someone who suffered from his condition. He may not fall for it after all, if Satwant pulls out without an explanation.
Satwant looked at his wife. His father would look after her well. This was something he had no fear of. His mother would provide for her. If she stayed here their respect would be intact. She would be safe. He smiled at her. " Sleep. It has been a long day." He then layback and feigned tiredness. Perhaps she was surprised that he did not do what was expected. He had controlled himself for so long, a little longer would not make any difference. He had decided. It was wrong to take her. What if things went wrong? Everyone had now heard that Ranjit Singh was dead. Who knew what would happen?
Satwant opened his eyes an hour or so later. She had given up and gone to sleep. Perhaps she was relieved that he did not take his rights? The house was silent. Above him, a keely, a gecko like creature stuck it's tongue out at him, as it clung to the ceiling. He waited a little longer. When he could here her breath rhythmically, he knew it was time to slowly lift him up. He gathered his sword and a few clothes.
He knew what he wanted. He knew it would hurt her, but this was easier than taking her or facing his father. Now was not the time for indecisiveness.
" Waheguru, forgive me. I must do this, before I am stuck here. I promise to come back for her as soon as I can." With that he faded into the night.
