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JOURNEY FOR LIGHT
[SHORT STORY]

SHEHNAAZ KANWAL
(TRANSLATED FROM URDU BY MADAN GUPTA)

IT WAS A SUMMER afternoon. I was driving my car very fast so that I may reach home quickly. The sizzling heat of summer affects the temper also. I was therefore in a foul mood. The Traffic is comparatively less in the afternoons. The road I was driving on was nearly without traffic. From the houses built one after another in a row. I could hear sound of air-condi­tioners and coolers. Closed windows had heavy curtains to keep away sun’s blistering rays. Today was a half day. If I had returned early, I would have also been lying in comfort in my bedroom with a cooler on. But what to do? High or low. Service is after all service. The boss’s orders have to be obeyed.

My thoughts received a jolt when in front of me I suddenly saw the flutter of a green saree. I pressed my brake-pedal hard. A slightly dark-­complexioned girl was very near my car, smiling away even in the unbear­able heat. I looked at her in surprise and rolled down the window glass. She had a very soft and innocent face. I said angrily, “You must either be having a grudge against society or are a victim of our in-laws� cruelty. Otherwise why should you have come out to commit suicide on such a hot afternoon?� She replied coolly, “I am not such a coward. Today the rickshaws have gone on a lightning strike for some reason or the other. I have been waiting here for some time. See­ing you come I tried to stop you for a lift as you looked a decent sort. But you were lost in your thoughts. I had therefore to come nearer the car to catch your eye�.

I was pleased to hear her praise me. Opening the door I asked her to get in. She came and sat without a fuss, leaning towards the window. I liked her matter-of-fact behaviour. Her straight forward talk made me like her. She had dark, long hair. Her complexion was smooth and slightly dark. She had a thin and long neck, tapering fingers, a smiling face and a sweet voice. I felt less, oppressed by the heat when I started the car. A lonely man perhaps feels the rigour of the weather more.

When the car reached near my house, I pointed towards my house and said, “I live here�.

“Oh,� she said and looked a little uncomfortable. Then she added, “O.K. Leave me here. I shall walk the rest of the way. I am not very far from here�.

“By pointing out my house�, I said, “I did not mean that the car will not go any further. The intention of showing it to you only was that in future also if you need my services you know where to come�. She felt shy and smiled. I looked into her eyes and said, “I have promised to leave you home. From now on you will have to tell me the route.� Then I pro­ceeded according to her directions and stopped near her house. Getting clown she pointed to a building in front and said, “Mine is flat No.8 on the second floor�.

“And the name?� I asked.

“Neelima Banerjee�, she said and smiled. “Why don’t you come up for a while?�

“No�, I said, “If I go into a house now I shall not be able to come out till tomorrow morning�.

“O.K�, she said. “Some other time then.�

“I am called Manjeet Behl. I thought it necessary to tell her my name.�

“Indeed: you cannot possibly have another name.�

“And what does that mean?� I asked.

“Your name is rightly Manjeet.� And smiling she proceeded towards her stairs.

I was left brooding over what she had said. When I thought of the meaning of my name “winner of a heart.� I laughed loudly. “She does say beautiful things�. I said to myself.

I did not feel the heat at all as I drove . In fact I found myself humming a tune.

Then we started meeting fre­quently. She was a B.A. 2nd year stu­dent. Her father Sushant Banerjee was a senior officer. The family was Bengali but had been here for a long time. She talked about Bengal with great affection; almost like a mother talking about a long-lost son.

“Have you seen Bengal?� I once asked her.

“I have only been once and, that too only to Calcutta. I was eight years old then. My maternal grandfather was ill. There was no opportunity to go again.�

“But what they say about the magic of Bengal has a lot of truth in it,� I said and looked at her teasingly.

She smiled as if she agreed with me.

“Do you remember Calcutta?� I asked.

“Yes, A little.� She seemed lost in her thoughts. “I used to go for walks with my maternal grandfather in the Park Circus area. I still remem­ber the tall buildings and the wide roads.� “And ‘rasgullas�?�

“Yes,� She gave a hearty laugh.

“When I was asked what I would like to have for breakfast, I had said ‘rasgullas�. Do you like them?� She asked all this with great friendliness.

“Very much,� I said smiling. “In fact I like many Bengali things.�

“For instance?�

“For instance you, you and you.�

Her face had a glow and a shimmer. I could see dreams in her dreamy eyes.

“What do you like about Punjab?� I asked just like that.

“The same thing that you like about Bengal.�

Her meaningful remark left no doubt that she was in love with me.

She used to readily agree with everything I said. Perhaps it was this habit of hers which impressed me most about her. Once she had said, “Manjeet, a girl respects a man who is honest and straightforward. You have both these qualities.�

I knew that the lesson my eld­ers had taught me was to be always respectful and protective towards women.

One day she was a little sad. I felt disturbed seeing her like that. “What is the matter� I asked. “Why are you so quiet?�

“Manjeet�, she said in a low tone. “We are very selfish.�

“How?� I asked looking carefully at her.

“Why do we divide ourselves into different regions? There is noth­ing wrong with loving one’s mother­land cut is it right that it should become a reason to dislike others?�

“This is the way this mad world functions Neelima,� I said trying to console her. “And it is nothing pecu­liar to us. It is a world-wide phe­nomenon. East or West, you will find it everywhere.� “But why does every­one consider himself the best? I love Bengal but I consider other regions of my country also good. And this is nothing out of compulsion. Our neighbour is Jaswant auntie. She treats me like a daughter. I also loveher very much. I cannot therefore understand why some people consider others inferior.�

“Let’s hope this will all end one day, Neelima.�

“When? How?� She looked pessi­mistic.

“When education and advance­ment tell us that there is nothing more lovable than one’s fellow human beings.�

“I wish that would happen soon.� And she placed her head on my shoulder.

“Was there any talk about me in your house?� I asked her.

“No. My father is a very simple and forward man but my mother only likes Bengalis. She is very orthodox.�

When I returned home after meeting Neelima, I felt very upset. She had very diplomatically told me that I would be unacceptable to her mother as a bridegroom for her. And for the time being I had no solution for the problem. I kept awake all night. To make the elders change their mind is an impossible task. They base their arguments on their rich experience. For the younger gen­eration emotions count a lot. Lost in these thoughts I saw the morning peeping into my room. That was a morning of great importance for me. In the night I had made a resolution. I had my breakfast and decided to skip office. As I lay down in bed, I fell off to sleep instantly because my mind was completely at rest.

At 5 o’clock in the evening I went to meet Neelima. She looked glum and sad even today. Without beating about the bush I said to her. “It will be weakness to deviate from the path we have chosen for our­selves, Neelima. Therefore I have thought of a way out.�

“What is it?� she asked eagerly.

“I am getting myself transferred to Calcutta. In a few years I will not only know the Bengali language but will also try to imbibe as much as I can of Bengali culture. This experi­ment will not only be interesting for me but also useful. But I will need your support.�

She blossomed out with happiness.

“Manjeet, my support is with you, always.�

“You will have to wait for me for some years.�

“I will not only wait but will try the same experiment here as you are going to try in Bengal.� she said smil­ing.

I held her hand in mine.

“No talk about me in your house right now�, I told her. “Concentrate on your studies.�

After a month of this talk Neelima was saying goodbye to me at the Amritsar station. Her eyes were moist but she was smiling. As the train moved both of us made our own resolves to make our dreams come true.

I stayed in a hostel for some days after reaching Calcutta. Then through the help of a colleague I was able to get accommodation in a house which an old couple rented out. The house was large. A portion of it was given on rent. The old woman knew only Bengali. She became my first teacher. To start with I had to use the sign language to communicate with her. Then as the days went by I picked up words of Bengali. Within six months I was able to speak the language reasonably well. I used to intentionally talk at home only in Bangla. I also realised that by learn­ing someone’s language one instantly comes very near the other. Bhat­tacharya uncle was a graduate of the old times. His library was full of Ben­gali literature. He spoke with knowl­edge not only about literature but also about politics, music, films, cul­ture; in fact on all subjects. I used to spend hours taking to him. And I used to feel that I was drinking at the fountain of knowledge.

One day when dressed in a Bengali style kurta and pyjama I expressed a desire to accompany auntie to the temple. She was very sur­prised. She stared at me in bewilder­ment. Then overcome by joy she blessed me and said, “You have the forehead of a lucky man,� I laughed. Every mother uses the same expres­sian for her sons, irrespective of where she comes from. “I will offer a red ‘chunri� to Durga Ma if your wish is granted.� she said, her bosom filled with love and affection.

In this interval Neelima and I corresponded regularly informing each other about our activities. Uncle had also taught me how to write Bengali. Therefore sometimes I used Bengali sentences in my letter to her. I learnt from her that after graduating she had taken up a job in a firm.

As time passed I felt that I had got everything I had come for. Neelima’s letters were also asking me to come . After four years of pen­ance I was confident that I would now be acceptable to Neelima’s mother. Therefore I informed Neelima that I was coming . Uncle and auntie Bhattacharya came to see me off at the Calcutta station. Auntie gave me a saree for Neelima and said, “Bring your wife here to meet us when you get married.� Uncle patted my and said, “Don’t worry. If you need me, let me know. I shall come over.� I left Calcutta with their blessings.

Neelima was there to receive me when I reached Amritsar. She wore a salwar and kameez and displayed two pony-tails. She looked every inch a Punjabi lass. Seeing me in a Bengali style kurta and pyjama she laughed and said, in Bengali, “Bangla babu, Shondar; Ati shondar.� I smiled.

“You have changed so much in three four years,� she said, “I cannot believe that you are the same Manjeet Behl.�

“How do I look?�

“You look even better than be­fore.� And she suddenly became seri­ous as she said, “The language and the dress are something we have given to ourselves but the soul is the Creator’s gift. What a pity that we attach more importance to man-given things than to God’s gift. We go after appearances.�

I laughed and said. “You have started talking philosophy, I see, And why not? After all you are a graduate now and a business executive.�

“Don’t make fun,� she said in­nocently. “I am very happy today. From the day you gave me a lift on that hot afternoon I have accepted you as my lord and master.�

“When do I come to your house?� I asked as we came out of the station talking.

“We will decide that tomorrow,� she said. “You must be tired after a long journey. Go home and rest. Life’s decisions cannot be taken on railway stations.�

“Decisions?� I looked into her eyes. “Are there still any doubts?�

“Oh, you have become a full-­blooded Bengali. Everything cannot be settled today. The rest we will talk about tomorrow.�

As I got into a rickshaw, she said, “I have to go to office now. We shall meet again tomorrow evening.�

I came home happy. By way of relations in the house all I had was my old aunt. After my mother’s death she was the one who had given me love and affection. When she saw me after four years, tears of joy rolled down her eyes. She held me in her embrace and said, “You have lost a lot of weight son.�

“Oh� I said to myself. “Why do all mothers think like this?� I hugged her tightly.

Releasing herself from my grip, she said, “Tell me what you want to eat.�

I said, “Macehh Bhaat.�

“Are you a Bengali?� she said.

“A good thing is a good thing Maasi,� I said. “It can be relished regardless of whether one is a Punjabi or a Bengali.� Maasi muttered some­thing I could not understand.

The next twenty-four hours I spent very restlessly. To while away the time I talked incessantly to my aunt: told her about Calcutta: about Bhattacharya uncle and auntie. She kept on listening to me her mouth open in surprise. According to her human beings lived only in Punjab and she couldn’t believe that a woman in Calcutta could treat me so well. I remembered what Neelima had once said: “My mother only likes Bengalis.� For my aunt also the out­side world was nothing else except a dark and lightless tunnel. She there­fore naturally felt surprised listening to my story of light and brightness.

I went to meet Neelima next day as arranged. She was already there and looked extremely pretty in a light blue salwar kameez suit. I brought her out to the hotel lawn and sitting in a chair in front of her, asked, “When is this trial going to end?� She smiled. “I talked to my father last night,� she said. “He wants to meet you.�

“And your mother?�

“She is also keen to see you,� she said.

“What have you told them: that I am a Bengali or a Punjabi?�

“Nothing yet.� she replied as she looked at the menu, “Let’s see what they take you to be.�

I put my hands on hers. She looked at me.

“Neelima,� I said, “I hope noth­ing goes amiss.�

“Why should anything go wrong?� she answered confidently.

“O.K. What time shall I come?�

“Tomorrow evening. I have told them that you would be coming.� Then I gave her a detailed account of all I did in Calcutta. She listened to me with great attention. When I gave her the saree Bhattacharya uncle and auntie had given for her, she looked at it lovingly and taking it to her lips kissed it. “Manjee,� she said, “I am happy that you met a lady like Bhat­tacharya auntie in Calcutta. She has made me raise my head with pride before you for the love and affection she gave you.�
“Neelima,� I replied, “The fact is that whoever we meet overcoming our prejudices is bound to respond with friendliness. Love givesbirth to love. The condition is that we should be sincere and straightforward. Have you completely given up wearing sarees?� “No�, she said and moved her hand fondly on the saree in her hand.

It was getting on to sunset. She took leave of me with a promise that we will meet again the next day. On reaching home I also started thinking about the next day’s meeting. All night I dreamt of nothing else except Neelima’s house. When I got up in the morning I felt a strange flutter in my heart. The time for test was not far. Yet the day seemed to be crawling awfully slowly. The evening seemed to be refusing to come. The four years in Calcutta had not taken so long to pass as these twelve hours were tak­ing.

As soon as it was 4 o’clock I got ready. Soon I was at Neelima’s house. My heart missed a beat as I rang the bell of her fiat. The door was opened by their servant. He guided me to the drawing room. The room was very tastefully decorated. The delicacy and culture of Bengal was evident from the decor. Soon Neelima’s father came and introduced himself to me. When he learnt that I had recently come from Calcutta, the feeling of formality vanished between us. He had not heard a first-hand account of Bengal for a long time; a land where his childhood was spent: where his youth had blossomed. He wanted to know a hundred things. I was speaking to him in chaste Bengali. Uncle Bhat­tacharya had made me acquainted with many aspects of Bengal life ­with Sarat Chander, Tagore, Raja Ram Mohan Roy, Subhash Chandra Bose, Satyajit Ray. In fact like two good friends we were talking about every conceivable thing. So busy was I talking to him that I didn’t even re­alise that Neelima had come into the room and salon one side.

When the servant brought tea, Sushant Babu got up with a start. Laughing loudly he said, “Listening to your interesting conversation, I al­most forgot why you have come.� Then he called out, “Sumitra, where are you? Look, he is here.� Not getting a response, he turned to Neelima and said, “Go and call your mother. Where is she?� Just then Neelima’s mother came. She was everyinch a Bengali lady. I felt my heart sinking. Her eyes were on me. I knew that the next few minutes will decide my fate. Then she said, “You look a Bengali.�

“Yes� I said. I felt that my lips were quivering. I was also feeling happy that my experiment had suc­ceeded. She smiled as she said, “My husband normally does not talk so much. You seem to be well educated.�

“I did my M.Com.� I said sheepishly.

Sushant Babu intervened. “Sumitra, he has come to ask for Neelima’s hand in marriage.�

“Neelima’s hand?� the mother said haltingly.

“Yes, my dear,� Sushant Babu continued. ‘That’s why this meeting was fixed. You can give your reply in a day or two, if you like.�

I knew that I had the full sup­port of Sushant Babu. But the mother’s face was without expression. Looking towards me she said. “If you had come a few years earlier, I would have readily said yes. But now things are different.�

Her response shook me. I looked at her in silence. Sushant Babu looked towards me and then said to his wife, “What is different now Sumitra?�

The mother looked lovingly to­wards Neelima and said. “Earlier I very much wanted Neelima to marry a Bengali because I love Bengal. But for ­the last twenty years we have been in the Punjab. Neelima was barely three when we came here. Bengal has been a foreign land for her. She has grown up in Amritsar. And she knows only the customs and traditions of this land. She celebrates Punjabi festivals with her friends. Now she has taken up a job here. So she is going to be here permanently. I therefore feel that it would be better if she marries someone belonging to Punjab.�

I looked in surprise towards Neelima. She seemed to be saying, “See, I have won.� I laughed loudly and getting up said, “Then, let me tell you that I am a blue-blooded Punjabi.� Neelima added. “Ma he is no other than Manjeet about whom I had spoken to you some years ago.�

These words of Neelima brought happiness on all the faces.