Land of Five Rivers Read Online Free PDF Page A

gently, ‘My dear Sunder Lal, you do not understand the sacred traditions of the
Vedas
.’
    Sunder Lal was ready with his retort: ‘I understand at least one thing: in Ram
Rajya
the voice of a washerman was heard, but the presentday protagonists of the same Ram
Rajya
cannot bear to hear the voice of Sunder Lal.’
    The people who had threatened to beat up Sunder Lal were put to shame.
    â€˜Let him speak,’ yelled Rasalu and Neki Ram. ‘Silence! Let us hear him.’
    And Sunder Lal began to speak: ‘Sri Ram was our hero. But what kind of justice was this, that he accepted the word of a washerman and refused to take the word of so great a
maharani
as his wife!’
    Narain Bawa answered ‘Sita was his own wife; Sunder Lal, you have not realised that very important fact.’
    â€˜Bawa
ji
, there are many things in this world which are beyond my comprehension. I believe that the only true Ram
Rajya
is a state where a person neither does wrong to anyone nor suffers anyone to do him any wrong.’
    Sunder Lal’s words arrested everyone’s attention. He continued his oration. ‘Injustice to oneself is as great a wrong as inflicting it on others... even today Lord Ram has ejected Sita from his home... only because she was compelled to live with her abductor, Ravana... what sin had Sita committed? Wasn’t she the victim of a ruse and then of violence like our own mothers and sisters today? Was it a question of Sita’s rightness and wrongness, or the wickedness of Ravana? Ravana had ten heads, the donkey has only one large one... today our innocent Sitas have been thrown out of their homes... Sita... Lajwanti.’ ...Sunder Lal broke down and wept.
    Rasalu and Neki Ram raised aloft their banners: schoolchildren had cut out and pasted slogans on them. They yelled ‘Long Live Sunder Lal Babu.’ Somebody in the crowd shouted ‘Long Live Sita — the queen of virtue.’ And somebody else cried ‘Sri Ram Chandra...’
    Many voices shouted ‘Silence.’ Many people left the congregation and joined the procession. Narain Bawa’s months of preaching was undone in a few moments. The lawyer, Kalka Prasad, and the petition writer, Hukam Singh, led the procession towards the great square... tapping a sort of victory tatoo with their decrepit walking sticks. Sunder Lal had not yet dried his tears. The processionists sang with great gusto.
    â€˜The leaves of lajwanti wither with the touch...’
    The dawn had not yet greyed the eastern horizon when the song of the processionists assailed the ears of the residents of Mulla Shakoor. The widow in house 414 stretched her limbs and being still heavy with sleep went back to her dreams. Lal Chand who was from Sunder Lal’s village came running. He stuck his arms out of his shawl and said breathlessly: ‘Congratulations, Sunder Lal.’ Sunder Lal prodded the embers in his
chillum
and asked. ‘What for, Lal Chand?’
    â€˜I saw sister-in-law Lajo.’
    The
chillum
fell from Sunder Lal’s hands; the sweetened tobacco scattered on the floor. ‘Where did you see her?’ he asked, taking Lal Chand by the shoulder.
    â€˜On the border at Wagah.’
    Sunder Lal let go of Lal Chand. ‘It must have been someone else,’ he said quickly and sat down on his haunches.
    â€˜No, brother Sunder Lal, it was sister-in-law Lajo,’ repeated Lal Chand with reassurance. ‘The same Lajo.’
    â€˜Could you recognise her?’ asked Sunder Lal gathering bits of the tobacco and mashing them in his palm. He took Rasalu’s
chillum
and continued; ‘All right, tell me what are her distinguishing marks?’
    â€˜You are a strange one to think that I wouldn’t recognise her! She has a tatoo mark on her chin, another on her right cheek and...’
    â€˜Yes, yes, yes,’ exploded Sunder Lal and completed his wife’s description: ‘the third one is on