Land of Five Rivers Read Online Free PDF Page B

who were angry with the turn of events. The widow in number 414 wasn’t the only one to keep away from Lajwanti’s house.
    Sunder Lal had nothing but contempt for these people. The queen of his heart was back home; his once silent temple now resounded with laughter; he had installed a living idol in his innermost sanctum and sat outside the gate like a sentry. Sunder Lal did not call Lajo by her name; he addressed her as goddess — Devi. Lajo responded to the affection and began to open up, as her namesake unfurls its leaves. She was deliriously happy. She wanted to tell Sunder Lal of her experiences and by her tears wash away her sins. But Sunder Lal would not let her broach the subject. At night she would stare at his face. When she was caught doing so she could offer no explanation. And the tired Sunder Lal would fall asleep again.
    Only on the first day of her return had Sunder Lal asked Lajwanti about her ‘black days’ — Who was he...? Lajwanti had lowered her eyes and replied ‘Jumma.’ Then she looked Sunder Lal full in the face as if she wanted to say something. But Sunder Lal had such a queer look in his eyes and started playing with her hair. Lajo dropped her eyes once more. Sunder Lal asked, ‘Was he good to you?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Didn’t beat you, did he?’
    Lajwanti leant back and rested her head on Sunder Lal’s chest. ‘No... he never said a thing to me. He did not beat me, but I was terrified of him. You beat me but I was never afraid of you... you won’t beat me again, will you?’
    Sunder Lal’ s eyes brimmed with tears. In a voice full of remorse and shame he said ‘No Devi... never... I shall never beat you again.’
    â€˜Goddess!’ Lajo pondered over the word for a while and then began to sob. She wanted to tell him everything but Sunder Lal stopped her. ‘Let’s forget the past; you did not commit any sin. What is evil is the social system which refuses to give an honoured place to virtuous women like you. That doesn’t harm you, it only harms the society.’
    Lajwanti’s secret remained locked in her breast. She looked at her own body which had, since the partition, become the body of a goddess. It no longer belonged to her. She was blissfully happy; but her happiness was tinged with disbelief and superstitious fear that it would not last.
    Many days passed in this way. Suspicion took the place of joy: not because Sunder Lal had resumed ill-treating her, but because he was treating her too well. Lajo never expected him to be so considerate. She wanted him to be the same old Sunder Lal with whom she quarrelled over a carrot and who appeased her with a radish. Now there was no chance of a quarrel. Sunder Lal made her feel like something fragile, like glass which would splinter at the slightest touch. Lajo took to gazing at herself in the mirror. And in the end she could no longer recognise the Lajo she had known. She had been rehabilitated but not accepted. Sunder Lal did not want eyes to see her tears nor ears to hear her wailing.
    ...And still every morning Sunder Lal went out with the morning procession. Lajo, dragging her tired body to the window would hear the song whose words no one understood.
    â€˜The leaves of lajwanti wither with the touch of human hand.’

a hundred mile race

    Balwant Gargi
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I n a low thatched mud-hut the peasants sat and discussed how they could get word to all the villages about their urgent meeting. They asked me what they should do. I could not help them.
    Suddenly a low timid voice startled us. ‘Please give me your message. I’ll take it.’ He was a tough looking young man of about twenty in a frazzled shirt and patched carrot-coloured shorts.
    â€˜To which village?’ I asked.
    â€˜To all the villages,’ he replied.
    â€˜All the villages! Do you know that the meeting is to be held