I don't really remember when I first saw Heer. She was around, although younger to me, when my father was transferred from a posting in a remote tribal Maharashtra village to the company's corporate office in Mumbai. Our residential colony was some kilometers away from the city of Mumbai. It was like one big family. A family like they have in the Indian television soaps: there were the "bhola-bhala" types, the scheming types, the romantics and so on. It was a world in itself...and so there was Heer too: an example of God's imperfect world, which is as perfect as God wanted it to be.
I have such vivid and loving memories of Heer although as children we never played together. She was much younger...and besides she was a girl! How the real boys like me hated to befriend girls then! But she was always around, with her mother, whenever she visited my house. I still remember her large innocent eyes and her sweet smile, which grew a shade deeper when she saw me, and which faded almost instantly when she saw my father, as she hid behind her thin and short-stature mother as best as she could, so that my father would not see her.
Much later she was to reveal that she was scared of my father's bushy beard!
The eyes of a child often do not see what the eyes of the youth never miss. There could be no other reason why I never seemed to notice, or may be I never really cared earlier as to how Heer carried herself. The way she walked, talked, smiled...and much else. But as I grew up to being a handsome young man, Heer became an eye sore, that I apparently took pains to avoid, specially when my friends were around. Or may be I was so sure she would always be around that I had taken the liberty of taking her for granted. In fact I secretly wished she would leave me alone. All by myself just for one single day! What a relief that would be I thought.
But she never even fell sick...God! You had made her real sturdy!
While both her parents were slim, her father was tall too, she had grown up to be slightly stout, complexion on the darker side, her pale lips often seemed to merge with the colour of her skin. Although her eyes shone brightly, beautifully and with child-like innocence, and her long, silky hair, very black and very thick shimmered splendidly, I was certain that she would hardly ever attract a male eye.
Heer had this nasty handicap: she limped as she walked.
But this thought did not make me sad.
What did sadden me queerly was this conversation that mom was having with a neighbour one afternoon about Heer's mother trying to find a match for her. I had difficulty in controlling my anger.
"Strange!" I thought to myself. Why was I getting worked up all red and blue when my mother and her friend were pitying Heer saying that given her handicap and her parents' modest means, there would be no question of a good match coming their way. Had I not thought similarly some time back?
But even then I was angry when I heard "...the dowry would be modest, and with the handicap, every other thing of beauty, if she does possess any, would have no meaning..." my mom's friend was saying as a thoughtful departing note before taking leave of the day's gossip session.
I saw my mother apparently agreeing with her friend, which seemed to me very absurd in Heer's context. I felt my blood boiling with rage. Heer was all of fifteen and her uneducated rustic mother wanted her to get married. How does a person like me justify that! But was I not over-reacting? After all would I ever agree to marry a girl like her. I was surprised to infinity when I found it difficult to say "No" right away. And even more astonishing was the fact that I was thinking about Heer...and me...!
What was all this?
Indeed it was not expected of me and mom nearly fainted with surprise when I blurted out angrily,
"Why? What's so wrong with her? Why can't Heer have a decent marriage and a caring husband?!"
It is to Mom's credit that she recovered from the shock quickly, almost as if she was not shocked at all, and she asked me a question instead of answering mine:
"Arman, my child! Do you really mean what you've said? You are old enough to know such things. Look at her family background, her father's job, her parents' education, her outward appearance, besides of course her handicap..."
I cut her sentence short as it was difficult for me to take in more of it.
"Mom! you've always been saying that one must be a good human being...everything else is of a lesser consequence. Now what's changed so much?!"
"Nothing has changed, my dear! It has always been like this. Honestly, and this is very sad, but at least I'll admit that we live in a world full of double standards, where it is very easy to deliver sermons, but to act on them certainly requires courage and character."
Mom paused for a while, looked around the room. Everything was perfect. She was perhaps trying to judge my degree of anger, because the signs on my face were still there. She adjusted her dupatta only habitually because it was otherwise in place, and went on,
"You just have to read all those matrimonial pages in the Sunday newspaper to know what the reality is, that is if you have been stupid enough to ignore it all this while! And I honestly don't think they are wrong. After all what is so bad in expecting the best that can be bargained..."
I interrupted, almost blurting out again:
"Bargain...?!!!Mom! aren't you being ridiculous? We are talking about marriage, not a trip to the nearest mall, for God's sake...!"
"May be my vocabulary sounds absurd to you, but have no doubts, marriage is big business...why! am I not searching a beautiful, fair, well educated, and possibly richer-than-us girl for you?!" She said with a smile.
"Oh! Are you?!" I said with some sarcasm.
I wanted to add a few more lines, but decided against saying anything.
I could not endure any more of this conversation, and decided to change the topic.
Going down memory lane I now wish I had carried on on the subject a little more. It just might have helped change Heer's destiny. But then who said I was God? So could I really change anything that happened?
At that point of time however, I had asked my mother:
"What's for lunch?"
But later in the day I had found myself thinking of Heer. Comparing her lifestyle to mine. Comparing her parents to mine. Comparing her family finances to mine. Comparing...Oh! I was fed up with comparing this and comparing that. There were no grounds for comparison at all. After all what was common between her and me except that both our fathers worked for the same company and we belonged to the same religion. Of course if this really mattered.
Heer belonged to a modest rural South Indian family, though her name Heer could make people think she was more of a Punjabi perhaps. But its the beauty of Mumbai that every culture is simple and purely Indian here. And Heer was born in Mumbai, so she was technically not a South Indian. But that debate can be laid to rest at least as of now.
I was telling about Heer's family and mine. Her parents were barely educated. Ashfak Ahmed, her father worked as a senior mechanic in the company where my father was an engineer. Heer's mother Amna Bano could not tell an English alphabet from an Urdu one, while my mother was a post graduate in English literature.
Both my parents belonged to affluent, urban North India. It was my mother's amicable nature and her love for all of God's creations that she never made any issues with a person's position, rank or financial status. Therefore Amna Bano visited our house like any other friend of my mother. But Ashfak Ahmad never entered the house beyond the verandah.
As we grew older, Heer's visits to my place became more frequent, and then routinely a daily ritual. She would come to my place almost every evening, bring tea for me, iron my clothes, polish my shoes, help my mom in the kitchen, tend to plants in the garden. She would also often ask my help in her studies. She was a good student, but Math and English were her weakness.
Before a match could be found for Heer, my admission to the course I had applied for abroad was confirmed and the visa came along pretty soon too. I left for a foreign land soon after, my eyes filled with the dreams of a bright future, forgetting Heer and least caring about what her future would be.
Heer wrote to me just once. She told me that she missed me and that her studies had suffered a setback in my absence. But she said she went to my house as usual to help my mom. I replied advising her to take my mother's help in English at least.
II
That was the only communication we had in three years. When I came back home in a break, and Heer did not come even to meet me, I asked mom about her.
And got the shock of my life!
Mom informed me that Heer was married within six months of my going away.
"And you didn't tell me this before!"
I could not hear myself, but could feel my whole being burning with anger. Mom reminded me that I was shouting loudly. But did I care? I repeated my question with much the same anguished passion, to which my Mom did not take well. She showed her resentment as she cried out, looking rather suspiciously:
"Was it such an important matter? Her family was already discussing her marriage when you were here. I didn't know you would be so concerned!"
There were some quiet moments before I spoke. This time measured my words well, not to sound too offensive to Mom as I asked,
"But you should have stopped it Mom..."
"Why...may I know...why do you think I should have poked my nose in their matters?" She asked caustically.
"Mom! How can positive changes come about in a society where people in authority do not dare to call a spade a spade?!"
"Listen Son! I'm not here to change the world. I do my bit to help the poor, but I cannot take charge of their lives...and you might as well understand that speeches are okay at public platforms, but in life speeches don't provide you with solutions. You cannot shun the customs...and for a girl to get married in a good house is very important specially in the kind of community that Heer belongs to."
Mom had surprised me: I could see her double standards!
I thought: Is the world really so bad, specially for a girl? But I said as politely as I could:
"Well its good if she has got a good husband. What does he do?"
"Why are you so interested in her life Arman? Just let her be, she's happy. I know. She was glowing with her new-found love the last time she had come."
"Where does she live now?"
"Hyderabad. And if you must know, her husband has a grocery business." Mom said benevolently, then left the room asking me to join her and Papa for dinner in half an hour.
During my one month stay I did not get to meet Heer. She was in Hyderabad. I did not ask any more about her. But I did miss her very much. Nothing seemed right: even the tea and food had lost their flavour. I could feel her presence everywhere around me. And one day at the dinner table when I mentioned that the food had lost its flavour, Papa thoughtfully opined:
"Hmmm...it seems you have developed a taste for food from overseas!"
Mom agreed.
But I knew where the taste had vanished. And yet I would not admit I loved her.
Strange are the ways in which a man fools himself.
III
It was an unusually cold evening in Mumbai. I had just got back home for good. Had decided to work in India and stay with the family rather than divide the three member family into two continents! I realized how easy it is to make one's parents happy. With me coming back home my parents had apparently started weaving their dreams of playing with their grand children already!
I had this hugely boring task of unpacking. But was postponing it since the time I had come. The evening breeze was good, but the sea seemed to have rotted.
Was it ominous?
The door bell rang. I heard some voices, but did not go out to see. Was sure that some of Mom's friends must be visiting. There was an unprecedented rush since I had come. Everyone wanted to meet me, the eligible bachelor!
I was staring into the sea, but did not miss the soft flip-flap undoubtedly of someone's feet coming close to me. And then heard the sweet voice that was so familiar. It seemed coming from a deep pit though.
"How are you?" She was asking me.
I turned around. She was right there before me. So close, I could feel the fragrance of her breath. She smiled.
But I was stupefied.
The woman staring at me was a skeleton. I could count her bones and trace the path of her veins and arteries without much effort. Her sari was very ordinary, her jewellery was all cheap and artificial, except possibly the mangal sutra, her complexion had paled so much that she actually looked fair. Her hair was no longer thick and shimmering. Her lips were dry and cracked. The smile that she still had on her face must ironically be causing her much pain, I thought.
And then I looked into her eyes. I can never forget them. Her eyes had lost the sparkle, but they had retained their vocality. Those large eyes in contrast to the deathly expression in them, spoke volumes. I felt like a criminal. Her eyes were accusing me of having cheated on her. Of being responsible for whatever her condition was. I don't know how long I kept on gazing at her in shock.
She spoke again:
"How are you?"
She was never much of a speaker. It was always her eyes that did most of the talking. So these three words meant at least thirty. She wanted to know everything about me. After all we had met after eight long years!
What was I to tell her. I was doing fine. Had a great job, good health, nice house...not a worry in the world.
But could I say the same about her? It was in fact she who should be telling what went so wrong with her. The last time I had come Mom had told me that Heer was "glowing with her new-found love"!
Where had the glow vanished? And I had once thought God had made her so sturdy, she never even had a seasonal cough and cold.
I tried to sound very casual as I replied to her query:
"I'm good, Heer...and how have you been? Missed you the last time I was in India."
She said nothing. Just looked at me. Her eyes said:
"Are you blind, Arman? Can't you see how I am?"
I tried to fake a smile, because actually I was very pained and had absolutely no urge to smile, as I asked my next question:
"I think its been eight years since you got married...how many children?"
"Four!" She said lowering her eyes, so that I could not read the expression in them. But did I really need to read her eyes now?
We talked for a while. I did not comment on her haggard looks, though she looked extremely ill. Nor did I pose questions about her marriage. Her initial hesitation gave way to an air of ease. She spoke slowly, softly and yet I could hear the screams of her pain. I had never heard her talk so much. She could have gone on forever I thought had her mother not come in to tell her it was time to go back home.
She did not say good-bye, just lowered her eyes and sealed her lips once again.
Her mother smiled dryly before retreating.
I lost my appetite that night. Did not have my dinner. I wanted to get drunk and get lost. Forget everything. But honestly I had never even smoked a cigarette, let alone drinking. Called up a doctor friend and asked him for the safest tranquilizer.
Morning was lazy. I got up very late. Mom had to go out. So she was not home when I got up. I just strolled around the house. It looked haunted. Just like Heer. She looked haunted too. Suddenly I felt nauseated. Perhaps it was my stomach yelling for a morsel. But I did not feel like eating. I went back to my room. Heer's face from last evening looking sick and pathetic kept pestering me.
My mobile rang. It was Mom.
She said:
"Beta! I had this very important meeting at the society office. Have prepared your breakfast. Its kept in the microwave, dear! I hope you've eaten and are fine too. You slept too long dear...I was worried. But your Papa said its perfectly fine and that you need to relax and rest and be at ease." She pause to breathe I think, and then continued, "so I did not wake you up."
"I'm fine Mom..Yes may be Papa is right, I'm a bit tired after all the travelling and hectic schedules. Need to take things easy."
I did not want to disturb her with my worries just yet. Would talk to her in detail about Heer when she got home, I thought. So I told her,
"Mom! you carry on...don't bother about me..."
"Yes! You are a mature young man now, touch wood!"
I could almost see her smiling with contented pride.
I took a hot shower, changed into a casual T-shirt and jeans and went out. It was becoming difficult to stay in the house with memories. I was not used to living in the past. But it was my past with Heer that kept coming back. I steered the car out of the gate and drove to her house, a two room flat in one of the nondescript middle class localities near Asia's biggest slum township of Dharavi.
There was a lock at the door.
Neighbours informed that the family had gone to the hospital.
It was difficult for me to drive back home. I did not want to go home. Mom had held back too much from me I thought. So I drove to my very good friend Rakesh's place. I had hogged on two chicken sandwiches already and was about to take a sip of the steaming hot coffee when I got a call from Mom.
I told her I was at Rakesh's place, my stomach was full and that I would be home by evening.
I thought of discussing Heer's issue with Rakesh. Her neighbour had informed me that Heer was very ill and has been coming since the past one year for check-ups and treatment. I was not prepared for such a completely unexpected piece of information. It numbed my senses. It was only after a while that I had decided to go to Rakesh's place instead of returning to my own.
IV
At the hospital I met the doctor treating Heer. He informed me that she was suffering from blood cancer.
That I was shocked is an understatement, but I do not have any better words to express my feelings. I tried to hide my tears covering my face with my palms.
It was after quite sometime that I could speak in a voice that trembled in fear. I had no idea what the doctor will say in answer to a question that I was going to ask. But very ominously, I did not expect anything good from him.
"How bad is it?"
"I'm a doctor, but even as a human being, I'm an optimist by nature, so lets not give up hope."
So many words...but not a word meant anything to me, except confirming my worst fears.
Heer's days were numbered.
I wondered how her parents had come to terms with her condition and how much of the truth did they know, specially her mother...and did Heer herself know what was going to happen to her. I was heading towards her ward with heavy steps, not knowing how to face her. I hoped none of them would ask me any questions about my conversation with the doctor.
An anguished indifference in my eyes must have showed itself. It was as if nothing mattered now. I had my hands tied and I would have to bear the pain of seeing Heer helplessly bowing to her fate and withering away like a bunch of chrysanthemums brutally pulled away from its plant and thrown away in the heap of unwanted refuse. Her parents were to blame for her fate. Or could I blame the social pressure that comes in the form of traditions and customs. But could I have played a role too in Heer's life getting to where it had got, and why was I accusing customs and tradition...had I done anything at all to better the situation?
As we got talking in the hospital corridor Ashfak Ahmad, his face pale and eyes red with lack of sleep described the past. The manner in which Heer had been married. I heard it in patience and wondered if humiliation of a more worse order could be found and why do parents who vouch that the reason for their existence is the welfare of their children can stoop so low just to uphold some outdated rubbish societal norms, marriage being one of them.
The match had been suggested by a relative. The boy, Sattar, was not employed. His educational qualification was nothing much to speak of, may be he had done his class five from an Urdu primary school. There were some siblings to be cared for. The source of income of the boy's family mainly was from the pension of his late father. Hence the mediator pointed out that if Ashfak Ahmed could provide a sum of money enough for the boy to start a small business, Heer could be married to him.
I thought aloud and muttered to myself:
"Actually "married" is a wrong word here. There was no marriage:it was clearly business, barter system transaction..."
Asfak Ahmed was silent for a while trying to comprehend if I was accusing him of some wrong-doing. Then he continued:
"I did my best. Gave the boy whatever he asked for, so that my daughter would have a happy married life. For some months it was all nice too. My wife and I were very happy for Heer."
Swallowing his saliva to keep the tears away he went on:
"But it was not going to last forever. Soon I could feel that Heer was uneasy about something. Her visits here started decreasing. Her health started deteriorating. And then whenever she came there was a long list of demands from her mother-in-law. Then on a visit about two years back, she was unusually silent and irritable. After much probing she burst out crying uncontrollably for a long time."
Ashfak Ahmed paused. he tried to wet his dry lips with his tongue. Then looked around. I offered him some water from the bottle I was carrying. He looked at me so gratefully as if I had given him a lease of life! His silence stretched a bit longer than I had expected. So I asked,
"What was wrong with Heer then...you were telling me something...?"
He spoke tearfully, voice trembling in pain. He said:
"Heer told us that Sattar was planning to remarry!"
I was very pained. What could be the pretext I wondered.
And Ashfak Ahmed seemed to have read my mind as he said:
"My daughter had been a devoted wife, a caring daughter-in-law, a doting mother of two sons and two daughters. So what was the reason Sattar wanted to remarry? I was fulfilling all their demands too. But the inhuman don't need a pretext. I never asked him why he wanted to remarry. But he started making life more difficult for Heer by each passing day...and see what happened...I'm going to loose her forever, while Sattar will remarry."
I was thinking why do people really marry. I agree women many a times do not have a say. They are slave-like for most of their lives. So they have no choice. But why do men marry...?
A sarcastic smile took over my dead-pan face as I thought of the answer to my question. Did I really not know why men married? And then I remembered Heer's children
"And the children?! Won't he think about them?!" I asked.
"Arman Baba! Do you think he is that humane?"
I had no answer to that. But there was a question in my mind: How humane was I myself?
And how would it matter now if I did confess at least to myself that I loved Heer.
V
I knew it was hot and sultry outside. I could see the temperature of the day on my computer monitor. Sitting in my air conditioned plush office I was thinking about Heer. She had gone back after the treatment. She had become very weak. How long would she survive? The thought of Heer going away, the thought that I would never see her again numbed my heart.
"God! You had made her real sturdy!" But something went wrong.
I wanted to take back all my words of wanting to be left alone by her, if that could blow an air of life into her dying system. I had talked to several of my doctor friends in India and abroad and sent Heer's reports to them. Their replies had cast more gloom.
But the world does not stop. My mother was searching a bride for me. I did not know how to put a stop to her efforts. Marriage for me had become a dirty word. But how would Mom ever understand ? Sitting there in the office I was getting restless. The silence seemed to be devouring my peace. Was it the menacing quiet before a storm? A premonition to something I was scared of but knew it was coming anyway.
It was almost lunch time. I had no appetite...not even the routine empty stomach calling out for a grub. I got up from my chair and looked out of the wide glass window. The clutter of life was as usual. How I wished it was not too late for everything to become normal for me too. But I knew my world would never be the same. I could fully understand what it meant to "cry over spilled milk"...the helplessness was so complete I felt like killing myself.
It was difficult to go on like that. So I decided to home. I told my assistant that since I was not well and was going home I would appreciate if I'm not disturbed.
It seemed a herculean drive, which I had no motivation to undertake. But then what was I to do. Surprisingly I started walking out of the parking lot and out on the road. In my business suit it must have looked rather outlandish. But was I going to care about what the world thought?
I was very tired. Had roamed aimlessly through the afternoon. There was hardly any energy left for walking any more. So I took a taxi and gave the driver my home address.
I think I had passed out as soon as I sat on the rear seat. The driver had to shake me vigourously to bring me back to my senses. I was tired. My body was aching badly. How I wished I didn't have to walk up to the lift. Just wanted to reach home and get some sleep.
The maid opened the door for me. I went straight to my room. She followed me.
"Chhotay saheb, can I bring some tea for you?" She asked.
"No" I replied. She went back to her work. I went in to the bathroom, had a hot shower and came out feeling much better. There was not a thought in my mind except my fatigue and pain.
I heard the door bell.
There was not a sound. The maid must have opened the door. But then what happened. Why was it so quiet. Had anything gone wrong? I walked out of the room anxiously to see what was happening. In the hall I saw Mom sitting in her rocking chair, resting her head, eyes closed, her bag kept on the floor. The maid came out of the kitchen by now with a glass of water.
"Madam!" She said softly, placing the tray before her. There were some biscuits and medicines too there.
I was worried. Where was Mom when I came home...and was she unwell?
"Mom! what's all this? Where were you...are you not well?!"
Her face was pale, and her energy seemed completely drained out. She was wearing a white starched cotton sari that had crumpled showing she had been out for quite long and had been working rather hard. She took a deep look at me. Tears welled up in her eyes. She took her medicine and asked me how had I been...and more so where had I been. She said she had been trying to talk to me since the afternoon.
"Why?" I asked.
And heard that something which I shuddered to hear and with all of my preparation I was still not prepared to hear:
"Heer..."
I held my breath silently. So its all over...
"Heer went away...finally all her troubles are over!" She said as I stood still like a statue.
I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I was blank.
And then my lips moved.
I could not live with confining it to just myself anymore. Someone very close to me had to know what I was going through.
I said:
"I loved her Mom!"
And then I broke down uncontrollably.
The sea had certainly rotted.
Now years later, I am in total control of myself. I do not need to remember Heer everyday because she has always been a part of me and she is there within me. In every little cell of my body. I took time to realise this. And lost her, in her physical presence. But the sense of loss and the pain of her going away has made me a strong individual.
And above all I now know that love is not just liking someone and marrying that person.
It is much more. And even in loss, love is a very fulfilling experience in every which way one looks at it.
