After an hour in the room Lally was beginning to get bored. What should she do? No one had turned up—no officers, no investigators. She understood this strategy. They were trying to break her by keeping her alone. Psychological warfare. She smiled to herself. She need not react. She must keep her calm. At that moment there was a sound outside her door. It opened and two men in uniform appeared. Lally was ready for the kill.
“You bloody dogs. Do you not know that even if you enter the room of your sister you must knock first and ask for permission to enter? Before I break your heads with my bare hands, you get lost.”
The two men were taken aback; this was a real fighter. One of them managed to say, “You are our prisoner and you cannot dictate terms.”
“Why can’t I dictate terms? You bastard,do you talk like this to your sister or your mother? Has your mother not taught you this basic thing, that women, whether captive or free, are women and should be respected?”
The two men could not continue under this barrage; they just turned and closed the door behind them. Lally had begun to come into her own. The word quickly spread in the interrogation center that the lady had nerves of steel. For the next three days Col Sharma tried everything— cajoling, persuading, threatening but to no avail. On the 4th day he relented and informed Lally that her baby would be brought to her during the day but she could not keep it for more than a few hours. However, he promised that the baby would be with her everyday as long as she cooperated, and once the interrogation was over, she could have her baby permanently. To this she agreed and within a few hours her baby was brought and handed over to her. She held him close to her bosom and showered all her love on him. Even officers accompanying the baby could not resist shedding a tear or two in silence. When the officers had gone and closed the door behind them, she unbuttoned her shirt and putting her hand inside she brought out a breast and positioned the nipple at the infant’s mouth. “Oh my darling baby, you must be hungry, feed on my love, suckle my milk—drink mybloodfor you are the hope—my future.”
But the baby just shied away turning its little head sideways. The mother panicked.
“Come on my son, my darling my love have it, you must be hungry.”
And with her free hand she turned the baby’s head and again positioned his lips near her eager nipples. She could see drops of milk dribbling out but the baby looked uninterested.
“Come my son…come my Nund, do not shy away from me—I am your mother…come my shy little boy.”
At this the baby opened its little mouth and grabbing her waiting nipple began to suck.
After two hours the officers appeared again and demanded the baby but Lally refused. She would not part with her baby. No law, no rule in any rule book could keep her away from her baby, whom she needed and who needed her. But the officers reminded her of the agreement and finally Lally had to give in. As the officers departed carrying the infant, Lally burst out sobbing. The steel in her appeared to melt away, and Col Sharma walked in escorting his ace interrogators. They thought this was the right time. She would break. But as soon as she saw the three of them she wiped her tears, willed the steel in her back, and flatly refused to answer any queries or to furnish any information regarding her outfit. Col Sharma sternly reminded her that as per the agreement the baby would be brought to her only in case she cooperated; to this Lally with a straight face declared that she no longer wanted the child. Col Sharma was totally flabbergasted. He had pinned all his hopes on the fact that Lally the mother could break Lally the tigress. He simply walked away from the room.
Later that evening the top brass analyzed the events and came to the conclusion that the baby still held the keys to Lally’s locked mouth. But now it was resolved to use the baby in a different way.
Next day, Lally lying on her cot suddenly jumped up on hearing a baby cry. She reasoned that it was in the adjoining room and the baby continued to cry. Her intuition told her that it was her baby who was being tortured into crying in the next room. The persistent crying went on and on and finally Lally crossed the threshold of her patience. She began to sob, then she cried, she shouted, she shrieked; like a mad women she clawed at her face, beat her breast and tore her hair. She thumped at the wall, knocked her head against it, but nothing happened. The baby cried on.
After ages it suddenly stopped and Lally too became quiet.She lay there listless and still, fearing that any movement she made would again make her baby cry. Then quietly the door opened and in came the interrogators. One of them softly spoke to her. “We believe the lady wants to talk now.” As soon as she heard him, she spun around rising up in a single move, her arms flung around him and her hands went for his throat. He was taken by surprise. His other companion tried to intervene. Lally gave him a kick in his groin.He doubled up with pain and Lally clawed at his throat. Some men immediately rushed in and went for her, separated the interrogator and brought her down. She continued to struggle and shout. “You inhuman beasts, how could you? How could you?” She became incoherent and inaudible. The gush of energy seemed to wane and suddenly the struggling and raging tigress became still.
Ajab Malik and Lassa Khan walked slowly. After having taken leave of Maqbool Dar, they wanted to get as far away as possible from that spot in the woods before morning. They had started descending from the plateau on other side, avoiding the side on which their village lay. It was a full moon night and Lassa Khan was well versed with the area. For quite sometime they walked in total silence, perhaps going over the events of the last few hours in their minds. At last when they had reached smoother ground Lassa Khan broke the silence. “Now tell me where to go?”
“I do not know,” was the short, matter-of-fact reply from Ajab Malik.
“Okay, let me suggest something. Nearby lies a small village, Sharikpur. One of my aunts lives there. We can go there, spend a few days and wait for the news from the village and then plan our next move.”
“Do you think Maqbool will give us away? After all we were in it.” Ajab Malik enquired.
“No, I know him. He won’t open his mouth, and moreover, it was basically his idea. We only collaborated.”
“But we could have said no at any stage, we did not. So we are equally responsible. Look Lassa, I am beginning to feel guilty.”
“Come on, how do you know that they will get Maqbool in the first place. May be he came out just after we left.”
“No Lassa no, I know him. He will not leave his kith and kin to their mercy.”
“Alright! We can talk about this later, for now just tell me, do we go to my aunts place?”
“Yes, as you think proper,” replied Ajab. They began their journey towards Sharikpur. Lassa Khan by way of giving his friend more details began,“Look Ajab, you know why they call it Sharikpur? I will tell you. There is an interesting legend to this. It is said that in good old times one morning the Kashmiris woke up and were shocked to find that they had lost their tongue. Every one of them—each man, woman and child. None could speak a word. They had forgotten each alphabet, each syllable and each word. They could not communicate with each other. They suddenly turned into cattle or sheep. As the entire population woke up to this terrible happening, they came out of their homes and on to the streets. There was a huge procession. Everyone walked in silence, only sobbing with tears rolling down their cheeks, for dumb people can only weep and that too in silence. This huge procession walked towards the grand temple situated on a hillock. Once there the people sat and prostrated in the open courtyard of the temple. Their priests too had lost their tongue and led them in this silent prayer, weeping and sobbing. This went on for a long time and then you know what happened. A Sharika appeared in the blue sky. She flew down and over the crowd. Then she descended on to the vacant space in front of the prostrated crowd. On the ground she wrote with her fine beak all the lost letters of the alphabet they knew. As she engraved the first letter, people saw and remembered and spoke it aloud; then she wrote the second letter and people saw it, remembered and spoke it aloud; then she wrote the third letter; one by one all the letters were written by her, seen and recited by the people. And so in this way the people regained their tongue and they then named the script after the bird—Sharda. This little village where my aunt lives and where we now go is said to be that very place where the letters were engraved.”
Ajab Malik seeing that his friend had concluded said quietly, “Very interesting. That is a great tribute to Sharika.” The two friends continued to walk towards Sharikpur, whose insignificant hutments were beginning to appear in the distance.
An excerpt from Ayaz Rasool Nazki’s book SATISAR, THE VALLEY OF DEMONS published by Vitasta Publishing and the book is available on www.vitastapublishing.com
