As much as I hated to admit it, she did have a point. I had made a promise, and it was for my father. “Okay . . . fine . . . fine! I won’t return until I take Dad’s ashes to Kiratpur. That doesn’t mean that I’m just going to wait around here forever for Ekant to finally decide he’s not a coward.”
“Just do not cause any trouble, please?” she pleaded.
“Yeah, whatever,”
“Esha, take care of yourself. I love you.”
“Bye, Mom,” I said, hanging up. So much for helping me. Now, I really was stuck.
SEVEN
August 1984
The next few weeks were insufferable. I spent the better part of each day just sleeping. The rest of the day was spent reading. At first I went through all three books that I had brought along and read them repeatedly until each chapter and paragraph was embedded in my memory, and I could bear them no longer. Thankfully, before I could tear my hair out or claw at the walls, Jas located a bookstore that carried titles by American authors. The selection was quite decent, and I was able to find enough books to occupy my time. So while I waited for Ekant to give the green light for travel, I dove into the suspense, drama and romance of American culture.
Eventually I expanded my list of activities when I found one of Bhagat’s neglected soccer balls. When I wasn’t reading or sleeping, I focused on my training, using the courtyard as my makeshift field. It was a relief to find something to do during the long, sweltering summer days. I quickly found that I couldn’t visit the rooftop balcony during daylight hours without attracting the curious stares of the strangers who surrounded me. The neighbourhood was disgustingly cluttered and busy. From one roof, you had a front row view of the entire neighbourhood. They could spy on me, just as easily as I could spy on them. It was infuriating at first, but in due course, they grew bored of me. Still, I did my very best to avoid people.
Sumi had become a regular visitor. She came by each day, looking to spend time with me, but I never had much to say to her in return. I mean, what could we possibly have in common? However, Dhadhi insisted that she visit. So she sat quietly and either flipped through her own books as I sat and read my own or watched me train in the courtyard. Our only real exchanges came when we listened to the news.
I listened and watched daily to various news broadcasts in order to monitor the ongoing political situation in Punjab and the surrounding areas. The reports were quite extensive at first. June and July were consumed with protests, police raids and heated discussions between political analysts, government officials and even literary critics. The army maintained a considerable presence in the region and in the Golden Temple Complex. Mass arrests were taking place all over Punjab.
Each day, I desperately sought a report that would give some indication that things were stable or even remotely safe. However, for weeks, there were constant rumblings from the authorities regarding possible Sikh terrorist retaliation following Operation Bluestar. In contrast to those reports were the ones coming from families who complained of wrongful arrests, police beatings and forced disappearances of male Sikhs.
One day Dhadhi returned in tears from one of her daily visits to the local Gurdwara. When I asked her the reason, she revealed that her friend’s fifteen-year-old son had been arrested during a trip to Punjab. He’d been picked up in a small village in the district of Moga. He’d repeatedly cried out, asking for the cause of his arrest, but the police had simply locked him away for five days and beat him regularly. When his mother travelled to the police station demanding answers, she was snubbed. After two days of waiting and refusing to leave the station, the inspectors yelled at her, calling her son a “terrorist”. Eventually, they did set him free.
There was never a trial, not even a formal charge for a crime. He wasn’t booked for anything. Worst of all, Dhadhi revealed that he was no longer able to walk. Five days. In just five days, the police had roughed him up so much that he wouldn’t be able to walk, perhaps for the rest of his life. Ekant used Dhadhi’s tale as a further example of why he was right not to travel. I simply sneered at him as he recounted the story each and every night, explaining that it would be “foolish” to attempt any type of travel outside of the city.
Then, one surprisingly cool August day, it went quiet. There were no reports regarding any agitation in Punjab, the surrounding areas or anywhere, for that matter. Instead the news focused on the future of the congress government, the development measures Prime Minister Gandhi was taking in Delhi, and some western writer who was preparing a biography on her. Entertainment and gossip from Indian cinema became headline news. The following day, all was quiet again on the political front. On the fourth day, I decided to approach Ekant with the idea that it was time to carry out our plans for Kiratpur.
I woke up at the crack of dawn so that I could catch him before he left for work. He had just finished his morning prayers and was sitting down for breakfast when I joined him.
“You’re up early,” he said without even a glance. “I thought you foreigners valued your sleep. What happened? Too hot, is it? Did a lizard crawl into your bed?” As expected, he was indulging in his usual condescension. Today, however, I couldn’t fight back with smart remarks. I needed him to be in a good mood.
“No, no, I just thought I’d join you for breakfast, that’s all,” I replied, attempting a warm smile. When he didn’t reply, I suppressed my angry thoughts reminded myself of why I had to put up with his obnoxious behaviour. I took a long deep breath and concentrated on the task at hand.
“Esha! You are up early today. Is everything okay?” Jas asked as she emerged from the kitchen.
“Yeah, totally. Why is everyone so surprised?”
“You never wake so—”
“Jas, I woke up early and . . . I guess I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I came down to join you for breakfast. No big deal, I can go back upstairs if I’m interrupting something,” I offered, standing up.
“Please, do not be silly. Sit back down. Can I get you some tea?” she asked, changing the subject, much to my delight.
“Yes, please,” I replied, taking my seat opposite Ekant. Once Jas disappeared through the kitchen door, I decided to break the ice with him on a friendlier note. “So, um, how’s business going?” I asked, trying to sound as genuine as possible.
“Fine,” he grumbled.
“Okay. Well, what is it that you do exactly? I mean, I’ve been here for . . . how long? Well June, since June, and I don’t even know what you do.”
“Transport.”
“Transport? Cool. Like what kind of—”
“Trucks, and I also handle distribution,” he said rather curtly.
“Interesting. Does it get busy? I mean, how many people work for you?”
“Enough. Why? Tell me you are not trying to get me to take you along, because that would be rubbish. It’s no place for a girl like you.”
“A girl like me?”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?” I demanded. I was starting to lose my cool.
“You probably never had to work a day in your life. What would you know about hard work? You have probably never gotten grease or dirt on your hands.”
“Those are a lot of assumptions. I’ve spent the past four years working hard for a degree in International Relations. On top of that I follow a very strict and demanding athletic schedule for my soccer training. Living in Canada isn’t a piece of cake either, okay? Everyone works.”
“I am sure that they do, but I am highly doubtful about you,” he said rudely.
“What is your problem?”
“You