Room in our Hearts and Other Stories Read online

  ‘It seems good luck finally dawned on you.’

  ‘Sir, it will not dawn in the true sense until…’ He looked at me with intense expectation and entreaty followed by a long, cold sigh, a transparent veil of sadness spreading over his face. I wished I could lift it with a sleight of hand and replace it with one of sublime happiness. What was the harm in prescribing a placebo and giving him hope rather than bluntly telling him that I had no remedy for his problem? Placebos are like amulets and charms that people obtain from holy men as succour for their woes. They sustain faith and instil hope—the necessary stimuli to fight adversity, be it material, physical or psychological.

  His face lit up with gratitude when I wrote the prescription and handed it over to him.

  A couple of years later, I was surprised to find an infant in Ramu’s lap. I was in a hurry but I couldn’t help stopping my car to feed my curiosity.

  ‘What a sweet kid. Whose child is he?’

  ‘Mine, sir,’ he beamed proudly. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t visit you to pay my respects and thank you for prescribing that medicine. My wife conceived within just a few weeks after I started taking it. But she had a difficult confinement all through the nine months that kept us all on tenterhooks. Had it not been for Raju I don’t know what I would have done. She had a difficult labour, which resulted in an emergency operation. Thank God, she survived and gave me this kid. I am no longer the butt of ridicule in the shopping community and my wife is spared the disgrace of being a barren woman. Sir, my greatest wish has been granted. What more do I want?’

  ‘You really are lucky.’

  ‘God’s grace, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘Look, he has got beautiful curly hair,’ I said nonchalantly but regretted it soon after.

  His benign smile froze halfway, his colour changed, his lips quivered lightly as he muttered, ‘Who knows it better than you, sir.’ Then, looking at me with a deep sadness in his eyes, his face assumed the pleading expression that has become his trademark whenever I drive by his shop and wave at him.

  ‘Yes, I know. God works in mysterious ways. Take care of your son; he is precious,’ I said, pinching the kid’s cheek playfully.

  THE PLEDGE

  On a cold December morning, a family of four trooped inside my consulting chamber.

  ‘Salaam, Jenab,’ Gulam Rasool addressed me animatedly. He was a rather curious-looking, thickset chap, a white skullcap on his round head, and sparse facial hair overly compensated for by a long goatee and a hefty moustache.

  ‘Salaam,’ I reciprocated.

  Introducing his wife Zareena and daughter Ruby he said, ‘We have come from Kashmir for your consultation; just a routine check-up for all, but a closer look at Ruby. She had a new lease of life recently. I would rather you start with her. She is the youngest of my three children, also the dearest.’

  Ruby was around 25; her round pinkish face didn’t seem to suggest any serious illness in the recent past. She was holding the hand of Mehdita, her three-year-old daughter who cradled a doll in her arm and blew bubbles with chewing gum.

  Gulam Rasool owned paddy fields and ran a lumber mill at Danter, a village 50 kilometres south of Srinagar. Early November, after the paddy had been harvested and stored away in barns, Ruby’s brother paid her a call to invite her home for a family get-together. He found her suffering from a fever, headache and sore legs. Much against the wishes of her in-laws who thought it improper to send a sick daughter-in-law to her parental home, he prevailed and came back with Ruby and her daughter.

  Ruby was warmly received along with little Mehdita. Her parents were upset to find her flush with fever and shaking with chills. Her older sister, Jawahira, had already arrived from her in-laws’. She helped her to the living room and offered a thick woollen blanket and kangri to keep her warm. Mother Zareena quickly cooked her special meal of ground haakh, lamb stew and tomato soup, but she had no appetite and merely sipped half a cup. After dinner, the family sat long into the evening, chatting and reminiscing about old times when the two sisters were as little as Mehdita.

  By 11 in the evening, Ruby felt a shade better and was eager to go to bed. They accompanied her to the bedroom to bid her good night but she pleaded with her parents to share the room with her for the night. She said she had a strange premonition and would like them to be close to her. They readily agreed and spread their mattresses on either side of their daughter.

  At about midnight, Ruby called out her father. He woke up with a startle.

  ‘Father, I am sinking; I have very little time left. Come give me your hand and make me a promise,’ she spoke feverishly.

  Gulam Rasool was alarmed. ‘Don’t speak like that, my child.’

  ‘Come, give me your hand,’ she repeated. Her voice was quivering, she was hot and sweating.

  Nervous and confused, he extended his trembling hand to her. She grasped it tight. ‘Promise me you will take care of Mehdita after I am gone. Promise me you will send her to a good school and provide her the best education. Promise me you will marry her into a decent family. Promise me...’ She spoke frantically, clasping his hand tighter, not letting go.

  ‘It seems you have had a nightmare, my darling daughter. Please don’t frighten me with your silly talk. Calm down, everything will be fine, Inshallah.’

  ‘Father, they are tugging at my heart; they are dragging me away. I don’t have much time left.’

  He felt her brow. It was hot and burning. ‘It is nothing but high fever. You will get better before the night is over. Come, let me give you some cold sponges.’

  Zareena woke up, puzzled at the scene, her ruddy cheeks creasing deeper, large grey flocks flowing down on her face from under her head scarf. She held Ruby’s hand and started rubbing it gently, addressing her endearingly, ‘Fear not, my darling; you will recover sooner than you know. We are all here for you.’

  ‘My feet are lifeless. Numbness is spreading up my legs. My life is ebbing away...’

  Gulam Rasool felt her feet. They were cold and wet. He asked her to wiggle her toes; she could barely do it. He asked her to lift her legs; she could only make a feeble movement at the hips. Suddenly he was seized with the fear that his daughter had already lost all sensation in the lower half of her body and that death was creeping up fast, ready to gobble her up. He was choked with grief, his eyes misty, his voice husky. ‘You are not going anywhere; you are too young to die. I will give everything, even my life, to save you, my little one.’ He helped her sit up and recline against her mother, and shouted for her sister in the next room.

  Jawahira rushed inside. She started crying.

  ‘This is my farewell to you, my family. I am on my final journey; please don’t weep over me. Father, we will meet again in Kaba. Promise me, you will meet me there.’

  ‘Ruby, I will not let you go,’ he stuttered nervously. ‘You are so young, so unfulfilled. You can’t die while your parents are still alive.’

  ‘They are pulling me away, father. They are…’

  ‘We will stop them. Yes, I will stop them at any cost,’ he promised her and, then, to Zareena and Jawahira, ‘It is time to bind the family into a vow.’

  Mother and daughter stared incomprehensibly at him.

  ‘Vow?’ asked Zareena.

  ‘A pledge. Pledge of charity,’ he explained.

  ‘Do whatever is in your command; save my daughter at any cost.’

  ‘Let’s pledge the ornaments you are wearing, both of you,’ he suggested.

  They took off their jewellery—gold bangles, earrings and necklaces—committing it all.

  He placed the items under Ruby’s pillow. ‘Look how much they love you; you can’t disappoint them.’

  ‘The lots have been drawn, father. My name has already come up to meet my maker.’

  ‘We will stop them. I will sacrifice a sheep.’

  ‘There is no way for me to escape.’

  ‘But you are so young, so innocent,’ father agonised; ‘you have not harmed a fly all you
r life.’

  ‘It is my turn, father; I am going…’

  ‘You have been a model daughter. You have been a faithful wife, an excellent mother, an obedient daughter-in-law. How can it be your turn?’

  ‘I have served my father-in-law and my mother-in-law with devotion. But I have not found anyone who can take the place of my parents. I have been true to my husband, but no one loves you more than your father.’

  ‘You are very generous, dear daughter.’

  ‘Promise me, father, that you will be Mehdita’s guardian; that she will grow in your care.’

  ‘I promise you, but you are not going, not at any cost.’

  ‘It is time to say khuda hafiz.’

  ‘I will sacrifice two sheep,’ he said. ‘What is all the wealth for, if you can’t save your loved one?’

  ‘After I am gone, you may let Mehdita visit her father sometimes, but she must live with you.’

  ‘Three sheep, I promise.’

  ‘They are tugging at my legs.’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘I am fainting.’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Life is ebbing away from me, father.’

  The stakes went on rising. The count reached nine. He would not let his beloved daughter die without trying everything at his command.

  ‘Go get the mulch cow from the shed,’ he asked his son who had been aroused by his mother and was still rubbing sleep off his eyes.

  The son got the cow and tied it to the door handle. It mooed aloud, piercing the silence of the night. The calf in the shed bellowed after its mother.

  ‘Go get the calf too; it must be feeling lonely and frightened.’

  The calf ran to his mother and started tugging at her teats.

  ‘Did you hear the cow’s lowing, daughter? I give her in your name. I hope that will settle the issue.’

  ‘Father, how can you? The whole village eyes her with envy. She is so dear to you all; she yields 12 litres of quality milk each day.’

  ‘She is not more precious than you.’

  Gulam Rasool would not leave anything to chance to save the life of his daughter. He asked his son to phone pir Gyasudin. The pir’s grandson picked up the phone. ‘Grandfather is sleeping,’ he said in irritation.

  ‘Please gently knock at his door. Tell him it is Gulam Rasool. There is an important communication for him. It is urgent.’

  The family pir was on the line, annoyed at having been disturbed at that unearthly hour. But on hearing about the pledge, he commiserated, ‘I am sorry to hear about Ruby. It is a great sawab, indeed, to give away so much in charity for the sake of your daughter. Take her at once to the hospital; I will come over in the morning. Meanwhile, I will put in a special prayer for her. She will recover, Inshallah.’

  ‘Pir Gyasudin is going to invoke the Prophet’s blessings for you. You are going to be fine,’ Gulam Rasool consoled his daughter.

  Ruby went into a trance and stopped speaking. Terror-stricken, they carried her to the car and drove to the hospital.

  It was two in the morning. Dr Zahoor, a cheery young man, examined her and comforted the distraught family. ‘She is delirious with high fever. The flu season is on; we have had a spate of cases for a fortnight now. She should start improving in a couple of days.’

  ‘Doctor, please do your best to save her life. She has a baby daughter.’

  The doctor set up an intravenous line, gave her a shot of a tranquiliser and started her on antibiotics. He returned to his room and turned on the music on his cellphone —soothing Sufi music that floated gently into the ward and settled softly on the ears of patients and their attendants.

  In an hour, he came back to check on Ruby.

  ‘Is she making any progress, doctor?’ Zareena asked.

  ‘I am doing my best. The specialist will be here in the morning and I will get a second opinion.’

  ‘Is Ruby in a trance, sleeping or unconscious?’ Gulam Rasool pondered, as he sat by her bed, holding her hand, watching her face settle into a calm expression. Weary from the anxiety and exertion, he dozed off. When he awoke, it was dawn and the doctor was examining Ruby again.

  ‘How is she, doctor?’ he asked impatiently.

  ‘Please don’t worry; I feel she is already out of danger.’

  Gulam Rasool kissed his hands. ‘You are an angel, doctor. I will never forget your kindness. I will repay it many times over.’

  ‘You don’t have to. I did nothing out of the ordinary, just my routine duty.’

  ‘In the process, you have purchased my loyalty.’

  The specialist arrived at 10. He said Ruby was afflicted with a nasty flu but he hoped she would recover fully. Since she had grown quite weak, he would like to keep her under observation in the hospital for a couple of days.

  ‘Is she really going to make it?’ Gulam Rasool asked anxiously, not yet fully believing the doctor.

  ‘Certainly, yes,’ said the specialist.

  ‘Oh, thank you. She was dying. Dr Zahoor must have told you. It was his valiant efforts that helped her turn the corner. And I made a pledge as well.’

  ‘Pledge?’

  ‘A pledge of charity for the sake of our daughter.’

  An enigmatic smile played on the specialist’s lips as he moved on to examine other patients. By then, the ponderous pir Gyasudin arrived with his acolytes. He sat on a stool by Ruby’s bedside, held her hand with requisite gravitas and closed his eyes in silent prayer. Fishing out an amulet from his pocket, he tied it around her biceps and recited Koranic verses in his guttural voice that drew the attention of everyone in the ward. Gulam Rasool conveyed him the details of the pledges he had made for his daughter’s recovery and sought his guidance. The pir gave it good thought. As a first step, he directed Gulam Rasool to arrange three sheep to be sacrificed in the hospital backyard the next day.

  Ruby spent a relatively restful night; her fever was settling down and the aches fast subsiding. The sheep were brought around noon; the pir oversaw the ceremony of sacrifice and consecrated the mutton before it was distributed to the patients, their attendants and hospital staff. Large chunks were sent to the residences of Dr Zahoor and the specialist.

  Ruby was discharged on the third day. She came home to a grand welcome. Her in-laws arrived with gifts. The following week, a festive ceremony was held. Five more sheep were sacrificed. The whole village was invited. Eleven pirs from the neighbouring villages, under the tutelage of pir Gyasudin, read the khatime sharief to the accompaniment of recitations. The butchers made merry culling the animals one by one as they bleated pathetically, raising their wail to the skies of Danter. People raised their hands to the sky, palms turned up in gratitude to the almighty who had granted fresh lease to a precious life. Nothing was beyond that great power that ruled from the heavens and sent the Prophet to save humanity. Everyone sang the pir’s praises. They marvelled at Gulam Rasool’s abiding affection for his daughter. He had set an example for all to follow.

  The last sheep was sacrificed at the shrine of Reshmool Sahib in Anantnag. Ten kilograms of halwa were cooked and distributed to family, friends and relatives who had assembled, and to the pirs and the shrine attendants. Alms were distributed to beggars.

  The sacrifice complete as per the pledge, there was consensus in the family to escape the rigors of winter to visit Jammu for a change and give Ruby a chance to recuperate fully.

  That is how Ruby found herself in my consulting chamber.

  Fondling his beard, Gulam Rasool pleaded again, ‘Doctor Sahib, now you know all the details. Kindly check her up thoroughly. She is fragile, but more precious to me than my life. I can’t bear to see her ill another time. Her near-death experience still haunts me and I don’t want even its shadow pass her way. She wouldn’t have been here had it not been for the pledge and the pir’s prayers and exertions.’

  ‘Not the doctors who treated her?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course, jenab; who can deny that. But you see, it was a lost case until I got the co
w and the calf into the picture.’

  ‘Did you give the cow away?’ I asked. He had not mentioned it.

  ‘No, we did not.’

  ‘Do you mean you reneged on your pledge by not fulfilling it fully?’

  ‘I would not entertain such a thought even in my wildest dreams. Ruby’s in-laws said they would like to keep the cow and pay me the price.’

  ‘Did you agree?’

  ‘I could not have displeased them.’

  ‘You found out the price?’

  ‘We got a rough estimate—Rs 16,000.’

  ‘Did they pay up?’

  ‘Well, we finally decided that we would not accept the money from our daughter’s in-laws. We gave them the cow for free, and the calf too. It could not have survived without its mother.’

  ‘Sounds like you still backed out of part of your pledge.’

  ‘Jenab, that is out of the question. Ruby is dearer to me than all the wealth in the world. I entrusted ₹16,000 with pir Gyasudin before we came here. He shall disburse it fairly in various donations.’

  ‘I hope he does.’

  ‘He has been doing it ever since I remember. He said he would distribute half the sum among widows and orphans, and donate the rest to the shrine of Dastgeer Sahib.’

  ‘What about the jewellery that your wife and daughter committed?’

  ‘We have deposited the jewellery as well with the pir.’

  I looked at him in disbelief. ‘You seem to have invested heavily in the pir’s trust.’

  ‘Jenab, he is a celebrated pir. I am sure he will handle everything skilfully. Besides, no sacrifice is too great for a precious daughter. Don’t you agree?’

  I had no reason not to. I geared up to examine his precious daughter.

  NOTES

  sawab – an act of piety

  khatime sharief – giving thanks

  pir – a Muslim priest or holy man