I close the window and grope through the dark room to my bed and lie down. There’s nothing at all outside. Afzal was right. Everything is the same outside. Then where has all this taken place?
… “Then where does this smoke come from?”* From where? From inside me? But where am I myself? Here, or there? There in the ruined city? And the ruined city? But I myself am the ruined city. “It’s as if my heart is the city of Delhi.”* When it falls and when a man is destroyed, when sturdy young men become hunchbacks and the keepers of the house tremble. “And when we had obtained your promise that there would be no bloodshed between us, and our own would not be exiled from their own land. Then you swore all this, and you are a witness to it. Then you are the one who murders your own, and exiles a group of your own from the land.”* “You murdered, then you were murdered. You exiled, then you were exiled.”* And then when terrors camped on the roads, and the gates of the streets were closed, and the sound of the grindstone no longer came from the houses, and the cooking stoves grew cold. “And when I was in the Fort of Susa, it happened that Hanani, who was one of my brothers, came, and I asked him about the remnant of the survivors, and also about Jerusalem. He said, ‘The remnant who survived are suffering trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates are destroyed by fire.’”* “Jahanabad is a wasteland. Don’t consider it an exaggeration — all, rich and poor, have left. Those who stayed were forced to leave. The feudal landlords, those with special Company pensions, the rich, the artisans — not one is left. I fear to write the story in detail. The servants of the Red Fort suffer violence, and are caught up in investigations and detentions. I sit in my own house, and cannot go out the door. Someone might come to see me, but who is left in the city? House after house is lightless—‘A river of blood is flowing; if only that were all!’”* Restlessly he stood up, then sat down. In the darkness he strained his eyes to see around him. Where am I? Words said where? By whom? Stories told when? My brain is seething like a cooking-pot over the fire. Then he thought it would be better if he sat down to write in his diary. After all, I never swore to write in my diary only during wartime! And I certainly ought to record in my diary the events of today. He turned the flame of the lantern up higher, and began to write.
DECEMBER 18
… The Red Fort rang with silence. I went to the tomb of Hare-bhare Shah. The mad faqir wasn’t there. I searched for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
Delhi is now a ruined city. “Lanes that were like leaves from a painter’s album”* have been laid waste. So many leaves have blown away with the wind, so many others have been utterly erased. So many houses are lightless, reduced to rubble.
… I left this desolation and set out on the road to Lucknow. When I arrived near that city, I heard that the city had been turned upside down, and Navab Hazrat Mahal had left the city along with her devoted companions and set out for the forests of Nepal. The English army was pursuing her. Hunters stalked her like dogs, sniffing for her scent from city to city, forest to forest. I was astonished. What had the queen been thinking of, not to surrender? I grieved over the queen’s imprudence and went on.
Passing by Jhansi, I asked a traveler, “Brother! Is there any news of Jhansi?” He replied sorrowfully, “The Maharani gave her life on the battlefield. Jhansi’s game is over.”
I went on. I passed by so many cities. I found every city in disorder. I saw that every post lay unguarded. There was very little water in the Narbada, I crossed the river easily. When I crossed it and went on, I found dense forest.
A MEETING WITH TANTIYA TOPI
… Passing through the forest, I ran into Tantiya Topi. In this dense frightening forest he seemed like a lion in a thicket. I respectfully told him how things were in the cities.
“Delhi has already fallen.”
“So what?” he answered carelessly.
“Lucknow too has been overthrown.”
“So what?”
“The Rani of Jhansi has been killed. Jhansi is done for.”
“So what?”
“India has lost the war.”
“So what?”
“Now there’s no point in fighting. The sensible thing would be to surrender. Furthermore, the rainy season is over. The Narbada has very little water. There’s no longer any obstacle in the path of the English army.”
Tantiya Topi looked at me intently. He replied, “My friend! Formerly I was fighting to save the throne of India, now I’m fighting to save the soul of India. I’ve lost that fight, I won’t lose this one.” He fell silent. He stared at me, and said, “Are you a Muslim?”
“Praise be to God, I’m a servant of Islam.”
“So I see.”
“What do you mean?”
“Friend, what I mean is obvious. You Muslims are fighting only for the throne. And where are you even fighting? I know what used to happen in the Red Fort of Delhi.”
What used to happen in the Fort of Delhi? Now, and formerly. At the hands of brothers, brothers — the Mughals’ rusty swords. But Prince Firoz Shah — and Bakht Khan. In what forest is he? Is he too wandering in the forests of Nepal? So many people have left Dhaka and staggered and stumbled half-dead into Nepal. The forests of Nepal have a wide-open embrace. Those who obstinately refuse to bow their heads, and come here. Those who save their lives by fleeing, and come here. The dogs began to bark. My mind began to be confused. My sentences keep growing more and more disconnected. The dogs are barking exactly as they were barking last night. For them, there’s no difference.
•
He stopped writing and stood up. Opening the window, he looked out. In the two-story house opposite them there was light. Electric lights were burning in every room. This light seemed strange to him. He wanted to see how deep and black the night was.
He came back, and as he lay down on his bed he glanced at the clock. He was surprised. It’s still only ten o’clock? Oh. And it seems that half the night has passed. Oh God! This night is longer than even the wartime nights.
NINE
Khvajah Sahib had just that moment arrived and sat down. “Have you heard anything?”
“Yes, I did find out something.” Today there was a glimmer of hope in Khvajah Sahib’s voice.
“Really? What did you find out?”
“Somebody has come from over there. He says that he saw Karamat in Bangkok.”
“In Bangkok?”
“Maulana Sahib, what’s surprising about that? From such a Doomsday, everyone slipped out however he could. So many of them are hiding in India, so many have gone through India to Nepal. Many of them crossed the eastern border and came out in Burma. Some went to Rangoon, others reached Bangkok. So this man told me that he had come by way of Bangkok. There he met Karamat.”
“Who is this man?”
“Oh, you know Muhammad Din from my Amritsar, don’t you? It’s someone he knows. I got this man’s address from him. He’s in Sialkot. So today I’m going to Sialkot.”
“Go, God will help you.”
“Maulana Sahib! What’s your opinion? I’m convinced that Karamat is alive and will come back.”
Abba Jan reflected, then said, “It’s not beyond the power of His mercy. It’s even happened that a man has been ordered hanged, and then has been saved. Firm faith is necessary.”