On the little circular table not far from his bed a cigarette – half-consumed and hurriedly extinguished – released a few threads of smoke.
Not knowing what to do, I clicked my heels. The General turned and said, ‘Jai Hind’ and walked towards me and shook hands and then he almost hugged me, but something made him change his mind. His hand started trembling violently.
‘Kirpal, how is your mother?’
‘Not well, sir.’
He sat at the edge of his bed and pointed towards the armchair.
‘Please sit down.’
This was the first time I had received such an honor, and perhaps that is why I hesitated again.
‘Sit down,’ he said, ‘Sorry there is smoke in the room. I have just seen the doctor. After the doctor leaves I always have to smoke.’
‘No problem, sir.’
‘We knew.’
‘Sir.’
‘You would come. You would not fail us.’
‘Sir.’
‘Rubiya will be pleased,’ he said. ‘You came because of her?’
I sensed that the General wanted to have a long conversation, but his breath was coming out with a wheeze.
‘Take your bath. Drink water. Rest. Don’t forget you are in the mountains now. We will have dinner together.’
He rang the bell.
The servant appeared.
‘Keep the bags in the Guest House.’
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘if you don’t mind I am staying in a hotel.’
‘Your room is ready.’
‘Please, sir. If you do not mind.’
‘In that case, Kirpal, my car will take you there.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘We must have a quick word.’
‘Sir.’
‘Rum?’ asked the General.
‘No, thank you, sir.’
On the way to the Raj Bhavan I had thought of the possibility of facing him alone, and I knew he was waiting for it and I tried to predict his questions. I, too, had questions. So much time had passed and the questions had acquired a huge weight. Looking at the frail form of General Sahib now I felt like delaying them. Things had to sort out between us, but not right away. Looking at the plane trees outside the window, bare tops swaying in the wind, I felt like experiencing one last bright moment of Kashmir, it was enough for that day of my arrival. ‘After you left did your cooking change?’ he asked.
‘Very right, sir. I have discovered that simplicity is the main principle of cooking. My dishes are growing simpler and simpler.’
‘So I will begin with a simple question,’ he said. ‘Why did you leave, Kirpal?’
He looked through me and I was unable to say a word.
‘For all official purposes it was the health of your mother, Kirpal. The court martial cleared your name. The army sent an official apology and compensation afterwards. The circumstantial evidence said that you were guilty. But that enemy woman said you were not guilty.’
‘Her name is Irem, sir.’
‘Yes, yes – I know. She had not even filed charges against you. So why did you leave?’
I was not able to say a word.
‘I think I know why you left,’ he said. ‘All these years I have tried to answer this question, but I want to ask you if there is an iota of truth in this. You were like my son, Kirpal, and your father was well-liked. He was my finest officer. I know why you left. I know it. You fell in love with her. You were in love with that woman. That is why you left.’
He looked at me again in the eye.
‘You loved her the way Rubiya loves this man from Pakistan. I had told Rubiya no matter what happens the boy will not step inside this house. What right does Rubiya have to act on her desires the way she did? Tell me. When you were completely in love with that enemy woman, when you could control your desires, then why not Rubiya?’
Because I was at a loss for words the General continued.
‘Sometimes I think the desire for the enemy is more than the desire for our own. No one knows this better than you. And that is why you left. That was the real reason. You did not want to act on your desire. You did not want to. You saw a villain or two. And that was the easy way out. You saw the villain and left. And you did not even have the courage to tell me the truth. But how could you have told me? I was the one more powerful. I was like your father, Kirpal. But you used your ailing mother to deal with something you could not deal with. Your mother’s sickness became the veil to hide behind. And because you did not talk about the problem you thought the problem did not exist. Now say something.’
‘Sir.’
His breathing grew heavier.
‘I wanted Rubiya to be here. In a way it is good she is not here. God knows where she is. After all I have done to you, will you still be kind enough to be the chef at her wedding? Civil wedding. It is going to be a small affair. Twenty, thirty people. The boy’s family is coming by bus from the Pakistani-occupied Kashmir.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Everything must be perfect. This is Rubiya’s wedding. Everything must be ek-dum perfect.’
‘Sir, you have my word. But.’
‘I knew there was a BUT.’
‘No, sir. I would just like to have a word with Ms Rubiya. Regarding the menu, sir.’
27
The general’s private car has just dropped me at Hotel Liward. My legs are stiff and my whole body is aching. I am thinking about the long bus journey after the long train journey. Every part of the bus rattled for eleven hours on the mountain road. Every window. Now every bone in my body is protesting. The bus to Srinagar took eleven hours, and for eleven hours my body had to suffer. Perhaps I should say my body behaved unusually well on the way. A man, much younger than me, vomited six or seven times, but my body cooperated, and I threw up only two or three times, or perhaps this is just a lie. It is impossible to lie to oneself. Just like it is impossible to tickle oneself. Only mad people tickle themselves. I am not mad. I made a big mistake to set out on this tedious journey.
It is for Rubiya’s sake really I am here. Otherwise I would not have come to the valley. Yet. It is for my own sake really I am here. I know once I do the perfect banquet, General Sahib will refer me to top specialists in the military hospital, and they will start treatment right away.
On the road to Srinagar, a sign said:
This is neither a race, nor a rally.
Drive safely in Kashmir valley.
These people are real jokers. I hear the bleak laughter of Kashmiris everywhere. Even in the hotel room.
My room is big and it has a large hot brazier and a mirror on the wall. The bed is neatly made; there is an extra quilt in the closet. I complained (about the small room ‘S’ they had allotted me earlier) and the manager moved me to this VIP room: ‘N’. (The rooms are not numbered. I wonder why they are lettered?) Climbing up the stairs made me breathless. I unlocked ‘N’ and took off my cap and overcoat. On the wall two hairline cracks and the oval mirror. Looking inside, a sudden memory returned to me of that day when Father had helped me untie my shoes after a long journey. I was four or five years old then. My eyes fluttered, reliving the memory. I felt a lump in my throat as I undressed. Then I stepped into the bathroom and washed my hands and face.
I am unable to sleep. I walk to the window. I open it and shut it properly. Chilly outside. I see a Sufi shrine and a post office. The light is dim. The post office is closed. I want to say something. The word does not come to my mouth. What was it I would like to say? What exactly is wrong with my brain? The b-u-s. I wonder why I spoke to the woman in the bus?
We were sitting next to each other. Me: on the window seat. In the beginning we did not exchange a word, but the driver’s rash turns on the winding road made her say something and I nodded and then we could not stop talking. For five and a half hours, almost half of the way, we were silent to each other, lost in our own worlds, and then suddenly we started talking, and I overexerted myself. There was no need to do it. I even offered her my window seat, but she said the aisle was better.