Come January 19 night, a watershed in the uprising, thousands of loudspeakers, hoisted on the domes, turrets and minarets of mosques across the length and breadth of the valley of Kashmir, boomed all at once on the denizens of the city, exhorting them to come out of their homes and seize power from the 'Indian occupational forces'. Azadi and pro-Pakistan slogans filled the air. It was a tape-recorded message played from every loud speaker at the same hour, loaded with exhortations:
"Arise O Muslims of Kashmir; throw the Kafirs out, fight the Indian dogs."
"Those who want to live in Kashmir will have to recite the Kalima."
"What do we want?"
"We want Pakistan."
"What is the meaning of Azadi"?
"La ilaha illallah."
This was an unambiguous warning to Kashmiri Pandits to quit the valley or face retribution. Most of them felt they had to run for their lives. Some had already left in the wake of the ongoing killings, but now the trickle developed into a torrent.
Prem Nath hated to even consider the prospect of deserting his home and his work. He had assiduously built his business with hard work and fair competition. He owned a modest house and led a contented life with his family. But times had changed fast. Terror had stabbed the tender hearts of Pandits. They felt besieged. Militants had gunned down a distant cousin of Prem Nath in his office a month before the terrorizing slogans rent the blue sky of the valley. Yet, and despite his family's urging, Prem Nath had not budged. However, after the dark night of January 19, his wife pressed her point again and prevailed. A compromise was reached. They would move temporarily to Jammu and watch the situation from there, but Prem Nath would return at the earliest sign of improvement.
The family departed a week later and landed at Jammu amid chaos and confusion.
"Those who want to live in Kashmir will have to recite the Kalima."
"What do we want?"
"We want Pakistan."
"What is the meaning of Azadi"?
"La ilaha illallah."
This was an unambiguous warning to Kashmiri Pandits to quit the valley or face retribution. Most of them felt they had to run for their lives. Some had already left in the wake of the ongoing killings, but now the trickle developed into a torrent.
Prem Nath hated to even consider the prospect of deserting his home and his work. He had assiduously built his business with hard work and fair competition. He owned a modest house and led a contented life with his family. But times had changed fast. Terror had stabbed the tender hearts of Pandits. They felt besieged. Militants had gunned down a distant cousin of Prem Nath in his office a month before the terrorizing slogans rent the blue sky of the valley. Yet, and despite his family's urging, Prem Nath had not budged. However, after the dark night of January 19, his wife pressed her point again and prevailed. A compromise was reached. They would move temporarily to Jammu and watch the situation from there, but Prem Nath would return at the earliest sign of improvement.
The family departed a week later and landed at Jammu amid chaos and confusion.
***
Refugee life in Jammu was at once repugnant and intolerable for Prem Nath. The humiliation and suffering which he had to go through to get registered as a refugee was worse than the terror back home. The militants had a conviction, howsoever misplaced, that Pandits were enemies of their revolution and had to be thrown out of the valley. There was no hypocrisy there. But the officials of the relief administration, supposed to lend succor, were unfeeling and inhuman in their dealings with the refugees. The Pandits had to face horrendous bureaucratic roadblocks and delays to have their credentials verified before they could claim the meagre dole.
Refugee life in Jammu was at once repugnant and intolerable for Prem Nath. The humiliation and suffering which he had to go through to get registered as a refugee was worse than the terror back home. The militants had a conviction, howsoever misplaced, that Pandits were enemies of their revolution and had to be thrown out of the valley. There was no hypocrisy there. But the officials of the relief administration, supposed to lend succor, were unfeeling and inhuman in their dealings with the refugees. The Pandits had to face horrendous bureaucratic roadblocks and delays to have their credentials verified before they could claim the meagre dole.
Every passing day was like living a hell in the tent provided to Prem Nath and his family on the outskirts of Jammu in the Muthi Migrant Camp—a brambly wasteland rife with snakes, scorpions and shadowy characters. He felt great remorse at having left his home, and lost his appetite and sleep. He missed his dear home. He missed the temple, which he would visit every morning before leaving for work. He missed his shop and his fellow shopkeepers of Amira Kadal. He dreamt of customers buying rolls of cloth at his shop. He was in despair.
Meanwhile, summer announced itself with a bang in Jammu. The sun was a fireball ready to burn the tents and their contents. The blinding dust storms that followed blew the flaps of the tents away and hot air rushed in to slap and scorch the occupants and scatter their possessions. They were caught in reveries of their dear homeland and cursed the day they left. Many lost their lives to heat strokes.
Prem Nath had not spent even a single day of his fifty six summers away from the salubrious climes of Kashmir. He grew restless and paced about most of the time during the day. During nights, he sat up in the bed or moved out of the tent into the open, unmindful that he might be bitten by a snake or a scorpion. He ate little. His deteriorating health became a matter of great concern for the family. They tried to counsel him out of his depression. After all, their family was not alone in this tragedy; there were hundreds and thousands who had left their homes in the valley and did not have even a temporary cover on their heads. They consoled him with the hope that things would improve, and that they would return home as soon as terrorism was contained and peace returned to the valley. But he was not receptive to reason or argument. He longed for his home and pined for his work. He knew that there were still a few thousand residual Pandits in the valley and some of them ran their business as before. He heard they were paying protection money to the militants. Why shouldn't he give it a try, speak to his Muslim neighbours and buy the patronage of the militant outfits to restart his life in the valley?
Meanwhile, summer announced itself with a bang in Jammu. The sun was a fireball ready to burn the tents and their contents. The blinding dust storms that followed blew the flaps of the tents away and hot air rushed in to slap and scorch the occupants and scatter their possessions. They were caught in reveries of their dear homeland and cursed the day they left. Many lost their lives to heat strokes.
Prem Nath had not spent even a single day of his fifty six summers away from the salubrious climes of Kashmir. He grew restless and paced about most of the time during the day. During nights, he sat up in the bed or moved out of the tent into the open, unmindful that he might be bitten by a snake or a scorpion. He ate little. His deteriorating health became a matter of great concern for the family. They tried to counsel him out of his depression. After all, their family was not alone in this tragedy; there were hundreds and thousands who had left their homes in the valley and did not have even a temporary cover on their heads. They consoled him with the hope that things would improve, and that they would return home as soon as terrorism was contained and peace returned to the valley. But he was not receptive to reason or argument. He longed for his home and pined for his work. He knew that there were still a few thousand residual Pandits in the valley and some of them ran their business as before. He heard they were paying protection money to the militants. Why shouldn't he give it a try, speak to his Muslim neighbours and buy the patronage of the militant outfits to restart his life in the valley?
After a long debate, the family decided that it would be better for Prem Nath to return home than waste and wither away in exile. He would go alone and call his wife once he settled down. His sons would follow if he found the conditions congenial for their return. They looked up the Jantri for an auspicious date.
***
Four-and-a-half months after the exodus, an uncertain, uneasy, and unhappy Prem Nath boarded a bus to Srinagar. He sighed throughout the journey as the fellow passengers, mostly Muslims, looked at him curiously. His mind was in turmoil. Was he already persona non grata for the sin of having been absent from Kashmir for several months? He was told that the Pandits who had left the valley were called runaways who had forfeited the right to return. What explanation would he give, what face would he show? What about his house? Would he find it in order, vandalized or gutted? What about his shop; had his landlord forced entry and seized possession without his knowledge? Was his merchandise still intact? How would he tackle his neighbours, customers and fellow merchants? He rehearsed in his mind over and over again how he would answer their queries. How would he commute from the bus stand to home? Would he walk or hire a taxi? He had learned that many young men who plied taxis were in league with the militants and informed them of passengers—Pandits or strangers—leaving from or returning to the valley. For the first time, he felt guilty for having left Kashmir, as if it was he who had breached an unwritten trust between him and the Muslims.
The journey ended before Prem Nath realized it. His heart started beating faster and he was the last to get up from his seat and get down from the bus. Dusk had fallen. The earth under his feet felt unreal, as if he were standing on cotton wool. His legs were unsteady. He bent down to touch the ground with his hands and trembled with joy like a son meeting his loving mother after a long time. He breathed deeply the fresh and cool air of Srinagar and decided to foot the distance to his home. He was carrying just one hand bag and home was only a couple of kilometers away.
Walking again on the beaten paths and looking at the familiar buildings in Lal Chowk gave him a strange sense of oneness with his surroundings. While crossing the Amira Kadal Bridge, he looked into the serpentine river and smiled as he had not done for months. Suddenly, he realized that he had never really looked at the river all the busy years of his life, never taken in the details of the city, even the market where he ran his business, but taken it all for granted like one's own palm. How foolish of him to have left all this and how fortunate that he was back here.
As he neared home Prem Nath became nervous. His tread slowed and his heart started palpitating. It was already getting dark. Where would he go to spend the night if he found the house gutted or if someone had forcibly occupied it? For the first time since he left Jammu in the morning he rued his decision. The thirty minute walk seemed like an eternity. But at the bend of the road in his mohalla, he recognized his house from a distance and heaved a big sigh of relief. He quickened his step and almost ran the last hundred yards to catch his breath at his door. He touched it gently with trembling hands, quietly opened the padlock and found himself in his loving front yard. It was incredible to be back. He rushed inside to find everything as he had left it, as he walked from one room to another. He felt exhilarated. He dusted and kissed the idols and pictures of his deities on the mantelpiece, washed his face, and crept into his bed after eating the dinner his wife had packed for him in the morning. He could not believe it; to be back in his cozy home as if he had never left.
Prem Nath woke up early next morning. What a great feeling to be home, to have water running in the taps at all hours, to have your own bed and your own space, to tread the soft earth, to look at the plants, and hear the birds twitter in your own lawn. The grass had grown wild but it was so green, so soothing to the eyes after the stinging glare of the burning sun that ricocheted from the stray stones scattered around the Muthi Migrant Camp. He enjoyed a hearty bath he had missed all these months as he washed the grime and slime of exile with the purifying water of Kashmir. He drank a full glass; it tasted like nectar. He picked flowers from the shrubs and went out to visit the temple that was only a few hundred yards away from his home.
It was unusually quiet in the temple. There was a lone visitor—a woman sitting cross-legged in a corner of the prayer hall. Prem Nath recognized her immediately—his neighbour, Ambravati. They exchanged silent greetings. A strange fervour seized him. He washed the Siva lingam with water and anointed it with a pinch of saffron that he poured out from a tiny box secured in the inner pocket of his vest. He painted an oval blob of saffron tilak in the middle of his own forehead after a fleeting mental debate whether it would be safe to do so, for it would mark him out as a Pandit. In any case, Pandits and Muslims gave themselves away easily by their demeanor, dress and dialogue and he would not forgo the religious symbol that he had worn all his life even if it cost him his life. After all, he was returning not as a convert but a firm votary of his faith, and if he had to live in Kashmir he would do so as a proud Pandit. He offered flowers, burnt incense, chanted mantras and completed the puja.
Then, he sat in front of the lingam in contemplation. Howsoever he tried, he could not concentrate. Soon he started crying and burst into loud protestations: Lord, I have been a family man to the core— faithful, religious, and upright in my business. I worshipped you all my life, fasted on auspicious days, gave away in charity what I could afford. Why have you spurned me? What sins have I committed? Answer me, my lord; show me the light; give me strength to ride through this crisis.
Tears streamed down Prem Nath's eyes and he felt lighter after that catharsis of sorts. Courage filled him. He walked round the temple seven times and made an exit.
Ambravati was waiting for him in the temple porch. They exchanged greetings.
"When did you return?" she asked
"Last night."
"Are you staying on? How is Janki Bhabi? How are your children?"
She spoke in whispers, glancing furtively around her, as if afraid to be caught speaking with him.
"Jammu is hell; I could not stand it any longer. I will give it a try here and, if all goes well, call back Janki and children. How is Kashi Nath?"
Then, he sat in front of the lingam in contemplation. Howsoever he tried, he could not concentrate. Soon he started crying and burst into loud protestations: Lord, I have been a family man to the core— faithful, religious, and upright in my business. I worshipped you all my life, fasted on auspicious days, gave away in charity what I could afford. Why have you spurned me? What sins have I committed? Answer me, my lord; show me the light; give me strength to ride through this crisis.
Tears streamed down Prem Nath's eyes and he felt lighter after that catharsis of sorts. Courage filled him. He walked round the temple seven times and made an exit.
Ambravati was waiting for him in the temple porch. They exchanged greetings.
"When did you return?" she asked
"Last night."
"Are you staying on? How is Janki Bhabi? How are your children?"
She spoke in whispers, glancing furtively around her, as if afraid to be caught speaking with him.
"Jammu is hell; I could not stand it any longer. I will give it a try here and, if all goes well, call back Janki and children. How is Kashi Nath?"
"He is fine as can be under the circumstances." She replied. "Do you intend to start working again?"
"Yes. In fact, I am looking forward to it eagerly."
"Why are you in such a hurry? You have just arrived. Take it easy. Take your time to settle down. See if you can adjust to life again in these changed circumstances. Resume your work only if you convince yourself that it will be safe to do so."
"I cannot wait another day. I am so eager to see my shop and to find out if all is well there." He heaved a deep sigh and asked, "The temple seems abandoned; are there no Pandits left in the neighborhood?"
"Almost every one has left except my husband and me. He cannot tolerate the heat and is afraid to face the prospect of summer in the plains. But things are getting worse here. There seems no end to the anarchy. We sent our son and his family away last month. They are worried about us and want us to join them. Let us see how long we can endure it here." She lowered her voice even further, "Please keep a low profile and be watchful; you can't trust anyone these days. Take care. May the lord protect you!"
With those words, she hurried home and Prem Nath walked to the family grocer to replenish his pantry. He would have breakfast before he set out to start work.
"Almost every one has left except my husband and me. He cannot tolerate the heat and is afraid to face the prospect of summer in the plains. But things are getting worse here. There seems no end to the anarchy. We sent our son and his family away last month. They are worried about us and want us to join them. Let us see how long we can endure it here." She lowered her voice even further, "Please keep a low profile and be watchful; you can't trust anyone these days. Take care. May the lord protect you!"
With those words, she hurried home and Prem Nath walked to the family grocer to replenish his pantry. He would have breakfast before he set out to start work.
"So you have returned. You did not like it there, Prem Nath?" The grocer asked without showing much surprise on seeing him.
"Not really," Prem Nath replied. He had made it a point not to give any elaborate explanations.
"Are you going to stay or leave again?" the vendor went on.
"I had gone away temporarily for a breather; I hope I do not have to leave again."
"What about your family? Will they join you?"
"Of course they will."
"Inshallah," the grocer exclaimed
"Inshallah," echoed Prem Nath.
He had feared taunts and humiliation, but the exchange with the grocer passed off well, beyond his expectations. The invocation to Allah by the grocer elevated his spirits. He felt unusually happy and light footed and trotted home with the groceries.
***
On her return home from the temple, Ambravati went straight to her bed room. Kashi Nath, her husband, was waiting for her in the parlour. She did not exchange the usual pleasantries with him, nor did she go inside the kitchen to get breakfast ready as was her routine. This was quite odd. He followed her and found her lost in thought.
"Why do you look out of sorts?" Kashi Nath enquired.
"I am fine," she said looking out of the window. "Something seems to be the matter," he persisted.
Kashi Nath hardly ever moved out of his house. Times were bad and anything was possible on the streets or in the marketplace. But he had failed to dissuade his wife from visiting the temple. It was a routine that she was used to from her childhood. She would not break it at any cost. In the thirty three years of their wedded life he had never come in the way of her other elaborate religious rituals—the observance of ashtamis, amavasyas, pooranmashis, and other important events. They were a part of her persona. Without them he would not recognize her. She would always return from the temple with a sense of fulfillment, her face flushed, and a sparkle in her eyes. But it was different today.
"There is nothing the matter," she replied, wringing her hands, avoiding his eyes.
"Did you meet any one on the way? Did anyone offend or threaten you? Why don't you tell me?" He was getting impatient.
"Not really. I saw Prem Nath at the temple," she replied, looking directly at him.
He could not immediately recall the name.
"Pray, which Prem Nath are you speaking about?"
"Why, have you forgotten Prem Nath, our neighbour? He has returned from Jammu."
Kashi Nath heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, that is good news.
When did he arrive? Has the whole family returned? Why should his return disturb you?"
"Because I have a strange premonition." She said in earnest.
"Come on, this is only a sign of the times we live in. Fear is lurking in every corner and we imagine horrible things. Now let us have some breakfast and tell me what happened at the temple."
She remained seated on her bed and resumed, "I watched Prem Nath inside the temple. After prayers he sat down in front of the lingam, started some kind of conversation with the lord, cried like a child and complained aloud to him. It was quite a sight. I could not concentrate on my meditation. I had visions of him being stalked. I have this strange foreboding of some harm coming to him. He told me he was going to open his shop today. I hope he stays safe."
Her husband was delighted to learn about Prem Nath's return from exile and described it an act of great courage. He wished more Pandits would return. It would give him reason to stay on. He dismissed her fears and decided to visit Prem Nath in the evening. "We will go and see him," he declared.
Ambravati was sceptical. Visiting a returnee was considered an act of defiance by the militants who denounced the runaways as betrayers of Azadi, and decreed severe punishment for them and for those who showed any sympathy towards them. She feared the neighbours would find out and report it if they went to see Prem Nath.
"We will visit him quietly after sunset. The neighbourhood is almost deserted by then. No one will notice us. Don't you think he deserves our moral support at this crucial juncture?" said Kashi Nath
"I do, yet, what of the apparition?" she asked
"Pray, what apparition are you speaking about?"
"When Prem Nath stepped inside the temple, I had finished my puja and was seated in the corner for my meditation. I tried hard but it was difficult to concentrate. My thoughts ran wild, my heart sank and my body quivered. As soon as I shut my eyes to meditate, I had strange visions—of a melee, of people going berserk, of frightening noises, of calls for help. Then I saw an apparition—a young bearded man in a pheron, with a skull cap and a gun. He is so vivid in my memory that I could spot him if he were real. I was horrified and wanted to run away from the temple. But I waited for Prem Nath until he came out. I wanted to warn him but stopped short and just asked him to be careful. My heart races even now as I relate this to you."
"Come on; put your thoughts in order. I know it has been hard on you with no one left here except the two of us. We will have to get over these obsessions with militancy and murder. We will visit Prem Nath in the evening and welcome him back. We must make him feel that he is not alone."
"I don't think it is safe to visit him. It is safe neither for us nor for him," she bared her fears again.
***
"Pray, what apparition are you speaking about?"
"When Prem Nath stepped inside the temple, I had finished my puja and was seated in the corner for my meditation. I tried hard but it was difficult to concentrate. My thoughts ran wild, my heart sank and my body quivered. As soon as I shut my eyes to meditate, I had strange visions—of a melee, of people going berserk, of frightening noises, of calls for help. Then I saw an apparition—a young bearded man in a pheron, with a skull cap and a gun. He is so vivid in my memory that I could spot him if he were real. I was horrified and wanted to run away from the temple. But I waited for Prem Nath until he came out. I wanted to warn him but stopped short and just asked him to be careful. My heart races even now as I relate this to you."
"Come on; put your thoughts in order. I know it has been hard on you with no one left here except the two of us. We will have to get over these obsessions with militancy and murder. We will visit Prem Nath in the evening and welcome him back. We must make him feel that he is not alone."
"I don't think it is safe to visit him. It is safe neither for us nor for him," she bared her fears again.
***
After breakfast, Prem Nath walked to his shop at Amira Kadal. More police bunkers were in evidence than when he had left, but the city was bustling with activity as usual. He could not spot a single Pandit among the pedestrians, and yet there was no evidence of the turmoil underneath the sheen of a crisp summer morning in Srinagar. The river, with low water levels at this time of the year, flowed ever so calm, the banks wide and bare. He looked in front of him and the Shankaracharya hill with the sun shining bright upon it stood in royal splendour.
He wondered why had he never really seen it before? The azure blue sky was a soulful contrast to the dull canopy of the Jammu sky in summer; the languorous clouds clung to the mountain cliffs in a passionate embrace. He saw all this as if it were for the first time in his life. He realized again that he had taken it all for granted and never really spent a thought on it. He promised to himself that he would not waste a moment of this bliss any more, now that he had returned. He smiled and felt a strange lightness of spirit, a bounce in his tread, a heightened sense of expectation.
Prem Nath spotted his shop from a distance and his heart took a leap. It was early for business. Hands trembling with nervous expectation, he opened the padlocks and raised the shutters to the familiar grating sound. He found everything as he had left it; nothing had been touched. He swept and dusted his shop, rearranged the cloth rolls, cleared the cobwebs, cleaned the couches and, making himself comfortable on his cushioned seat, looked around. Soon other shopkeepers started arriving and opening their shops.
Abdul Rahim, the proprietor of the shop directly across the street, saw him and shouted, "Look who is here!" And coming over, he addressed him with offended dignity, "So you are back, Prem Nath! Well, you did not even inform us when you left. And here you are again, and we have no knowledge when you arrived and why."
"Do you think I would want to leave my home willingly? It was at the insistence of my family. But I realized my mistake when I had to suffer the indignities and travails of exile. Well, my friend, I am sorry, but you know sometimes it is not within one's power. This was a mass exodus; I was not alone." Prem Nath spoke his heart.
"Did we not warn you against running away? But it seems Governor Jagmohan had the last word and prevailed upon you Pandits to leave."
"To be honest, I had no such information. I fled because of the insecurity and the violence and mostly because of what happened in January. The decision was entirely my own. Nobody told me to leave. I had no intention of being gone for ever. But I am back now, happy to be with you all, safe in your company I suppose."
Prem Nath's genial statement eased the tension. An exchange of pleasantries followed. They inquired about each other's health, about their families and about business. There was even a belated hug. Prem Nath was pleased to learn that people in the market missed him and that some customers were asking about his whereabouts.
"We too are going through rough times, facing bullets from both sides—the militants and the army—but we will not spurn our mother Kashmir like you did. Azadi is for everyone, as much for you as for us. We have to face the consequences together, don't we?" Abdul Rahim opined forcefully.
Prem Nath nodded in agreement. On the whole, these words from his neighbour sounded reassuring and there was no point in contesting his statement about Azadi. He had rehearsed this encounter so many times in his mind. It did not pass off badly, he thought. He felt relaxed and invited Abdul Rahim for a cup of tea.
"I must be going now, we will meet later, Inshallah," Abdul Rahim excused himself.
But he was not gone long when he reappeared, accompanied by a burqa-clad figure.
"This is my cousin. Can she wait here in your shop till I return? I have to go on an errand; I will open my shop later. I won't be long." And he was gone. The burqa-clad person sat on the couch.
Prem Nath began relating the experiences of Jammu to the veiled figure, addressing her as sister. She nodded but did not speak. He offered her tea. She declined, moving her head sideways. She was in the traditional burqa that covered the whole body and the face except for small openings in front of the eyes.
In about twenty minutes, two bearded young men, one wearing a pheron and a skull cap and the other in trousers and jacket, walked in. Prem Nath was excited to receive customers after a long break.
"What can I show you, Jenab?" he asked in utter humility.
"Well, we are looking for decent fabric for a Khan dress, something that is tough and will last," said the one in the pheron.
The veiled figure rose and walked quietly out of the shop. Prem Nath started picking rolls of cloth within his arm's reach and unfurling them for the two customers to see. They seemed fidgety, not really certain what they wanted, looking at the cloth rather cursorily. He pulled out some more rolls and opened them, commenting on the texture and the colour, the toughness of the fabric and the reasonable price. They wanted something different. He rose from his seat to bring down a roll from the upper shelves. As he turned to face them, the skullcap rose from the couch, produced a gun in a flash from under his pheron, and, pointing it at him, started hurling invectives:
"How dare you return here to rob others of their business? Have you not learnt your lesson yet, Panditji? We have no need here for you and your ilk—usurers, informers and deserters."
Prem Nath was wild-eyed and speechless with terror.
The skullcap fired a shot.
Prem Nath fell down on his outstretched hands. The cloth roll hit the assailant, and his gun flew to the floor. Prem Nath screamed aloud, calling for help. The young men picked up the gun hurriedly and vanished. By the time Prem Nath collected himself, people had started pouring in. The bullet had pierced his chest on the left side. He was bleeding. The crowd hailed a three-wheeler taxi to take him to the civil hospital.
Prem Nath refused any help. He did not want a three-wheeler nor would he go to the civil hospital. How could he trust anyone now? He had heard of militants following their victims to the hospital to complete the unfinished task if they survived the attack. Meanwile, a couple of BSF police constables arrived on the scene. His spirits revived, but he was fainting from the loss of blood.
"Please take me to the military hospital in the cantonment. Please take me in a police van, otherwise they will certainly kill me," Prem Nath pleaded and fell unconscious.
***
He wondered why had he never really seen it before? The azure blue sky was a soulful contrast to the dull canopy of the Jammu sky in summer; the languorous clouds clung to the mountain cliffs in a passionate embrace. He saw all this as if it were for the first time in his life. He realized again that he had taken it all for granted and never really spent a thought on it. He promised to himself that he would not waste a moment of this bliss any more, now that he had returned. He smiled and felt a strange lightness of spirit, a bounce in his tread, a heightened sense of expectation.
Prem Nath spotted his shop from a distance and his heart took a leap. It was early for business. Hands trembling with nervous expectation, he opened the padlocks and raised the shutters to the familiar grating sound. He found everything as he had left it; nothing had been touched. He swept and dusted his shop, rearranged the cloth rolls, cleared the cobwebs, cleaned the couches and, making himself comfortable on his cushioned seat, looked around. Soon other shopkeepers started arriving and opening their shops.
Abdul Rahim, the proprietor of the shop directly across the street, saw him and shouted, "Look who is here!" And coming over, he addressed him with offended dignity, "So you are back, Prem Nath! Well, you did not even inform us when you left. And here you are again, and we have no knowledge when you arrived and why."
"Do you think I would want to leave my home willingly? It was at the insistence of my family. But I realized my mistake when I had to suffer the indignities and travails of exile. Well, my friend, I am sorry, but you know sometimes it is not within one's power. This was a mass exodus; I was not alone." Prem Nath spoke his heart.
"Did we not warn you against running away? But it seems Governor Jagmohan had the last word and prevailed upon you Pandits to leave."
"To be honest, I had no such information. I fled because of the insecurity and the violence and mostly because of what happened in January. The decision was entirely my own. Nobody told me to leave. I had no intention of being gone for ever. But I am back now, happy to be with you all, safe in your company I suppose."
Prem Nath's genial statement eased the tension. An exchange of pleasantries followed. They inquired about each other's health, about their families and about business. There was even a belated hug. Prem Nath was pleased to learn that people in the market missed him and that some customers were asking about his whereabouts.
"We too are going through rough times, facing bullets from both sides—the militants and the army—but we will not spurn our mother Kashmir like you did. Azadi is for everyone, as much for you as for us. We have to face the consequences together, don't we?" Abdul Rahim opined forcefully.
Prem Nath nodded in agreement. On the whole, these words from his neighbour sounded reassuring and there was no point in contesting his statement about Azadi. He had rehearsed this encounter so many times in his mind. It did not pass off badly, he thought. He felt relaxed and invited Abdul Rahim for a cup of tea.
"I must be going now, we will meet later, Inshallah," Abdul Rahim excused himself.
But he was not gone long when he reappeared, accompanied by a burqa-clad figure.
"This is my cousin. Can she wait here in your shop till I return? I have to go on an errand; I will open my shop later. I won't be long." And he was gone. The burqa-clad person sat on the couch.
Prem Nath began relating the experiences of Jammu to the veiled figure, addressing her as sister. She nodded but did not speak. He offered her tea. She declined, moving her head sideways. She was in the traditional burqa that covered the whole body and the face except for small openings in front of the eyes.
In about twenty minutes, two bearded young men, one wearing a pheron and a skull cap and the other in trousers and jacket, walked in. Prem Nath was excited to receive customers after a long break.
"What can I show you, Jenab?" he asked in utter humility.
"Well, we are looking for decent fabric for a Khan dress, something that is tough and will last," said the one in the pheron.
The veiled figure rose and walked quietly out of the shop. Prem Nath started picking rolls of cloth within his arm's reach and unfurling them for the two customers to see. They seemed fidgety, not really certain what they wanted, looking at the cloth rather cursorily. He pulled out some more rolls and opened them, commenting on the texture and the colour, the toughness of the fabric and the reasonable price. They wanted something different. He rose from his seat to bring down a roll from the upper shelves. As he turned to face them, the skullcap rose from the couch, produced a gun in a flash from under his pheron, and, pointing it at him, started hurling invectives:
"How dare you return here to rob others of their business? Have you not learnt your lesson yet, Panditji? We have no need here for you and your ilk—usurers, informers and deserters."
Prem Nath was wild-eyed and speechless with terror.
The skullcap fired a shot.
Prem Nath fell down on his outstretched hands. The cloth roll hit the assailant, and his gun flew to the floor. Prem Nath screamed aloud, calling for help. The young men picked up the gun hurriedly and vanished. By the time Prem Nath collected himself, people had started pouring in. The bullet had pierced his chest on the left side. He was bleeding. The crowd hailed a three-wheeler taxi to take him to the civil hospital.
Prem Nath refused any help. He did not want a three-wheeler nor would he go to the civil hospital. How could he trust anyone now? He had heard of militants following their victims to the hospital to complete the unfinished task if they survived the attack. Meanwile, a couple of BSF police constables arrived on the scene. His spirits revived, but he was fainting from the loss of blood.
"Please take me to the military hospital in the cantonment. Please take me in a police van, otherwise they will certainly kill me," Prem Nath pleaded and fell unconscious.
***
Ambravati felt uneasy the whole afternoon. Her morning visions kept coming back to her. To dispel the disturbing thoughts and fears she busied herself with chores that had remained undone for long. Though she had dissuaded her husband from visiting Prem Nath for fear of reprisals from the militants, she now wished they had visited him and made sure he was safe. Her husband too did not bring up the subject that was uppermost in his thoughts. They sat for dinner and just when they turned the radio on there was a news flash: A migrant Pandit was shot at by two unidentified assailants in his shop at Amira Kadal. He was shifted immediately to the Cantonment Hospital where his condition is reported to be critical.
Ambravati and Kashi Nath spent the longest night of their lives in fear and panic. Far from visiting Prem Nath, they collected the most meager of their possessions and left the house quietly in the morning to take the first bus to Jammu.
Ambravati and Kashi Nath spent the longest night of their lives in fear and panic. Far from visiting Prem Nath, they collected the most meager of their possessions and left the house quietly in the morning to take the first bus to Jammu.
Prem Nath battled for his life in the hospital.