LET HER DREAM, UNSHACKLED

The little imp peeped from behind the sofa where she had sneaked in to avoid her mother's ire and caught the eye of the old woman counting the beads on her rosary. Sukhvinder Sharma-the Bebbe of the family was sitting in the tall accent chair, her wet white hair framing her wrinkled face in a strange aura. Sunlight filtering in through the gossamer curtains on the window set alight the room into a golden halo and added a warm glow to her eyes.

Chinki-the daughter of the house help put a finger to her lips and pleaded with Bebbe to remain quiet. Bebbe smiled at her indulgently; she was very fond of this mischievous girl. After school, the eight year happy-go-lucky girl would accompany her mother from one house to another. She was always up to some prank, either muttering to herself in her world of make-believe or singing or hopping around the house. Her misdemeanors kept her mother's nerves on edge because of the scolding she received from her employers.

She would often holler at Chinki, 'Why can't you sit down and study! Always loitering around like a jungli ghodi (wild mare)'. The girl would sit obediently for a few minutes and then she would be off to climbing trees or chasing a butterfly, her school books brushed aside. 'Bebbe, aap hi samjhao isko. Zindagi kharab kar leni hai isne apni', Shanno would often plead with Bebbe to counsel Chinki to study well and not ruin the precious life she had been blessed with.

Chinki reminded Bebbe of another girl. Of herself. And her Bebbe ji. Seventy five years ago.

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'Sukhi...kiththe paj gayi marjaniye' (where have you scampered off to you naughty girl)! Bebbe ji would scream at the 12 year - old granddaughter who was supposed to sweep and mop the courtyard. But Sukhi would be out in the streets, fighting like a wild cat with the neighborhood boys over a game of marbles. Or chasing the puppies and kittens, feeding them leftover rotis dipped in milk. Or climbing trees to steal some juicy mangoes and guavas. Or searching the nooks and crannies of the village as if they had some hidden treasures. Once she even took away her father's horse and went riding into the wilds. Alone. To look for secret paths.

Bebbe-tired of all the complaints and taunts from the neighbors-would throw her belan at the little pixie and slam her forehead, 'I don't know what she is going to do with her life! Growing up like a wild mare but still fighting with boys like a jungli billi (wild cat). Arre kudiye, why don't you understand that life is a precious gift from God, you can't just squander it away in your wild pursuits. Why can't you behave like girls of your age, learn the household chores, cooking and stitching? It will come handy when you get married in a couple of years'. Sukhi's mother would also bellow from behind the mound of clothes she was washing, 'Sasuraal walo ke saamne naam kharab karna hai tu ne maa ka ki mai ne tujhe kuchh sikhaya nahi (you will ruin my reputation, your in-laws will heap insults on you and me both)'. The harangued mother would go on ranting. To little effect on the girl.

Then partition of the country happened. India was to be divided into two countries. Their motherland would no longer be theirs. They were not welcome on the land they were born on. Battle grounds had been dug. Their own people had launched pitched battles against them. Many of their folks gathered their money and jewellery and left for safer India. Sukhi's family stayed put for some weeks hoping better sense would prevail and the situation would be normal in some time. But it proved to be a fallacy.

One night they came. In herds. Screaming and challenging. Hounding and slaying. Kids, pregnant women, gallant men...none was to be spared.

Daarji (Grandfather) told them to collect whatever little they could and leave. They saw monstrous flames rising from the village square. Was it too late?

'Jameendare ka ghar bhi jal gaya! They are killing everyone. How would we escape now? Where would we go?' They trembled with fear, chanting prayers.

'Kill the men. Take the girls and women', screeched someone nearby. The mob cheered lustily.

The prayers died down. Mothers smothered wailing toddlers, fed them opium to silence them. Men picked up kirpaan, knife, sickle...they will die fighting, defending.

Sukhi stood up from the dark corner she had been pushed into. 'Let's go!' she announced, 'I know a secret path in the jungle that leads to the city. We will take that.'

'What nonsense! Have you gone mad? The men out there have blood on their hands. We would be lynched the moment we leave home', Daarji sneered at the girl's temerity.

'We will die even if we remain here. Trust me Daarji, nobody knows that path. I had even marked a few trees when I sneaked out a few days back so it's going to be completely safe. Let's leave before they smell us here', she pleaded, but firmly.

Everyone got up. Silently, stealthily they walked. Sukhi-the much derided wild girl led her cowering family. Away from the mobs. Away from home.

Scratched, torn, wounded they were but they walked. Bebbe was tired, panting heavily. Then gave up. She pleaded with the family to leave her behind. Sukhi soothed her forehead with a wet cloth, massaged her legs and prodded them to keep moving. Through the dark ominous wilderness. The battered folks hid in a thicket during the day. Next night they spotted another group creeping through the jungle and joined them. There was safety in numbers.

But was it?

As they were inching towards the border a group of yelling, chanting men hounded them. The men formed a cordon around the women and children, fought back with all their might but they were clearly outnumbered and overpowered. Just when they were going to give up, resigning themselves to imminent fate, Sukhi pulled out a dagger from her dupatta... ‘Waahe Guru ji da Khalsa’...and pounced upon the man closing in on her. In a trice, his head fell down, his thick red blood seeping into the moss covered soil. The attackers, stupefied by the sudden slaying of their leader and renewed vigor of the group, fled.

An armed forces battalion chanced upon them and safely escorted them to a refugee camp across the newly carved border. Hundreds of them were accomodated within cramped tents. The refugees had to survive on whatever meagre food they were getting from the local authorities and philanthropists. There was no work, no money. Desolation hung around the entire camp.

Sukhi decided she had to do something. She couldn't see her people dying. She set up a tea stall within the camp. Just chai and some pakoras. Enough to keep despair at bay. Enough to keep hopes alive.

A tandoor followed soon. Roti and daal was available early morning for the men who went out to find work. Then she came to know from a fellow refugee that he had some bales of cotton he had managed to secure before fleeing. Sukhi bought one bale on credit and asked her mother and aunts to stitch garments for the children. A dire need for medicines in the camp gave her another opportunity. She propelled her father to set up a small stall supplying medicines and things of daily need.

The family now had enough work to sustain them. As the situation in the country stabilized a bit, they were offered a small house as compensation for their property left behind in Pakistan. They moved out of the refugee camp. They were finally home.

More business opportunities sprung up before the enterprising, feisty girl. She grabbed them with both hands and expanded her small time work to a flourishing dhaba, a tailoring unit and a grocery store. Sukhi had metamorphosed from a wild girl without any purpose in life into a highly successful and acclaimed businesswoman.

Today they had a chain of restaurants and an automated garment manufacturing firm. The third generation of the family had ventured into international collaborations and digital marketing.

Chinki was Sukhi of yore. She was wild. She was bright and self-assured. She had dreams. Unexplored. She had secret paths to discover. She had the world to conquer. Just like Sukhi.

'Come here, Chinki!' she called the girl hopping under the tree outside her window.

Sukhvinder Sharma-the aging matriarch of Sharma empire wouldn't let anyone tame her, shackle her.