Reader's Contribution: Offensive

He cautiously approached the reception desk and said to the Nurse on duty, "My name is Gurbachan and...."

"Gurbachan Singh?" the nurse jumped up the chair, "Perhaps you are just in time. Please come quick, follow me."

He entered the room and saw another nurse very closely watching the patient lying on the bed. A thin rubber tube emanating from an inverted bottle fixed on a stand next to the bed, containing some liquid, was connected to a needle pricked in her, visibly lifeless, left hand. The patient's eyes were sunk in deep with the thick black rings running around. The dimples in her cheeks were almost exposing her teeth. Had he not known who could be in that bed he would have not recognized her.

"Is she....?" but her heaving chest did not let him complete the question. He bent forward, held her thin and lean right arm in his hand and said, "Satiyavati, Satiyavati please open your eyes. I am here, Gurbachan."

But there was no response. He repeated, "Satiyavati, Satiya..." but suddenly he remembered something and said, "Preetam Kaur."

The nurse looked up, "But...."

He put his finger on his lips and repeated, "Preetam Kaur, Preetam, Preetam, Preet please open your eyes. Look who is here."
A slight movement appeared on her eyelids.

"Yes, yes. It's me, Gurbachan. Please open your eyes. Sorry I could not come earlier. You sent your post-cards to my old address. Just by chance, last week, I passed that way and came across them all."

She opened her eyes, looked at his face for a couple of minutes and then closed them. Perhaps she could not recognize.
"It's me, Preetam, it's me, Gurbachan. I am pooran Gursikh now, a perfect Sikh with all my hair uncut and turban on."

A year ago Satiyavati's agent had met him at the Truck Terminal in Delhi. He persuaded Gurbachan to come to Satiyavati's Penthouse instead of going to the brothels at G. B. Road. She was very sophisticated and worked most elegantly, the agent had told him, only the people of very high society dared to come to her whereas the G. B. Road prostitutes were cheap and denigrated.

At that time, when Gurbachan entered Satiyavati's inner chamber, he had his beard shaved off and wore no turban. When Satiyavati went behind the screen, obvious to Gurbachan to take her clothes off, but discreetly and as usual, she wanted to add this client's name in her diary.

"What is your name?" she yelled.
"Why?"
"Come off it. Don't be scared. I am not like others; you come in, have a dip and away you go. I am not like that. We are going to relish sometime together. Don't you want to enjoy yourself?"
"Well, I am Gurbachan."
"What? Gurbachan? You are...."
"Yes Gurbachan Singh. I am a Punjabi, a Sikh."
The Diary in her hand, she abruptly jumped out. She still had all her clothes on.
"Are you a Sikh? What have you done to your hair? Where is your turban?"
She was furious and demanding, "If you were in Sikh Form, my door-man would never have let you in."
He got up, "If you hate Sikhs so much, I'd better go."
"No," she pushed him to sit down, "I DON'T hate Sikhs."
She picked up her wallet, took out a key and said, "Come, come, I'll show you. You are the first Sikh to be allowed in since I... I came to this stage."
Through the hallway she led him to the back of the building.

She picked a large scarf, put it around her head and threw a kerchief to him, "Here, cover your head with this."
She pulled the curtain on the wall to one side and unlocked the door behind it, "Take your shoes off and come in."
He was dumbfounded. It was an elegantly and piously decorated room. In the middle on a gilded palanquin, the Sikh Holy Book, Guru Granth Sahib was placed. It was covered with beautifully embroidered pieces of cloth. Quietly, both went down on their knees, and bent their heads to touch the ground to pay their obeisance. They walked back out of the door. She relocked and pulled over the curtain. He was standing with his hands on his face.

"Come back to the front room." He followed. "Please sit down."
"Satiyavati, I am confused and puzzled," he said.
"I am not Satiyavati. My name is Preetam Kaur and I beg you not to ask any questions. Just tell me why did you become a renegade."
"No, I am not a renegade. I am still a Sikh at heart. It was the circumstances, which forced me to.... You know how the Hindu mobsters treated the Sikhs in Kanpur after the assassination of Prime Minister, Indra Gandhi in 1984. They burned my trucks, plundered my house, killed my father and maimed my brother for life. Luckily I was in the Company's office which saved my life. I was left with no job; the compensation, which I received from the Government was all taken away by the trucks leasing company. The owner of Trans India Trucking Company did offer me work as driver but on one condition; I wouldn't wear a turban and remain clean shaven. Although himself a practicing Sikh he did not want his vehicles to be targeted."

"But now the circumstances are near normal. What keeps you away from the proper Sikh Form? How would you face Sacha Padshah Kalgianwala, the True King? Who would save you There from the clutches of Yamraj, the angle of death?"
"I thought over many times.... Just laziness, it's easy..."
"Shame on you..."
"You are telling me? Look what you are doing yourself. How would you face the True Lord? Aren't YOU ashamed of yourself?"
"Gurbachan Singh, I am on a special mission. My Satguru, the True Lord knows all?"
"What is your mission?"
"Gurbachan, please don't ask me now. I am getting week and exhausted. The end is not very far. There is no one with whom I can open my mind in confidence. I am always pleading with the True Lord to send me some emissary of his to convey my message to the culprits of Delhi anti-Sikh riots when I am through."

Grandiose living, religious zeal, hate for the culprits of anti-Sikh riots and above all this occupation, it must be a mission of some importance, he thought and asked, "Can I help you in any way?"
"Perhaps you can if you first become the worthy-son of my Satguru."
"Yes, I will. On my honour and on the honour of my Satguru, I will lay down all my energy, even sacrifice my life. Tell me, tell me the mission of the Satguru which you are trying to accomplish this way."
"No, not so quick. Leave me your address. I will definitely write to you to come and take charge when I am ready, ready to go and kiss the feet of my True Lord, the one with celestial crest. But you must first give me a solemn pledge that you will soon be an Amrtidhari, Baptised Sikh, and will not divulge my secrecy."

And today when Gurbachan walked in the hospital he was in perfect Sikh Form.
"Preetam, Preetam, please keep your eyes open. I am a pooran Gursikh now."
`Gurbachan,' `Preetam,' and `Pooran Gursikh' penetrating her ears had electrifying effect. The wrinkles on her forehead and the flicker of her eyelids indicated the turbulence going on in her mind, the rings round her eyes were loosing their darkness, the dimples in her cheeks started to dance, and her colour began to regain the hue of a healthy human.

She opened her eyes; they were sparkling. She looked at his face constantly and a smile crossed her lips. She raised her right arm and waved her fingers asking him to lower his head. He kneeled down. She moved her hand a few times on his nicely tucked and fixered beard. Then she took her hand above his head and felt the bun of the hair under his turban. She smiled and whispered. He lowered his head further towards her face to hear.

"Now you look like a worthy-son of my Satguru. My Kalgianwala Guru will bless you." She looked to the nurse and pointed towards the drawer of the table besides the bed.

The nurse pulled the drawer, took out a packet and said, "This sealed packet contains her diary, her will and a letter. Since the time she was admitted to the hospital, two months ago, she had been asking us to take care of these things and to hand them over to one Gurbachan Singh; I presume that is you. On her instance the office had sent a letter to you. In case you didn't come and she had expired, she had requested this to be handed over to the Bhai Sahib Vir Singh Charitable Trust in New Delhi." Preetam was listening and watching with eyes wide open. He took the packet in his hand, bent down and kissed on her forehead. By the time he straightened his body, she had closed her eyes. The nurse fumbled to feel her pulse, "Oh, my God, she is gone." and she pressed the emergency bell...

Preetam Kaur was born in a Sikh family. Religiously they steadfastly believed in the Sikh ethics and tenets. But politically they were sternly attached to the Congress Party. Her grandfather had been imprisoned twice, by the British Government, during the struggle for the freedom of India. To them Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru was the emancipator and Mahatma Gandhi a messiah.

Soon after her graduation in political science from Sikh National College, Preetam married, and moved, from the industrial town of Phagwara in the Punjab, to the locality of Samri, in the vicinity of East Delhi. Her husband worked there as an assistant in a Government office. She became the great admirer of Indira Gandhi, then the Prime Minister of India. She would often go to the Ram Lila Ground and the Boat Club to listen to her speeches. She was very much excited when Indra Gandhi manoeuvred to get Zail Singh, a Sikh, elected as the President of India. She bloated the fact that she was there in the Sikh Temple, Gurdwara Sees Ganj, when Indira Gandhi had come there, in a typical Punjabi suit, to pay her homage to the great martyr Guru Tegh Bahadur, and addressed the congregationalists. For her, Nehru Family, particularly Indira Gandhi, was the greatest friend the Sikh Community ever had.

Unexpectedly the Court declared the election of Indra Gandhi to the Parliament as void citing the irregularities committed by her during the election campaign. Instead of bowing to the rule of law she overrode the Court order and declared Emergency. Almost all the political parties succumbed to her action. Even the leader of the pro-Hindu fundamentalist organisation, R.S.S., after a little ordeal, advised his rank and files to cooperate with her.

The Sikh representative body, Sharomani Gurdwara Parbandhik Committee along with its political wing, the Sharomani Akali Dal, was the only one organisation through out India that considered this as the infringement of basic human rights, and it commenced an agitation for the restoration of democracy. Preetam was convinced that, to rid India of corruption, the emergency was a good step. Why didn't her Sikhs understand this, she pleaded, after all the President of the country was a Sikh. When a prominent Sikh saint, Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindrawale joined the Congress forces on the persuasion of President and Prime Minster's flamboyant son Sanjay Gandhi, she was overwhelmed.

But the Sant Bhindrawale soon realised the injustices meted out to the Punjab, its economy, language, culture and above all promotion of anti-Sikh religion interests and decorum. He abandoned the Congress and decided to lead the forces to rectify the injustices. She condemned Sant Bhindrawale and applauded the eminent writer and journalist Khushwant Singh for his sharp admonishment of the saint. She blamed the saint and his proteges for all the atrocities committed either by the economically downtrodden and disgruntled youth or by the criminal element instigated by governmental agencies and other vested interests. Sant Bhindrawale and his accomplices had no business to take sanctuary inside the Golden Temple precincts, she maintained. She wanted Indira Gandhi to get tough with them and flush them out of the sacred place. She was convinced that a few days or at the most a few weeks' siege of the precinct by the army would bring them out. She commended when Indira Gandhi announced to send the army in the month of June 1985 for the purpose.

But she was totally dismayed when she heard the news of the destruction of the Akal Takht in the army's Operation Blue Star, although the action had annihilated the Sant and most of his associates. Listening to the Government run radio and T.V. she was swayed to believe that the militants had forced the army to take such a drastic action.

In the month of August she went to the Golden Temple with her husband. She was perturbed to see the damage. Lot of action taken by the army was quite uncalled for, she thought. Why a siege was not laid to enforce the surrender? Why was that particular day chosen for the action when thousands of people gathered there to pay their homage on the martyrdom day of the Fifth Guru, Guru Arjan Dev? This resulted in the death of thousands of innocent men, women and children. Why did the authorities keep thousands of young children in the prisons for months? Why did Government tell a lie to say that there was no damage to the Sanctum Sanctorum itself whereas there were dozens of signs of bullets on the building? She thoroughly looked inside the reference library, it puzzled her; there was no sign of any ballistic material coming from the outside. How come every bit of valuable piece of Sikh heritage was burned inside? It became obvious to her that some sort of oil was sprinkled and fire was lit intentionally. Her thought was interrupted when she heard a clean shaven man in sparkling white clothes telling a few visitors how Indira Gandhi had been benevolent and she was spending millions of rupees to rebuild the Akal Takht. Who were these people? They were handling all the arrangements and seemed very enthusiastic in Guru Ram Dass Free Kitchen. She came to know from the shops outside the precincts that they were the army officers in mufti as almost all the people rendering services before the army action, both paid and voluntary, had been disbanded. Were they all militants? Why was the Karseva, the voluntary rebuilding service, entrusted in the hands of a drug addict and doubtful character such as Nihang Santa Singh? A few prominent Sikh Congress supporters like Amarinder Singh of Patiala and Devinder Singh Garcha resigned their seats in the Parliament even though they were very close associates of Indira Gandhi. Some highly placed Sikh officials, like Simranjit Singh Mann relinquished their lucrative posts. Even an agnostic like Khushwant Singh, and a few others, returned their Awards of Honours, Padma Bhushans and Padma Shris, in protest. Why? Was Indira Gandhi fighting a political battle with the militants or was she punishing the entire Sikh community? She felt remorse and, from then on, she never went to listen to her speeches.

On the morning of Wednesday Preetam bid her husband, Sohan, good bye to go to his office on his scooter. He was going there after a week's holiday, which he had taken to celebrate Diwali. Reminiscing, she got busy cleaning the kitchen. This year the holiday was not worth its while. For the last five years, they had been living in this house, whole street celebrated the occasion collectively. All the families gathered out in the street enjoying the fire-works. Every house used to have twinkling diyas, the earthen oil lamps, out side their doors and on the parapets. They all shared linseed-sugar-candies, roasted peanuts and sweetmeats. This year it was a sordid affair. Except Preetam and her husband, all the Sikh families kept themselves aloof; the uncalled for destruction and killings at the Golden Temple of innocent Sikhs were fresh in their minds. But Preetam still had some soft corner for the Government of Indra Gandhi although they felt themselves out of the place; the Hindu neighbours continued passing cynical remarks on the activities of the so-called Sikh militants. After spending a long time in the kitchen she diverted her attention to her lounge and bedroom. She put herself in the sofa, relaxed and switched on the radio. She was petrified to hear that an attempt had been made to assassinate Indira Gandhi, and she had been rushed to All India Institute of Medical Sciences. Without further thought she jumped out and hurried to Sita's house next door. The radio was on there too, but Sita was on telephone. Seeing Preetam coming in she put the handset down.

"Have you heard? Indira Gandhi has been shot at?" Preetam asked. "Shot at! She is dead," and sarcastically added, "Your Sikhs have killed her?" "Killed her? She is dead? What are you talking about? Are you sure?" "Yes, my husband just rang. Two of her Sikh bodyguards put dozens of bullets through her body." Preetam sat down in the chair with her face dug in her hands. "Why are you so sad? You Sikhs should be happy." Sita's remarks baffled Preetam. "Sita! What are you saying? You know how big an admirer of Indira I have been." "May be... perhaps... but you all Sikhs are same inside." "Oh, my God. I never expected this, not at least from you.... Any way can I use your 'phone? I want to ring Sohan." Sita nodded in the affirmative.

"Hallo Nathoo," she recognised the voice of her husband's peon on the other end, "It is me here, Preetam. Please call the Sahib.... What? The office is closed already and he has left for the home?.... How long ago?...." She looked at the clock on the wall, "That's alright then. He should be home any minute," and she hung up. Sita's last remark was looming in her mind, without saying anything she just left the place. Her radio was on. She was puzzled as it was still broadcasting the news of the attempted assassination and the messages received from the heads of states of foreign countries condemning the act. Her husband had taken longer than usual to reach home. Every minute was adding to her apprehension. It was an extra half an hour of hell before she heard the voice of the scooter.

"Why did you take so long today? I was so scared," she asked after opening the door and letting the machine in. "I couldn't help. On all the major road-junctions Hindus were getting together and shouting slogans against Sikhs. I had to go round and round the side streets. The situation is getting worse. Good thing the office is closed till her funeral. We had better stay indoors." In the evening they heard the news of the arrival of President Zail Singh and the Prime Minster's son Rajiv Gandhi in the capital, declaration of the death of Indra Gandhi and swearing in of Rajiv Gandhi as the Prime Minster of India. Kartar Singh, who lived five houses down the street, came after dark and told them that thousands of Hindus had amassed outside the A.I.I.M.S., where Indira Gandhi's body was kept. The President's car was bombarded with bricks and stones when he came to see her. When Rajiv Gandhi emerged from the hospital he said, "My mother has been shot dead. What are you doing here? Go, and take revenge. No turban should be seen." Kartar informed them about the rumours circulating that the Hindus were planning to raid the homes of Sikhs and kill them all. But there was nothing to worry about in this locality as the Hindus and the Sikhs had quite amicable relations. `Do they?' Preetam thought and whole night she could not sleep.

Half-heartedly she prepared breakfast and then lunch. All the time radio was playing the mourning music, Vedic discourses and religious hymns. Repeatedly, it was broadcasting the killing of Indira Gandhi in the hands of Sikh bodyguards. On Sundays and other holidays, they normally used to join their neighbours to play cards. But Sita's remarks were resounding and they decided to stay put in their own house. Lying down on the sofas they dozed off. In the late afternoon they heard a knock at the door and let Kartar in. He was breathing heavily. "They... they are coming.? "Come on... keep calm... sit down.... Who are coming?. "Narain Dass just telephoned me. You know Narain Dass, a Congress worker living in the yellow three storey house at the corner of the street." It was a cul-de-sac and Preetam's house was the last one. Kartar continued, "He told me in confidence that the Hindu mobsters have burned down almost all the shops belonging to the Sikhs in Samri and they have laid a siege outside Sikh dominated streets. They are carrying cans of kerosene oil and are burning the houses belonging to Sikhs. Any Sikh who goes out they just pour oil over the person and light the fire. They are carrying lists in their hands and sparing the houses owned by Hindus."

"What shall we do then?" Preetam asked. "Narain advised me to stay put and not to worry as both, yours and mine, houses are owned and registered in the names of Hindus. There is only one house in this street which belongs to a Sikh Army Officer, even he does not live there himself and has let it to Hindu couple. Some Congress boys are leading the assaults. They are holding the lists of the houses, which are owned by the Sikhs. Most of the raiders are from the hutments around Delhi. Probably they have been paid and assured that could keep the articles they loot from the shops and houses. Some of the invaders have been transported from the neighbouring state of Haryana; as you know, they are very ruthless Jats."

"Why such a big reaction now against the Sikhs? They did not kill even one person from Maharashtra when Nathu Ram Godse, a Maharashtrian, killed Mahatma Gandhi. After all every Sikh was not against Indira Gandhi." "I think it is part of a big conspiracy against Sikhs." Kartar added, "We wait and see." "What should we do now? Why can't we take scooters and go to our Sikh Temple?" "In the first place, most of the street entrances have been blocked, and secondly, Narain told me that the gurdwara were the first to be hit by the mob." "Why didn't you telephone the police." "I did, immediately, but I was told, most of the police was busy in the funeral arrangement of Indra Gandhi. They would come if they are called for.... My friend Inspector Ujjagar Singh and two other Sikh constables in Samri Police Station had taken day off, I learnt." "God bless us all."

They went on discussing the eventualities till the darkness brightened the sky with flames coming out of the burning buildings along with the voices of slogans and cries. They kept lights off and kept looking out into the street; hardly any body was walking. Preetam's heart started to beat wildly when she saw a neighbour's teenager boy, Tilak, stopping out side her house, and waving to somebody to come forward. Within seconds, quietly, couple of dozens of roughnecks joined him. She turned her head in, "Sohan, Kartar, come, look out, they all are looking at our house." "Oh, God! What shall we do now!" They heard a knock at the door, "They... they are going to kill us. Where shall we go now?" "Please keep calm. I'll go and talk to them," Sohan said.
"No! Don't go out! Let them knock. They will think that no body is home. I am sure they won't break the door; after all the house belongs to a Hindu."

But the raiders started to push hard and broke the latch.
"Come, let's go in the bedroom, hide under the bed. Preet, go and hide in the large wardrobe." The intruders were in dozens and soon discovered Sohan and Kartar under the bed. "Take them out in the street," a loud voice ordered, "Is there anybody else in the house?"
"Doesn't look like."
"No, Kanti Bhiya, she must be here, somewhere," Tilak shouted, "I saw her walking in the house about an hour ago." "Yes, she is here in the wardrobe," a voice came. "Take her out as well." She started to shout. "Put her scarf in her mouth. She shrieks too much".

She nearly fainted on seeing Sohan and Kartar in the middle of the street. Both were tied together back to back with Kartar's own turban. Their mouths were gagged with the kerchieves. "Bring scissors," a man shouted. "Look baby, look, we are going to make men out of your Sikhs," one of the persons holding Preetam said. She elbowed fiercely but the force of the people holding her was much greater. Sohan and Kartar were shaking their heads vigorously and struggling. "Bring a tyre and put it around them, saaley, don't stand still," the man cropping their hair shouted. Everybody was giggling and dancing.

"Oye, take the canister there," a man holding her asked a boy walking towards the house with a canister of petrol, "we don't need it here, it is a Hindu house we are not going burn it. Give it to him," he pointed towards the man busy cutting hair.

He took the can, pored over Sohan and Kartar and lit a match. The crowd was seized in frenzy. Preetam jumped hard to get out of their clutches.

"Shall we throw her there, too?" A man holding her asked Kanti. Kanti thought over for a few seconds, looked at her from head to feet, licked his lips and stealthily winked and whispered, "Take her in." In the delirium no body noticed them pushing her in and closing the door behind.
"Put her on the bed," ordered Kanti, "saaly, does not stay still. Tie her there."

Four of them pushed her on the string-bed, taking her headscarves from the clothesline, tied her feet and hands to the sides of the bed. Kanti went forward, opened the knot of the string and pulled her trousers down. He ripped her blouse and snapped the brassiere hooks. "She looks ugly with this gag on. Untie the knot and remove the cloth from her mouth," Kanti ordered one of his accomplices.

He unbelted his trousers, unzipped and jumped up. She spit on his face. With his fist as big as the hammer of an ironsmith he hit her hard on both the cheeks. She was almost unconscious. He went down after a few minutes and the other one came up and then another and another and....

She regained consciousness and tried to pull her hands, they were still tied but she could move her leg, they were free. She moved her head right and left and started to cry, "Oh, my True Lord, what have I done to deserve this punishment. I have been an ardent devotee of yours and have recited holy hymns every morning and evening. I was just a baby when you snatched my mother, took away my father immediately after my marriage and.. and... even you did not leave for me my unborn baby and left me to have no more children in my life... and now my husband... why? why?" She was again in void.

When she opened eyes again after a long time she saw him sitting in the chair, smiling.
"Now what else you want from me?" she shouted.
"Baby, you are great. What a body God gave you, solid like rock. It was a great experience...."
"You bastards, divine wrath be upon you."
"Kanti was right, you are like a tigress. He warned me not to untie you.... Look baby I have been waiting here to tell you to forget what happened to you in the house. Except my boys no one knows. No body will believe you. We can produce witness to say that, to save yourself, you invited the boys in... no body is going to identify them anyway. I am Chandra Shah. All the police, government officials and even some of the ministers are in my pockets. When I am gone a policeman will come and discover you. You better go with him quietly. He will take you to the camp, which is being established, for the victims. I have already made the arrangements for the proper funeral of your husband and his friend; there is nothing lying in the street." He got up, "Yes, I heard you talking. You have been left alone in this world. If you need any type of help, come and see me. Here, I leave my card on your mantelpiece.... Before I go I will untie one arm. Don't try to run after me, as I would be gone on my car. You better cover yourself with respectable clothes and wait for the policeman."

Three months had passed since the Police dumped her in the camp. She would have finished her life had she not met Dr. Sankat Singh who had volunteered to help people in running the place. She started to work in the camp office too. Dr. Sankat Singh had taken premature retirement on health grounds and he was, right now, completing a book on the history of the Sikhs; he had been a Senior Secretary in the Intelligence Branch of the Government of India and had lot of inside information. Apart from running the camp she helped him in revising his manuscripts as well. More she read, more she was sickened with the breaking of pledges taken by the Congress leaders. There were times when the Britishers were ready to consider a safe zone for the Sikhs. But the Sikhs were taken in by the promises given by Jawaharlal Nehru and Mahatma Gandhi. According to the British Cabinet plan the Sikhs, for that matter all the states in India, were to have internal sovereignty. But, immediately after the Independence, when Jawaharlal Nehru was reminded about his commitment, he announced that the circumstances had changed.

"How much in dark she had been," Preetam thought. She was baffled to learn about the Nehru family's lineage; they were the descendants of the Gangu Brahmin, Ganga Dhar Kaul, who was once a domestic servant in the house of Guru Gobind Singh and had betrayed the Guru's mother and his two sons to the Mughal Rulers, which culminated in the martyrdom of the three. Her eyes were full of rage when she read about Mahatma Gandhi's anti-Sikh comments, particularly during his last days at Birla House, New Delhi. The spirit of revenge ravaged her mind when she learnt how Indira Gandhi had planned Operation Shanti...

Indira's premature death had brought some of her ill designs, planned under that Operation, in action at the time of her death. "Thousands of the Sikhs has been killed but not a single person is punished," she lamented. Day in and day out she prayed, "Oh, my True King, give me power to take the revenge, endow me with the vitality to teach those who took to the killing of thousands of the innocent Sikhs, an ever lasting lesson."

According to the notes on the envelopes, Gurbachan opened the first envelope. It contained the will. All the money she had put in the fixed deposit, she wanted to be given to the Chief Khalsa Diwan, a premium Sikh Educational Trust. She desired most of this to be spent on the education of the orphans of the 1984 carnage. The palatial house, she lived in, was to be handed over to Bhai Sahib Vir Singh Old Peoples Home, on the condition that the room she used for religious purposes would be kept intact with full sacred Sikh decorum.

The packet containing her diary was to be taken to the Golden Temple, Amritsar. After due supplication it was to be taken to the cemetery near Durgiana Hindu Mandir in Amritsar and put to fire there. The little amount of the ashes collected were to be brought back to New Delhi and clandestinely sprinkled in the garden of Prime Mister's house. The amount of the money, in the current account, to be paid to Gurbachan or any other person performing the above task.

The other letter was strictly for Gurbachan and was to be opened after he had performed the last rite as specified in the will. If Gurbachan did not turn up the letter was to be burned along with the diary. Gurbachan was apprehensive. He wondered what could there be in the letter. He kept to the letter and spirit of Preetam's wishes religiously. It took over six months to complete all the assignments and, at last, the day came to find out what was there in the envelope. With shaking hands he opened. It was in two parts. In the first, she had given the brief account of her life up to the time she reached the camp and the six months she had been there. Gurbachan turned over to the second part.

"During the six months I was in the camp, people from Red Cross Society often came to request for the donation of blood. I had been a coward and hid away myself every time. When Dr. Sankat Singh learnt about my cowardice, he convinced me about the necessity of this human cause. "As I was very shaky the nurse took only half a bottle. Two days later I was surprised to see the Doctor and the nurse coming to my room. They shut the door and talked to me for more than an hour. They wanted to have further tests and asked me to wait for them in a week's time. I could not sleep three nights. Pretending to be ill with a headache I did not go to the camp office. By the fourth morning I had made up my mind, I packed up a small suitcase and left the camp. I informed everybody that I was going to Amritsar, to the city of my Guru, for about a fortnight.

"I stayed at the Golden Temple and almost twenty four hours a day I remained in prayer. After about a week I left for New Delhi. All the time I had the card Master Chandra Shah had left for me on that unlucky evening. "It was dusky when I reached Chandler's house. It looked like a mini palace. I was scared to approach the doorman. But when he saw me looking curiously at the house, he came forward and asked, `Coming to see the boss, Baby? For the first time, I suppose?'
"I could hardly say, `yes'.
"`Come right in Baby. Probably he is waiting for you,' he welcomed me and wide opened the gate.
"`Couldn't be, how could he....' He did not let me finish the sentence.
"`Don't worry Baby, he is always waiting for good people like you,' he was sarcastic. I followed him.
"Chandra Shah was lying in his bed. A pious looking man was standing nearby. I recognised the person. He was Karam Chand. He had come to the camp a few times to hand out blankets and other clothes to the refugees. Chandra winked at the nurse to leave and looked at me and said, `Hallo Baby. At last you have come. I knew you would. Make this as your own home. Since I fell ill everybody is running away. You can take over.'

"I was shocked. I did not know he was already on the deathbed. I was confused, should I go back or stay. Go back where? No where. There was no place for me now. And I decided to stay put.

"On the second morning I was still in my bed in the elegant room assigned to me when Karam Chand came in. Without asking me, he sat down on my bed and started superfluous conversation and then, later on, added. `Perhaps you don't know Baby, I was in the car outside when Master Chandra Shah was with you in your house.'
"I felt like spitting at his face but did not interrupt.

"He continued, ` The very first day when I went to the camp I recognised you. Master Chandra asked me to do something to get you for him but bad luck, he fell ill and abandoned all his plans. He is a dying man. No body, except his Doctor, knows what is wrong with him. But the rumours are in the air that he has only a few months to live. In spite of all his illness he is still yearning for girls. His body is becoming uglier every day. Let alone sleep no girl would like to stand near him.... I just wanted to warn you.'

"Late in the evening he came again. I was lying in bed. He sat down and started to caress my hair, I did not move. He touched my cheeks, I stayed still. He slithered his hand under the blanket. `What a beautiful body. Why are you wasting it?' he whispered.

"`I am not,' I replied and he pulled over the blanket and slipped in, under the dhoti he had nothing on.
"After finishing the job, he said, `You know what this place is?'
"`Master Chandra's house. What else?' I asked.
"He replied, `It is high society brothel, high society girls come in in the evening through the back door. The high society gentlemen come to meet the kingmaker politician, Master Chandra Shah, and quietly slip into the rooms occupied by the girls. It is a billion rupee business.' I became placid and he left the place.

"Soon I understood the operation. I assumed the name of Satiyavati and started to entertain the high society clients myself. Chandra was very happy to see my progress and slowly and steadily full rein was in my hands. With the news of Chandra's illness, officials and highflying business community drifted away. This effected Karam Chand's income and he indulged in blackmail of some dignitaries. Two months before Chandra breathed his last Karam Chand was found dead in a mysterious car accident. Chandra's will gave me all his property and money.

"I wanted to carry on till the last day of my life. I engaged a very influential pimp as agent and continued to receive the customers myself. Only the people with money could afford to come to my place. I had strictly instructed the agent and the doorman not to allow a Sikh and, as much as possible, a Muslim by asking his name. They thought I hated the Sikhs. "Now when I am totally exhausted, I am giving enough money to the agent and the door-man and shutting the door for ever. In a few months, when I realise my end is nearing I will prefer to go and stay in the hospital. The doctors and all the rests will come to know that I cannot be cured. "We were innocent victims in the hands of the fanatics and cruel miscreants. I had no power and no sword to fight. I always prayed to my True Lord to help me to punish them. I have already incarcerated over one thousand persons, and till the time they multiply and reach the figure of one hundred and twenty-five thousands my soul will be roaming around. "I wanted to pay back and I distributed among them what they gave me -- AIDS."

Excerpted from MUKLAWA & OTHER STORIES