Jeevani’s new home had a
lot more people than she was used to. It
was a joint family of her husband, his parents, and his widowed sister. A cousin and his family of three children
also lived with them. Jeevani had
overheard Amma inquiring about this cousin.
Amma sat crossed legged
on the manji bed one late afternoon
unraveling yarn. She rolled the wool
into a neat ball while Jeevani held the yarn between her hands sitting beside
her.
Biba, the town crier waddled in as the sun was hanging
low overhead. Grabbing the mooda, she forced her large behind onto
the small seat.
“Biba, just the woman I
wanted to see.” Amma cried.
“So glad to be
welcomed.” She looked at Jeevani. “Look
at her, so grown up.”
Amma leaned forward and
asked, “Who is this cousin at Jeevani’s in-laws?”
“Who knows what the truth
is?” Biba dismissed at first.
Amma continued with her
wool rolling, as a faint smile formed on her face. She had planted the seed and everyone knew
Biba wouldn’t stay quiet for long.
Jeevani had watched the
game of words and silence over her stretched hands as the yarn slowly unraveled
around her fingers.
“I heard…” Biba’s voice dropped conspiratorially.
Jeevani leaned closer on the manji bed trying not to look too interested.
“This cousin was orphaned
as an infant. Ameerni fed him her own
milk.”
Amma gasped, “How is that
possible? Was she flowing?”
“Your son-in-law was a
month old. This infant was three
months.” Biba shared.
“Hai rabba.” Amma stopped rolling. “So where is he now?”
“Quetta. Some uncle from his mother’s side took him
when he was ten.”
Amma slowly nodded, “So
that’s why the family is moving to Quetta.”
She looked at Jeevani and ran a hand on her head, “Taking my daughter
far away from me.”
Jeevani recalled Amma’s
face from that afternoon. She remembered
the wrinkles around those sad eyes, the crooked frown from a curve in one
corner of her mouth and specks of white in the thick dark hair. Renewed tears started their journey.
Jeevani
suddenly realized that she never learned the cousin’s name and will have to
call him Pahji, elder brother. Relaxing back she recalled her husband’s name
that she had learned at the wedding ceremony.
Her mother had reminded her of the age-old custom of never letting his
name escape her lips – Ram Lal. She also
understood now the reason for her own new name.
Ram was the name of the legendary warrior king who had defeated the
powerful Ravan for abducting his wife, Sita in the great epic, Ramayan. Jeevani
remembered now that Ram’s wife was also called Janaki.
According to tradition,
her mother had explained that a woman starts a new life when she gets
married. It was natural for Ram Lal’s
wife to be named Janaki but somewhere in the Punjabi dialect, an ‘a’ dropped off. Jeevani Kapur became Janki Khatri. In her corner in the train, Jeevani realized
that not only was she losing her home, her town, her family and friends, she
also had to lose the one thing she had that was her own – her name. Her new life had to start from a clean slate.
The train screeched to a
tired halt after a laborious trek through the mountains. It pulled into Quetta station with a sigh and
a shudder. An explosion of movement
erupted around her. Women searched for
their luggage or called for the coolie
to lug the baggage out. At some point a
voice called out to Jeevani. She stood
up and, partially blinded by the veil, tried to keep up with her escort.
To Be Continued
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