India, January 1947: Ilma, a young girl of
the age of 6 was knitting a sweater as cold winter winds swept across the
courtyard of her Dadajaan’s haveli on
the outskirts of Lahore. It was a winter morning; her sapphire blue eyes were
filled with envy as her 4 year old brother, Abdul got a kiss on his forehead
from Ammi, who somehow didn’t seem to notice the refrained smile Ilma’s bright
face seemed to pass her. Ammi carried on with her chores. Her dada came back
from his early morning stroll and kept his walking stick behind the gate and
walked towards the tap where Ilma was seated. Within a blink of an eye, she was
left sprawling, with five long marks on her white cheek. She had been slapped
for not completing her knitting on time. Her dada said “You wretched girl! You
have been at this for nearly two hours! Who will make my chai? Tasneem! Where is my chai?” Ammi came running out and saw
Ilma silently sobbing. “Stop wasting your time crying and fetch me the tea
leaves you fool!” As Ilma went to get the tea leaves, a retired army officer,
Nawaz Khilji entered. He had fought for the allies in the war and even lost a
leg in the course of it. He now walked on a leg made of tin. The minute Ilma
was born she was despised by her ammi and dada. She was her father’s daughter
and whenever possible, those sapphire blue eyes were protected by her abbu. “She
will go nowhere! She was made to drop out of school while I was at war even
when higher studies beckoned, so that she can learn the chores of the house. At
least respect her for that!
Nawaz spent a lot of time with Ilma doing anything that a normal father
would; he would walk with her, teach her poetry and take her cycling. To those
blue eyes, her abbu was the only rope upwards from this abyss of restriction,
plight and domestic violence.
*****
July-August 1947: The life of not only Ilma
but more than one billion people had changed forever. Partition had been
declared. Even as Islam followers, Ilma’s family had its roots in Kanpur. With
his well established connections in Lahore, dada arranged for trucks to
transport luggage and family to the other side of the border.
However the locality where they lived was a Hindu dominated area, and
with killings of Hindus all over Pakistan, they were thirsty for blood. They
surrounded the house from the front. Nawaz Khilji’s army instincts arose and he
decided to hold off the mob till everyone was ready to leave. He went to the
roof where bricks lay and hurled brick by brick at the goons below. By that
time a worried Ilma and a terror struck Abdul, Ammi and Dada were on the truck,
when suddenly the truck began leaving. “Abbu!” Ilma exclaimed. “He offered to
sacrifice himself for us” sobbed Dadajaan. “He also told you to stay strong and
not bow in front of the world.”
A
pretty young Abdul looked back only to feel sad for the fact that the fields
where he played are now gone forever. Ammi howled and looked back to realize,
her pillar of strength, her husband was alive no longer. For Dadajaan his
ancestor’s lands had been lost forever. For Ilma, they were moving from one
abyss to another, just that the new abyss had no rope out.
*****
Kanpur, March 1951: As those blue eyes looked out from the barred
window, a koyal perched, singing on
the branch, spring had arrived. India was finally emerging out of the grief of
partition, in a little less than four years. However losing her Abbu had made a
great deal of difference to her. She hardly spoke; she had nightmares of her
father shouting out her name while being beaten to death by those goons. She felt
dead from the inside.
Ilma’s family moved in with her Dada’s younger brother Rehman Khilji. He
was a wealthy landlord and had a two storied bungalow. Unmarried, he lived
alone. Here again, she was mistreated and was regularly bashed up by the arrogant
Khilji brothers for the pettiest of things. Her mother hardly ever protested,
turning all her attention to the growing Abdul.
Ilma was a depressed, suppressed but stunningly beautiful, her hair was
jet black, her face though frequently bruised, when at its best was really
fair, her deep blue sapphire eyes were alluring. She was tall and her body
weight was just perfect. Her smile though, it barely ever came on, could make
anyone forget their anger.
On
a hot day in the summer of 1955, Rehman Khilji was on his way down from the
roof when he crossed Ilma’s room. Through the creek of the door he saw Ilma
with a towel around her, her hair was wet. He stopped to have a better look at
her and at the same time Ilma’s attention fell upon those wolf like eyes. She
rushed to shut the door; however Rehman stuck a foot in it. He kicked open the
door and barged in. Ilma tried to scream but Khilji put his hand over her
mouth. She tried to struggle but it was a futile exercise. She had to give in
eventually to the much stronger Khilji. Two hours later, a notably sweaty
Khilji walked out of the room and an expressionless Ilma lay naked on the bed.
Later that night Ilma went to her mother and told her what had happened,
expecting some condolence. She said”Ammi what wrong have I done? Why is Allah
so angry with me? Why am I beaten up and molested?” To this Ammi merely replied
“He gave you a house, he will do as he pleases with you. He sends Abdul to the
best school in Kanpur!” Ilma smiled. She made herself believe that her mother
went through the same in her time, everything was to be forgiven.
It
was now 1959; Rehman Khilji had passed away with a heart attack two years ago
but not before molesting Ilma several times. Ilma’s sapphire blue eyes were
filled with sorrow, her fair white face showed no emotion whatsoever.
One
day while doing the dishes, through the window she saw Abdul having an
altercation with the neighbor’s daughter. “You randi! I will rape you!” he screamed at her and stomped inside the
house in a fit of rage. He took off his chappals
and went into the kitchen. “Make me some kheer
Didijaan!” he demanded.”First you will tell me why you made such a derogatory
remark at that girl!”. “She refused to kiss me! She loves someone else! How
dare she refuse Abdul Khilji?” Ilma was shocked. “Abdul you cannot think this
way. She is a woman free to her choices. She has every right to refuse you. You
can only attempt to woo her and accept her choice!” Abdul went red in the face.”I
will do as I please! Now make me the kheer please! “.
Ilma knew anything she said would have no effect on Abdul. She was
deeply disturbed, so she recited the whole incident to Ammi. “So what? He is my
son! He deserves anything he wants!” Ilma walked out of the room, her head down
in despair. Her otherwise enchanting eyes seemed to have given up.
Subsequently,
Abdul’s ego had taken a big dent. How did his sister, a woman, have the courage
to stand up against him? The next night violent shrieks were heard in the
house. Someone had been hurt bad. Tasneem rushed up to the room where the howl
s came from. She entered the room and saw Abdul holding his bleeding arm. Ilma was
crying but her face had no injury marks. Ammi’s eyes were shell shocked when she
finally saw Ilma’s leg, it had pieces of shattered glass on them and her skin
had been eaten away by acid. Yes. Abdul Khilji had broken an acid bottle on his
own sister only because she was worried about him. She was not taken to the
hospital that night. Only her brother was, but then again, he was her ‘brother’
after all.
Ilma was completely devastated by now, her life had no meaning. She
sometimes wondered if she had stayed back with her Abbu all those years ago to
help him. It would have been so much better, she thought. She would have died, but
death would come at the side of a person who loved and respected her the most.
She also pondered upon the possibility that maybe seeing a girl, they would
have spared their lives and she would now be living with just her father in
what was now called, Pakistan.
*****
February 1961, her Dadajaan had passed away
and the remaining family had now moved to Gujrat where Tasneem’s parents had a
house. On a sunny afternoon, a completely depressed Ilma had gone out to buy
vegetables for the house. She was busy arguing over the price of bhindi when she suddenly noticed a young
man staring at her. It was hard for any man not to stare at her with those
bedazzling sapphire blue eyes. She moved on to the next fruit cart and the man
followed her. Ilma, with the entire trauma she faced in her life felt
threatened and ran home.
The man was Amar Pratap. He was in his mid 20’s, an IPS officer who
lived in the same locality. The next day the same episode was repeated, this
process continued for a few days. One day Amar Pratap gathered his courage and
went up to her. “Aapka naam kya hai?”
he said. There was something about him
that instantly made her murmur “Ilma.” “Can I help you with these” he said,
pointing towards a bag of tomatoes. “Yes” she said in a voice full of shyness
and fear. They walked home together, neither uttering a word. At the last turn she
said “shukriya”, indicating that she
could not be spotted with a man, especially a Hindu.
Their meetings like these, continued for a whole month. Sometimes, this
suppressed girl even managed to gather enough courage to sneak out at night for
a stroll with Pratap. She felt a strange sort of security and comfort when with
him. In a magical way, he reminded her of Abbu. She told him everything about
her life, from molestation to acid burns, discrimination to captivity. One
night as Ilma was saying something about the stars, Pratap suddenly bent
forward and kissed her full in the mouth “I will free you from your captivity,
religion is not a problem for me, and I want to marry you at the earliest” he
said. A shocked Ilma took a moment to take it all in and said “Pratap, I’m
overwhelmed by your words, however I can’t marry you, the society won’t let me and
I am a disturbed person. Above all, I am not even a virgin”. “I do not give a
damn! We will get married.” Ilma was brought to tears, she simply hugged him.
In
the next month Pratap had convinced a very rigid Tasneem to agree for the
marriage. She although agreed only after she realized that Pratap had demanded
no dowry. She thought this was the best way to get rid of her biggest burden. A
simple wedding took place and her daughter was ‘disposed’ off.
The
next few years were the best years of Ilma’s life. In Pratap she found a man
who gave her unconditional love and respect, something she had been searching
for, throughout her life. His parents were very warm, treating her like their
daughter. She had everything. The smile on those lips was back, the sparkle in
those eyes was back.
It
was June 1966 and Ilma was ecstatic. She was 5 months pregnant. Pratap never
forced a child; he wanted to wait till she was mentally and physically ready.
Everyone was celebrating. It was not to last. Riots broke out in Lucknow and
Pratap’s younger brother was brutally killed in a Muslim mob. All the good in
Pratap that day was overshadowed by his sudden hatred for Muslims. He could not
let a Muslim give birth to his child. He stormed up to Ilma and kicked her in
the stomach. Ilma let out a huge wail and fell on the ground. He kicked her
several times till he was convinced that the baby was dead. Ilma was saved at
the hospital. Tasneem was informed but she couldn’t care less. In this
never-ending battle against fate, Ilma had lost again. Her sadness knew no
bounds. A divorce was taken the following month.
Ilma had now decided to head away. She
couldn’t stay with her in-laws and her mother wouldn’t take her in. She packed
her bags and left for Kashmir where she became a household maid. No one heard from her ever since.
On
13th September 1969, Amar Pratap breathed his last. He died in his
sleep under mysterious circumstances. On 15th September, Tasneem
passed away under similar conditions. When police officials reached Ilma’s
house on 18th September, they found her on the bed, her wrist
slashed, her body numb and breathless and the sapphire blue, blood red. Her
lips had a smile on them. On the bedside was a return ticket from Gujrat dated
13th – 16th September, 1969.
