Without Brothers

He was standing there—perplexed!

His sons, daughters, daughters in law, wife and his neighbourers—all were there.

Now, he was neither chained nor was he wearing that striped uniform.

He was wearing the same grey “chadra” and brown shirt which he had worn that night, nine months ago.

Nine months ago, one night, while watering his fields; he had heard a unique melodious voice—singing those favorite verses from Heer Waris.

Gripped in an unknown state of mind, he had just proceeded in the direction of that voice.

It was a half moon-lit night…as if he was floating in a dream-like state, with his dear friend singing ……the same couplets of Heer,somewhere far off.

…But how can he be here? He was murdered during the partition riots. He was all alone and was his best friend. He had that melodious voice which bound the two friends in a unique bond which synchronized their spirits and rather than going back from that serpentine line, he had actually crossed to the other side!

The serpentine line of partition was just next to the boundary of his village, but he had never even looked towards this side.

And during those dreadful days, his friend was dragged away by the rioters and shot dead…….but from where was this voice coming from??

It was definitely him…nobody in the whole world could sing Heer like him….it was him, his dear friend…yes!

If it was not his “body”, then definitely it was his spirit.

Yes, it was his spirit!

It was definitely his spirit!

My dear friend’s spirit!


And he kept walking in the direction of the voice! He reached the last bit of his village land, but tonight, he did not see the serpentine line next to the village boundary, which was drawn there exactly twenty four years and few months ago.

He approached the garden which belonged to the next village (on the other side).It was the same garden where they used to gather so often and his friend used to sing through out night.

Even now, it seemed there was a similar gathering in the garden and someone was singing verses of Waris…….

What kind of miracle was this?......as if his friend’s voice had entered the throat of this singer!

He just wanted to stop there for a while and listen to the miraculous voice. All of a sudden, he was reminded of the serpent line, which had made him a “foreigner” for the same garden where they used to sit and listen to his friend’s songs throughout night.

He thought that he will only listen for a while and then quietly slip back into his territory.

He did not want to get bitten by the serpent-line……..

“Who are you?”….suddenly he found himself surrounded by some people and they were soon joined by few policemen from the nearby post.

That voice had gone silent now. It had been bitten by the serpent line.

The policemen tied a cloth on his eyes and made him sit in a jeep.

The jeep was roaring towards its destination ……….”spy” “spy”……..as if the jeep was filled with a pungent smell!

He somehow sensed that the jeep was going in the same direction where his in-law’s village was.

Thirty years ago, he had traveled on the same road with “sehra” on his head. That time also, he was accompanied by his best friend, who had kept singing the whole distance……..he still remembered the songs and verses of Heer…………His friend would tease him also every now and then….would create “boliyaaN” about his sister in law……and then he had told his friend,” I won’t let you remain unmarried as well, I will start searching for my sister in law soon.”

At that moment, he had this strong desire that if policemen open his blinder for a while, then he could see that way again. He wanted to see whether things had changed after the partition………were the birds and trees same or different!........what kind of clothes the people wore!

Things might have improved, as they had on his side…….only his friend was not alive…..and that serpent line had been drawn.

He wanted to remove the cloth from around his eyes, but he was hand-cuffed and the blinder was not sliding down a bit……..and he was being taken on the same road on which he had traveled thirty years ago, with “sehra” on his head and was accompanied by his best friend, who sang throughout the way…….his favorite verses form Heer.

He was without any cloth on his body.

It was mid December.

Beneath his back, was a cube of ice.

“Why are you on this side without a passport?”

“What is that, sir”

“don’t try to be so innocent….boys, give him some taste of our ………”

And the boys started caning his bare body.

“now tell us, who sent you for spying just three days before the war? We will skin you alive if you don’t tell us the truth.”

They raised him from the ice cube and gave him the lungi to wrap around himself.

“Nobody has sent me….I am not a spy. I was watering my fields when I heard a unique voice from this side”

“Whose voice?”

“Singing voice….as if my friend was singing”

“What rubbish….what song….who is your friend?......must be some smuggler!”

“ No sir, he was killed by rioters during partition, but that night, I heard exactly the same voice from this side.”

“Make this son of a bitch lie on ice again…….I have set many notorious dacoits right, what is he??.....boys, show your skills again!”

And the boys again started beating his naked body with sticks.


This was some other place . Now, he was face to face with not a policeman, but an army officer.

“You can not fool us by acting as a mad person…..we won’t keep you alive…tell us exactly how far is the army from your village and where? …how many tanks do they have and where are the bunkers near your fields?”

“I don’t anything sahib, there is nothing ……..and what is a bunker?”

“You are still talking in the same silly style…its not police which could be fooled by your antics…..this is army, and we will shoot you”

“My friend was snatched from my hands and shot in front of me…..I could do nothing. Even the earth did not engulf me at that time……how melodiously he used to sing…..believe me, I am half dead since that day…..and I came to this side when I heard his voice. No sahib, nobody has sent me and I am not a spy…..I am his friend”

“ You son of a bitch, you did not die at that time…..we will kill you now…we are sick of your story now……you say that you just followed his voice……how dumb is your country…can’t even train their spies in making plausible excuses! Even your looks and attire was not changed by those silly people!”

And then the officer started explaining to his subordinates,” we are so expert in this business….when we send our spies on that side, they are so disguised that they can mingle with the local population very easily……..and they are taught to make believable stories….we are not dumb like them….dumb and cowards!”

When he could not give them any more information, the officer ordered the jawans to give him electric shocks.

Jawans went outside, and the officer kept smoking while standing there.

He remembered that he had got electricity connection in his house after a lot of running around, and he had even not enjoyed its dazzling light to his heart fill, when he crossed over to this side, following his friend’s voice. And what were these electric shocks?

A jawan returned with an instrument. They connected the instrument’s wires to a small box fitted on the wall, and then they started touching those bare wires with his body……he cried and cried!! The electric current shook his limbs violently and he was almost unconscious. He remembered how, a calf had died in front of his eyes when it was hit by a lightening.

Now he was in their prison. On some days, he was not given even a drop of water, while on other days, he would be made to lie under a tap and drink water till his belly distended to its limit. He would be kept fasting day-night and would not be allowed to sleep for nights together. Light in his cell would always be kept on. He would be taken to face one or the other officer who would keep asking the same questions, “why did you come to this side, who had sent you and where were your troupes………and the tanks and bunkers…?”

Many inmates of the prison were nice to him, but others would consider him mad and made fun of him. There was one of these prisoners, who was very kind towards him. He was told by the inmates that this particular prisoner was a famous poet, who had written many poems against the government. He was a rebel and because of his writings, the government had imprisoned him along with dacoits, murderers ,thieves, rapists, pick-pockets and gamblers.

The poet had recited some of his rebellious verses for him. Many times, the poet had applied balm on his sores, and had wept when he saw the wounds given by the interrogators. During such moments, the poet would appear like his friend who was killed in front of his eyes, and whose voice had brought him here. Sometimes the poet would sing Heer , and at such times, he would confuse the poet with Waris Shah. He had never seen any picture of Waris, but he would imagine that Waris must be like the poet .

Then, he was told by one of the fellow prisoners one day that there was ceasefire.

“Does this mean that my fiend will come back?”

Some of the inmates again made fun of him and called him mad…..

The rebel poet scolded all of them and took him away from those prisoners. They kept sitting under a tree for long time……just two of them.

He started crying and then he addressed the poet,” you are the same….my friend. You have come back and have escaped bullets….as there has been ceasefire now….tell me there will be no firing now….they won’t beat me with sticks….won’t make me lie on ice …..no electric shocks!”…….and he lost consciousness in the lap of the poet.

One day, he heard that there was an agreement between the two countries.

After few months, he was left by the policemen, on the other side of the serpent line.

He was standing there….perplexed….his sons, daughters, daughters-in-law, sons in law, his wife, villagers-all were standing in front of him, but his best friend with unique melodious voice and that rebel poet were nowhere to be seen.