Under the Moonlit Sky. Nav K. Gill
special occasions with family and friends. Diwali was always a very special day for him. Your father had just returned from the bazaar with sweets, and I was rushing him into the bedroom, pleading that he get dressed quickly so we could go outside and join everyone else. I was walking out to the courtyard when I heard it . . .”
She trailed off, and I hesitated a moment before pushing her to keep going. “Heard what, Mom?”
“A noise . . . It sounded like muffled screams. I looked around and tried to determine if what I heard was real or just in my head. So I stopped and listened carefully. Then I heard it again, and this time I followed the voices in the direction of the servants’ quarters. No one else was in the house, as most were either out in the courtyard, or just making their way back from the Gurdwara. We had given the servants the evening off to go and be with their families, so the noise immediately aroused my curiosity.
“As I made my way to the back, I saw a dim light emerging from the storage room, located by the servant quarters, and I heard it again; a faint scream and cries that could only belong to a female. I could hear a shuffling noise, which I later attributed to the struggle that was going on inside.”
“Struggle? Oh, Mom . . . what did you see?” My heart pounded as I made my way closer to where she was seated.
“I crept to the door and slowly pushed it open,” she continued with her eyes still carefully averted away from my curious gaze. “The door creaked a little, and I remember trembling at that moment. I was nervous and almost afraid to step inside. When I looked up, I was instantly filled with terror. The scene before me was . . . it was . . . to this day I cannot put it out of my mind. There he was . . . the pride of our family, the joy of the village . . . forcefully on top of an innocent girl. Her hands were pinned high above her head with his. Tears were streaming down her face, and her legs were pinned beneath his weight. Her clothing had been stripped off . . . the sight was so disgusting, I screamed and I screamed. I yelled at him to let her go. I was so shocked and so hurt to see him in such an act. I could not believe what was happening right before my eyes.”
“Oh my god . . . oh my . . . Mom, what did you do?”
“What else could I do but try and stop him? I ran to him, and I started pushing him away. I just threw myself at him. I was hysterical. I cannot forget how he just looked at me. There was no sadness or remorse; he just stared at me as he blocked my attacks. Eventually, he managed to push me aside, got up and walked away. He never once turned around. He just simply walked away.”
“What about the girl? What happened to her?”
“I took her in my arms, and I alerted your father about what had happened. He was furious. I could never have imagined the anger that I saw in his eyes that night. He decided that his father, your grandfather, should be notified and left in charge of the situation.
“In the end, it was decided that Jeet would marry that poor girl. She was so traumatized by what had happened. It was clear that she was terrified about the uncertainty of her future. She was scared, as most women back then were. There weren’t many options for female victims of rape then. Her life was ruined by Jeet’s moment of lust and insanity.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine what she was experiencing, but marry?” I said. “Forcing her to marry her rapist is even worse! What about the cops? What about charging his ass with rape, dumping him in jail and tossing away the key?” I found it absolutely absurd that they didn’t jump to the obvious remedy.
“Oh, Esha, back then things were done differently,” she replied, waving a hand. “Families tried to salvage what they could of their honour. The girl’s father was worried that no man would marry her if the ordeal was made public. Also, a few weeks later, it was learned that she was pregnant. Marriage was the only way to save both families.”
“I seriously don’t agree, but, okay, what happened next? I imagine things didn’t go as planned, otherwise why would I find a wedding picture of Dad and that woman? That was her, wasn’t it?”
“Jeet wasn’t pleased with the idea of marrying her. He protested against the will of the family, and the night before the wedding, he ran away.”
“He ran away?”
“Yes, and this posed a serious problem for your grandfather. The girl’s father was very upset and decided that since the truth would now most likely leak out, he would take things into his hands. He threatened to cause a public stir and defame the entire family. Your father could not stand by and watch the family suffer for a sin that Jeet had committed. So he announced that he would stand in Jeet’s place, that he would marry the girl.”
“How was that possible? He was already married to you.”
“Yes, legally he was my husband, and he had already filed immigration papers to come to Canada. No outsiders were invited. Just the family conducted a small ceremony to give satisfaction to the girl and her father that her child would have a name. It was done to give her some peace of mind after such a traumatic experience. The villagers didn’t even know what had happened. So to keep the secret, your grandfather shifted the entire family to Delhi. When your father received his immigration to Canada, he left India and never went back, but continued to send money. Papers were doctored to show that Jeet had in fact married her, and the child was his.”
“Wow, that’s . . . that’s . . . that’s really messed up.”
“It’s a lot to understand. I had a tough time dealing with it, but I had seen the state that the poor girl was in. I understood why your father did what he did. I never had any complaints against him. If he hadn’t married her and made sure that she would be taken care of, then God only knows where she would have ended up, or if she and her child would have survived.”
“But why was a picture taken of Dad and her? I mean, if Dad just stepped in, why the photo?”
“It was leverage. The girl’s father wanted it taken, in case our family backed away from carrying out our promise to care for her and her son and giving them the family name.”
“I wish you had told me this sooner, Mom. It would have prevented my hostile behaviour towards Dad this past year. It would have helped if you had said something sooner.”
“I realize that, but I took an oath that I would never say a word unless your father deemed it necessary.”
“So why now? What difference does it make? He’s already gone. I can’t correct what’s happened in the past year, the way I attacked him and cut him out of my life.”
“It matters now, Esha, because your father wanted you to know. He . . .” Her voice trailed away as she got off the bed and walked carefully over to the window, staring off into the vast landscape that surrounded us. After a short silence, she continued. “Before he left us, your father made a request.”
“What kind of request?”
She turned around to face me now. “He wished that I tell you the truth regarding the family in India. He wished that you be the one to travel back with his ashes. He wished that you discover the family in India, and that along with the son, you travel to Kiratpur, the sacred place for Sikhs, and that you pour his ashes into the river as it has been done for countless Sikhs, including several of our Gurus. Esha, your father wished that you try, at least once, to discover what it is to be a Sikh.”
That sounded like more than just one request, and what was this about “learning to be a Sikh?” What did she mean? Travel to India? Me? The idea was laughable at best. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to meet that family.
“Mom, this is too much!” I finally objected. “What am I going to do in India? And it’s such a big responsibility to . . . to . . . well, the ashes thing. I’ve never been to India, I barely visit the Gurdwara here, so what do I know about doing stuff like that? I can’t do it, no way! And that family, I’m not even sure I want to meet them. I mean, you just told me all of this stuff now; I haven’t even begun to process it. It’s too soon, and what about my soccer season? I can’t just abandon the team . . . and—”