Henry

Today is the 13th of April, and the people here are celebrating their New Year in the joy of harvesting their crops.

A fair has been set up here. All of this was very new for me, so I also set out toward the fairground to understand their culture more closely.

The fair of Baisakhi was thriving in all its glory and grandeur. I had been surprised to hear that this festival is celebrated here every year with such intensity.

Baisakhi is not just a harvest festival. For the people here, it is a day of new beginnings.

I have heard that the tenth Guru of the Sikhs, Guru Gobind Singh Ji, also established the Khalsa Panth on this very day. It is a very fascinating history, one that I have been reading about these days.

On this day, the people of Punjab renew their unbreakable bond with their soil and their culture.

Hearing about it had surprised me, but seeing it with my own eyes made me understand how deeply these people are connected to their colors, their songs, and their land.

The marketplace was overflowing with people. I had never seen such a crowd here before as I was seeing today. It felt as if the entire city had poured out onto the streets.

Women were bargaining for glass bangles, children were tugging at their mothers for sweets, and men were laughing and joking loudly.

The colors of their clothes, shining yellow, deep green, and bright red, dazzled the eyes. I had never before been part of such a vibrant world until I was posted here in Punjab. It truly lives up to the meaning of its name, the land of five rivers, filled not only with water but also with life and spirit.

But at that moment, I pushed all of these things to some corner of my mind. My attention was completely fixed on that girl.

Heer.

Yes, Heer. She was here too, at the fair. With her brother and her friend. The librarian was with them as well. Yes, Iqbal Ali has already told me that Heer’s friend is the librarian’s fiancée.

I was standing near the watch stall, pretending to examine an old pocket watch.

But the truth was that my gaze was fixed on Heer. Even in her simple attire, she looked the most beautiful and captivating among everyone here.

There is something about this girl that manages to draw my attention toward her every single time. Otherwise, I have never strayed from my purpose until now.

She was choosing bangles with her friend. Her delicate fingers moved slowly over the circles of glass bangles.

When she laughed at something her friend said, that laughter slipped through the noise of the market and melted into my ears like a sweet melody.

No matter how much I tried, I could not take my eyes off her. There was something within her that I could not quite understand, yet it kept pulling me toward her.

I kept watching as she handed a coin to the bangle seller and slipped a pair of green bangles onto her wrists.

“Dilkash. (Captivating.)”

That was the only word of praise that escaped my mouth for her. There is no need to be surprised. These days I am learning Urdu. I told you, did I not, I liked this language so much that I could not stop myself.

She was giggling as she showed her wrists filled with bangles to her friend. For a moment, I remembered that first meeting of ours in the library. How serious she had seemed that day, and look at her now, full of life.

That day, her sharp words and that taunt had somehow managed to win my heart.

People here usually do not even dare to look us Britishers in the eye, and this girl had scolded me in my own language without the slightest fear and walked away.

She is a very fearless girl, but at the same time very clever as well. And she does not accept favors. She loves books, yet taking a book from me was not acceptable to her.

As the day slowly began to fade, people celebrated their happiness by dancing and singing. Then she too began to dance with her friends. I stood at a distance, watching her dance with quiet fascination. The expressions on her face and the graceful gestures she displayed while dancing were unlike any other girl present there.

That strange dance and music, something far beyond my understanding, gave me a peculiar kind of joy. I kept watching her dance without even blinking.

Just then, Iqbal Ali leaned close to my ear and said, “Sahab, these girls are performing gidha. It is the folk dance of our Punjab.”

“Iqbal, can’t you leave me alone even for a moment?” I said with slight irritation.

Yes, sometimes I get a little irritated, because this man is always hovering around my head. But nothing seems to affect him at all. Just like now, smiling, he replied, “Sahab, serving you is my duty.”

Sometimes I am surprised by this man, and sometimes I feel annoyed with him. I have no idea where he managed to bring sweets from for me. I do not like such things at all, but there was one sweet that Heer was eating with great delight. I had seen it from a distance, so I thought I should taste it once as well. It was an orange colored, strangely sticky sweet.

It was very sweet, so sweet that it almost stuck the lips together. Does she really like something this sweet? Yet her tongue is so sharp.

The sun was setting, and everyone was returning to their homes. She too was heading back home with her friend when, for a moment, she looked toward me.

In that instant, I saw a flicker of recognition on her face. But there was neither shyness nor fear in her eyes. Only a kind of stubbornness and confusion.

Then she turned away and quickened her steps, moving ahead with her friend. I simply kept watching her walk away, with a strange pull inside me.

Who was this girl who fascinated me so much?

She is the daughter of a merchant, and her name is Heer.

Apart from this, I know nothing about her, yet what is this pull that continues to grow stronger after every glimpse of her?

Even after the fair, I saw her several times wandering through the market, or sitting beneath the peepal tree in the field spinning a charkha, or doing embroidery with her friends. And after every meeting, the longing to look at her to my heart’s content only grew stronger.

I knew all of this was wrong. I was a British officer, and she was an Indian. There was no place for such a connection. Yet for the first time, it felt as if some truth, some happiness had entered my life.

I wanted to spend every moment with her, even while knowing that it was absolutely impossible.

I have seen her hatred for the British with my own eyes many times. Then why does my heart refuse to stop thinking about her?

Today felt somewhat different. My day was a little busier than usual, but because of work I got the opportunity to meet Baldev Singh Virk.

You already know him, Heer’s father, one of the prominent merchants of Punjab and a loyalist of the Crown. He is well known in the trade of grain and cloth not only in Punjab but also in the surrounding regions.

This meeting was important for me, because we often meet due to work, but today my purpose was something more than that.

He was already present there. His stature and presence carried the aura of knowledge and success. His appearance, the firmness of his face, and the patience in his eyes belonged to a man who believed himself to be the best at what he did. And he truly was. His pride in himself was not misplaced.

When he saw me, he immediately rose from his chair out of respect, and I stepped toward him, extending my hand to shake his.

Unlike most other British officers, I do not believe in the idea of white superiority, and so the manner in which I meet people is somewhat different.

“How are you, sir?” he asked politely, smiling as he shook my hand.

“Just trying to do my job and understand the environment here,” I replied with the same smile, gesturing toward the chair for him. But he did not sit down until I had taken my seat.

Yes, Baldev Singh understands English quite well, though he does not speak it as fluently as his daughter does.

I sat down, and then he also settled into his chair and replied with a smile, “Sir, what is so difficult about understanding Punjab? We are simple people, and we live simple lives. We just live life with open hearts.”

“I did not understand that before, but now I completely agree with you,” I replied with a slight smile. “Anyway, shall we talk about work? How much ration can we send for the war?” I asked seriously, sitting upright in my chair. “I have heard we will not be able to send as much as before.”

“Yes, sir, you have heard correctly. We will not be able to send the same amount as always. The effect of the Satyagraha in Punjab may not be very strong yet, but the pressure of taxes is increasing, and it is affecting the small farmers badly. The small farmers are breaking under the burden,” he said, and there was clear concern in his voice.

“Is the matter becoming so serious?” I asked.

“Yes. And the day is not far when movements like Satyagraha may also begin here in Punjab. I only hope the Crown does not take too long to understand the seriousness of the situation,” Baldev Singh said.

I completely agreed with him.

“I will talk to my superiors about it,” I said, and then he rose to leave. But something felt strange inside me, a restlessness that was steadily growing. If not today then perhaps never, but this was not the right place for that conversation.

“Mr. Singh?” I called out to him, and he stopped and turned toward me.

“Yes, sir?”

“I was asking if you would like to have dinner with me tonight, as I need to discuss something very important with you,” I asked calmly, though only I knew the storm raging inside me.

“Sir, me?” he replied with slight hesitation, and his hesitation was not unreasonable because no British officer invites an Indian to dinner at his home.

“Yes, of course. Actually, the thing is, I think it would be more appropriate to have this conversation at my house,” I replied.

He slowly nodded in agreement and then took his leave.

That night Baldev Singh Virk came to my house for dinner. I led him into the drawing room and we spoke at length about the developments in Punjab, but inside me a strange restlessness was rising, something that was troubling me for the first time in my life.

After dinner, when we both sat for a while talking, the moment had come for me to take another step in my life. This was something I had kept hidden in my heart until now, but tonight was my chance to say it.

I began, “Mr. Singh, I want to ask you about something…” I paused for a moment, which he understood with a faint smile.

“Yes sir, what is the matter?” he asked.

I presented my intention as clearly as I could. “I understand that in your culture these matters are usually discussed by elders or parents. However, my parents are currently in two completely different parts of the world, and I do not know when I will meet them next, or if I ever will. That is why I am speaking to you directly,” I said with some hesitation.

“Sir, I did not quite understand,” Baldev Singh asked.

“I want to ask for your daughter Heer’s hand in marriage.” I finally gathered all my courage and placed my request before him.

But there was shock in his eyes, and he suddenly fell silent. His silence frightened me even more than I already was.

And perhaps the fear was justified. At this moment, the man sitting before me was not merely a merchant but a father.

There was something in his eyes, a hidden expectation, a restlessness that I could sense. He rested his hand against his cheek and for a while said nothing to me.

He wanted to answer carefully, but there was also a faint displeasure on his face. It was clear that he did not like this matter very much.

“Heer?”

At last he broke the silence, but it was not merely a question. I understood very well that my future now depended entirely on the answer I gave next.

That is why I chose my words very carefully.

“Yes, Heer. I met her once in the library, and her sharp wit and confidence truly captivated me. She is a priceless gem, and whoever’s life she enters will find it illuminated. How could I possibly ignore such a diamond?” I replied calmly and tried to read his face, but I could understand nothing from it. “I understand that you are her father, and for someone like me, an unfamiliar person, to…”

“This is not about being unfamiliar, sir,” Baldev interrupted me. “It is simply not possible under any circumstances. You are a British officer and I am an Indian. There is no match between such a relationship. There is a great difference between you and us. We humble people cannot even compare ourselves to you.”

There was a depth in Baldev Singh’s voice, as if he had folded his own fears into his words. And in truth, both he and his fears were right at their place.

“Look, I understand that your concern is not without reason, but please believe me, I have no wrong intentions. I love Heer deeply.” I laid my heart before him.

I could understand his position. His words were born from his honor, his fears, and the life he had lived.

For me as well, this was something entirely new, and I knew that the decision of this night would not be only between him and me but between two cultures.

“I understand that your distrust of the British is justified, but I assure you, I could never think of causing Heer any harm. I only wish to spend my life with her.” I spoke from my heart. My pulse was racing, and I wanted my words to reflect the truth of what I felt.

For a long moment nothing was said, and silence filled the room. Baldev Singh’s face was uncertain, there was hardness in his eyes, yet I could see a deep concern within them. He was a traditional man, deeply bound to his beliefs and fears, but there was also something in his eyes that gave me a faint sense of hope.

At last he took a deep breath. His shoulders lowered slightly, as if he had just set down a heavy burden.

“Sir, I respect your feelings, and I can see that you are speaking with sincerity. But you must understand that our world is not as simple as you imagine it to be. There are many boundaries that people like us, who belong to this soil, cannot ignore even if we wish to.”

I nodded, understanding his words even though they pained me.

“I know the world is not simple, Mr. Singh, and I respect your position. But love, when it is true, can break boundaries, do you not think?”

Baldev Singh leaned back slightly and fell into thought. There was a deep struggle in his eyes, and then in his heavy voice, rich with the weight of his heritage, he said, “I will not give you any false hope, sir. Because this is not possible.”

It hurt deeply, but I also respected his decision. After all, he is a father, and he has every right to make what he believes is the right choice for his daughter.

Because perhaps, if I had been in his place, I would have done the same.

I nodded with a heavy heart, showing that I understood his words, and he stood up to leave. I walked him to the door myself, but it felt as if my peace had left with him.

The very thing I had feared had finally proven true, and for the first time in my life I felt what it means for a heart to break.

I wished I could hide in my mother’s embrace and tell her everything, and ask her to bring Heer to me just as she used to fulfill every wish of mine when I was a child.

But she was not here. In fact, there was no one here whom I could call my own and pour out the state of my heart to.

Since coming here, the loneliness felt stronger than ever today, along with a deep helplessness. Because for the first time, it was my own status that had taken her away from me.

My Heer.

I looked up at the sky, closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life I prayed, “Oh Lord, I have never asked for anything in my life until now. For the first time I am asking for something. Please, just give me my Heer.”