#25 A silent protest
With elections in Punjab and Uttar Pradesh merely a few months away, Indian government withdrew the farm laws. Farmers had constructed makeshift camps around Delhi for about a year to protest the laws
Welcome to All Things Indian, where I unpack the complexities of contemporary India. Each post is a short piece of fiction based on real people I have seen, heard of and met during my reporting.
A year ago, when Kartar Singh was leaving for the Singhu border, Kulwanti Kaur wanted to stop him.
She wanted to bless him, feed him some curd - for auspicious beginnings - and tell him he is going to wage a war just like his father did. Except, he was going to the nation’s capital and not hostile borders.
Kulwanti could do none of that.
Kartar did not step into her house to seek her blessing. Since Kulwanti was barred from approaching him on the streets, she sent him her good wishes and hoped they reached him.
Fifty seven men from her village loaded half a dozen tractors with wheat flour, vegetables, blankets, pillows, some clothes and headed to Delhi. The monster in the form of Modi needed to be stopped.
Narendra Modi’s government had passed farm laws which would put Kartar’s family out to dry. “Farmers have suffered enough,” Kartar had declared and led the men from his village to the site of protest.
He has his father’s grit, Kulwanti had smiled to herself. As soon as he boarded the tractor, she lit a lamp in front of Baba Guru Nanak’s photo and said a small prayer.
When Kulwanti could speak, she used to pray loudly. “There is nothing I say to God that others cannot hear,” she would say. Kartar’s father used to overhear all her prayers, while pretending not to.
May the yield from Kartar’s father’s land quadruple.
May the newlyweds, Kartar and his wife live happily
May pyaari - the cow - give birth again
May Satpreet’s child be healthy and thrive
Often, she slipped in an ask. May I get that beautiful blue chunni we saw at the fare last evening.
Kartar’s father then played God and manifested her small desires.
Every single day the farmers camped on the borders of Delhi, demanding that new laws which governed their life unfairly be taken back, Kulwanti lit a lamp.
Before she left her lonely house to go to the Gurdwara every morning, she lit the lamp and continued her prayers at the Gurdwara.
People in the village took turns to sit at the protest site. Kulwanti had no one to take turns with. No husband. No family. Sex workers mostly never do. So, she had packed her belongings to stay at the protest site indefinitely.
Balwant Changi, the village leader, was concerned when he saw her join a bunch of women headed towards Delhi. “You are mute, what good will you be at the protest site?” he asked. “We might have to shout slogans, strategise or even just pass messages along. It is best if you stay back now and come in the next batch, we will know better how to use your help then,” he had said.
Kulwanti could never go. She tended to other people’s farms, helped them milk their buffaloes,
after all, she had not been a prostitute in a long time. After Kartar’s father had claimed her to be his own, no one laid a finger on her.
But, he was dead now.
Still, no one laid a finger on her. They wanted to hear her sing, hear her moans, hear their name being called out. None of which could happened anymore.
And so, she took care of the village when its men were at the borders of Delhi fighting the fascist government. She became the most loyal soldier of her village.
Her penance paid off.
It was more than a year later, Kartar was to return to Tarn Taran victorious. Kulwanti began boiling some milk to make his favourite halwa, the victorious are to be welcomed with sweets.
The farm laws were finally withdrawn. Kartar was to return. All her prayers were answered. She can now go back to seeing Kartar from a distance. Wishing he had a long and happy life, full of battles he would fight for his people.