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Monday, October 31, 2016


Guru Payari Sadh Sangat ji
Waheguru Ji Ka Khalsa Waheguru Ji Ki fateh ji!
Given bellow are links to Audio Book - Sakhi: Bandhi Choor from
Audio Book of Baba Naudh Singh by Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji :
Please listen to them in complete solitude, with your family, away from all distractions with LOVE for your Guru. All in one Go. I wanted to share this beautiful sakhi on Bandhi choor divas. So that instead of spending lot’s of money on outward rituals, we the Sikhs, listen to these beautiful sakhis, which creates Love for our Guru.
You Tube Link:
Sakhi: Bandhi Choor starts after one hour in this video and continues in audio book 17 at 6 minutes.
Dhan Guru Hargobind Sahib Ji
Please look for more audio books of Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh ji and Prof. Puran Singh ji on a new website(all the audio books in one place) , available soon. Look for a link to this website on : y soon.
Given bellow are links to of Audio Book- Bhai Madho Ji by Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji". This isbeautiful Sakhi of a Puratan Gur Sikh during the times of Guru Hargobind Rai Ji. This story is about the Love & respect, the Puratan Sikhs had for their fellow Sikhs in olden (Puratan) times -. How the Sikhs treated other Sikhs This is a beautiful eye opening - emotional true story, narrated by Bhai Sahib Bhai veer singh ji:
audio book Link: d/0B32dTHnEpspST3MyUFUta3hhX1k /view?usp=drivesdk
Pdf Book link: d/0B2onBWMr6eeDdV9QQzNLVDBLazg /view?usp=sharing
Given bellow are links to of Audio Book( In 5 Parts / Links) Pyare Da Pyara Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji"
Please listen to them in complete solitude away from all distractions with LOVE for your Guru. All in one Go:
Watch "001 Audio Book Pyare Da Pyara Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji" on YouTube: gOHVLU
Watch "002 Audio Book Pyare Da Pyara Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji" on YouTube:
Watch "003 Audio Book Pyare Da Pyara Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji" on YouTube:
Watch "004 Audio Book Pyare Da Pyara Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji" on YouTube: eM01ig
Watch "005 Audio Book Pyare Da Pyara Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji" on YouTube: _nDcG0

The writings of Bhai Sahib Bhai Veer Singhji are Anubhavi Gyan (knowledge) = knowledge through inner and higher aatmic experience.
It is not intellectual knowledge or the bookish knowledge or the knowledge through mind power.
There are some people like me who talk about gurbani or spirituality through their knowledge gained through reading or listening. But there some very few who have had the higher experiences of wisdom through mediation/Simran.
Like someone talking about electricity by reading books and the other actually getting an electric shock!!!
Pdf books of Bhai Sahib Bhai Veer Singhji: p?q=f&f=%2FBhai+Veer+Singh+Ji
A lot of work has been done to create audio books of these writings.But there is a lot more to be done.
There are hundreds of UN-published works of bhai Sahib Bhai Veer Singh ji & Prof. Puran Singh ji are gaining dust at Khalsa Tract Society
Can you find someone with the following qualities for the seva of making audio books of the bellow mentioned Sakhi books for children:
1. A loving person, who can do nishkam seva for these audio books.
2. A person who has a good command, over Gurmukhi.
3. Has a great voice
4. Can read stories to children in an interesting way. Using totly style of a child, where ever there is a child role in the sakhi.
5. Someone who has the time, a strong will & commitment to do this seva.
Please use your connections here in North America or and in India to find veer / bhans for this seva:
Gur Balam Sakhian (Guru Gobind Singh Ji)-Bhai Vir Singh English-children
Gur Balam Sakhian (Guru Nanak Dev Ji)-Bhai Vir Singh English-children
Gur Balam Sakhian Guru Gobind Singh Ji--Bhai Vir Singh Punjabi-children
Gur Balam Sakhian(Guru Nanak Dev Ji)-Bhai Vir Singh Punjabi-children
Navin Paneeri (Part 3)-Bhai Vir Singh Children English
Navin Paneeri Guru Angad Dev (English)--Bhai Vir Singh
Navin Paneeri Guru Angad Dev-Bhai Vir Singh Children Punjabi
Navin Paneeri Guru Gobind Singh Ji (Part 1 English)-Bhai Vir Singh Children
Navin Paneeri Guru Gobind Singh Ji (Part 1)--Bhai Vir Singh Children Punjabi
Navin Paneeri Guru Nanak Dev Ji (Part 1 English)-Bhai Vir Singh Children
Pdf books of Prof. Puran Singh ji: p?q=f&f=/Professor%20Puran%20S ingh
Some more Audio Books:
Sacha Sant Bhai Sahib Bhai Veer Singh Ji :
Avtar Katha 1:
Avtar Katha 2:
Avtar Katha 3:
Udasi: 3HDY
Kohrhi Udhaar: mMbmc
Gurbani Di Thandak: S54HoI
Bhai Maalo Te Maanga: OK0n4
Ekaant: LkKlw
Bhumia Chor: a_Y
Gaya, Dev Giri, Rajauli & Malda: 64G0
Bhogi & Jogi: MQ1U
Bhai Suja, Jogi Nal Gallan: xkXrI
Why Ardas, Why Simran: ppAmR4
Exemplary Sant, Ardas, Life Changer: hxm3GQo
Parupkari Sant, Sajjan Thug: oKvw
Sikhan Da Sant 1: 8
Sikhan Da Sant 2: Y
Bhai Mansukh in Lanka: rVGCk
Raje Kol, Pandit Nu Updesh: tucuh0
Paadri Naal 1,2: Lbc
Paadri Naal 3,4: tIY
Sant Bhola Singh, Satsang: p-vZTMI
Soma Shah: k9mk
Satsang, Dukh Kiven Sahiye: UoviOQ
Sikhi Jiwan: dUz8M
Letter of Vir Patravali: 7UKZV7Cl0
001 Sacha Sauda Sri Guru Nanak Chamatkar book Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji: cg?list=PLDAxlLeE4un3uXpm0Xq1C CJgTdxduppfP
019 Gosht Mia Mitha Sri Guru Nanak Chamatkar book Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji: 2Y
Search other parts of Sri Guru Nanak Chamatkar book Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji in Utube search bar.
001 Hemkunt to Sachkhand Sri Kalgidhar Chamatkar Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji:
002 Sachkhand to Mat Lok Sri Kalgidhar Chamatkar Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji:
Book Gurmukh Sikhiya Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji Part 1:
Book Baba Naudh Singh Ji by Bhai Sahib Bhai Vir Singh Ji is a complete straightforward path to spirituality.
Audio Talks of Gurmukh Payarae Bauji: ultimedia/BV/NBV1/ ultimedia/BV/NBV2/ ultimedia/BV/NBV3/ ultimedia/BV/NBV4/ ultimedia/BV/NBV5/
Gurbani Vichar Lekhs(small booklets) in Punjabi: un/
Gurbani Vichar Lekhs(small booklets) in English: ng/ ultimedia/
Communion with the Divine - Chapter 1 Intro - A Book By Raghbir Singh 'Bir':
001 Audio Book Bandgi Nama - Raghbir Singh Bir - Sikh, Gurbani:
002 Audio Book Bandgi Nama - Raghbir Singh Bir - Sangat, Ardas:
003 Audio Book Bandgi Nama - Raghbir Singh Bir - Simran:
004 Audio Book Bandgi Nama - Raghbir Singh Bir - Gian, Sidak, Haumai:
005 Audio Book Bandgi Nama - Raghbir Singh Bir - Nirmanta, Tiag, Karaamaat, Samaadh, Joti Jot:
006 Audio Book Bandgi Nama - Raghbir Singh Bir - Aape Aap, Ardaas, Paap, Bimaari, Saoo Di Poochal,:
007 Audio Book Bandgi Nama Raghbir Singh Bir Sache Shanke, Waheguru Kirpa, Guru, Khurak, PART A .:
008 Audio Book Bandgi Nama - Raghbir Singh Bir - Gurmukh, Bhana, Susti Te Kahli, Rishte, Jaanana Te:
Looking forward to find some sevadars for creating audio more books.
Charan Dhoor
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Waheguru jee kaa Khalsa, Waheguru jee kee Fateh || Thank you for viewing this video. Please visit ww…

Sunday, July 20, 2014


The travelers of Pothohar are petty traders, conveying goods from one district to another and generally from the plains to the sequestered hills of Jammu and Punch. They transport the merchandise on donkeys and usually travel together in numbers for fear of highway robbers. Of animals, the small sized gray donkey of pothohar perhaps is very dull and care still less how they are fed. And the Pothohar traders have very little company of their donkeys on the way, on higher moments come to the animals, Truly, dumb-driven, they go on and on and on patiently, slowly up the hill, down the hill, and they waken out their dull steps as the cudgel of the owner strikest heir backs. On the trappings made of goat hair, taken off the back of their donkeys, the travellers sleep under the trees on in the roadside inns das the night fallls, while the merchandise bags are piled in the center of the ‘caravans’ beds. As the morning star flashes in East, they start and at noon they stop again under the tree-shades and give rest to their donkeys and themselves. One or two of them cook a hasty meal for the whole party and they march oh. It is a strange life they lead; on where is their destination. What they call home is just another inn where they stay a few days longer casting accounts and ledgers till late at night thinking before the sun rise what to purchase next for making more. In their dreams, they find their hands still holding a yard-measure and measuring cloth to the hill men who know not what is what or still cudgeling their donkeys to put a little more speed into their legs in order to clear little robber - infested part of the road before it is too dark. Such fear, anxieties even in dreams consume their minds. Like the little donkeys, their mind too has only a few ruts, deep-cut channels in which there are some elementary concepts of life and society, and all the nooks and corners are choked with simple arithmetic of their trade. The glowing stars in the sky under whose shade they travel, are looked upon by these grown up men, just as little infants see them., neither they themselves know their ignorance nor can they tell any one else what they feel. The morning stra with its magnificent brilliance open their eyelids and there is a stir in the donkey-camps of the donkeys being loaded for the day. Now and then, like some excited children, some of them fancy the morning star as the jewel in the turban of god. The red sun as it rises, dazzles their eyes, and their eyelids close and open in quivering sensation. And as they wade through the little streams on the way, they feel in the dumb silence of their soul some kind of friendship with their waters. Under the shades of trees on the mountain slabs, in the caves on the hills ascents and descents, they fell the comforts of home life. A species of wanderers who live in the illusion that they are working out the future success of their offspring and carry on the trade from generation to generation to on purpose, but passing the day of life in an unexcited simplicity of labor and nameless, wordless love of their wives and children. And all their knowledge is derived from open they travel upon-to go on and on, without saying aye or ray. One should thick, they have the instinctive knowledge of “He knows, he knows, he knows.” As regards their social religion, they are mostly Sikhs and they count themselves as the servants of the stables of the Tenth Guru, and in their own way, they think all that they do is divine service. Some of them are religious in the sense that when they ass stars, they thinks or Guru Nanak’s great song Arti. But very few know the chant, and they do not consider it is any more necessary, for the Lord locket in His Own way afterall His servant.
Amongst the donkey’s drivers of Pothohar, once a young man named Sant, a fine young Sikh also went driving his four or five donkeys to the Punch Hills via Kahuta. Sant Singh was clad in a dirty home-spun shirt, his holy sink hair uncombed and dusty could be seen through the rope like folds of his too small a turban. Those disheveled hair was the only remnant of the Guru’s initiation of this caste of Donkeys-drivers of Pothohar into the great Fold of the Divines. And whether poor by choice, or by necessity be being a poor widow’s son. Or by the instinct of frugality, the miserable-looking Sant Singh had on his head an unpolished crown of the Guru, be was a prince in glory on whom the Great spiritual protectors from high looked with favors. And with a crowned head of a prince, he had the angelic beauty which is its general cast was more feminine. His features were a whole peal of divine music of creation like the garden of full-blown roses. His reminded one of the half-closed gardens of full-blown roses. His reminded one of the half-closed Nargas, and his thick black eyebrows with a sparking forehead above suggested the majesty fresh fallen sown on tow arching hills. His lips were red delicate like the petals of a rose and as he smiled, it seemed some fairy, a dream-figure, was laughing behind the red rose-blossom. He was not just Sant Singh. Surely he was illusions or many beauties playing in these limbs. In his eyes dozen others pairs of eyes came and looked at the world. On his lips trembled the smile of hundred more Sant Singh excited sparks of affection in the hearts of both the donkeys and their drivers. The latter not only loved him, but also had superstitious fears of him when he lay asleep on the goat-hair trapping; they thought dreamily that they at the same time saw him playing in the fields. One night they actually with one-eyes saw Sant Singh with a moonlike ball in his hands busy paying with divine crowds, and they perceived a crowd of fairies gathered round him. And they knew that when he was with the party, there was fortune following them. He would be sitting quiet, but the would imagine they heard a laughter coming from Sant Singh. Some of them called others gone mad, but they did admit that they too had the illusion of Sant Singh sitting as well as standing as if he had two bodies. Others thought, it was the illusion that beautiful persons, always cast on others by the hypnotic spell of their beauty. Their images in one’s eyes float in air simultaneously with the real figures! These were mere superstitions, let us say, but one thing was certain that Sant Singh was very magnetic. He fascinated and attracted very one. And himself too he was extremely impressionable. He would tell his widow mother, “Mother! I at time feel much oppressed by all kinds of images of men and things impinging into my very flesh and bones. Sometimes I fell I am a woman and at other I am a king. If I talk to anyone sweetly on the roadside, a peasant girl or a poor beggar, their figures haunt me. At time I feel I the hands of a girl in my hands, and at others a stray beggar’s shaggy beard hanging by chin. Sometime it is pleasant, sometimes it is very oppressive.” And his widow mother would plunge into dumb grief and just say: -“May Guru Nanak protect you from these fairies! MY boy, you should not wander like this, always Guru Nanak’s name on your tongue. Keep your eyes half-closed and look at on one."” And she took an old talisman from the contents of her house and has it bound on his arm as a protection against fairies!
On a little hill-village of on importance, the donkeys’ drivers of Pothohar were displaying their new merchandise. The display was attended by half a dozen of young women who were selecting glass bangles and veil clothes! In the woman enjoy comparative freedom, they can move about freely and sing their lilts without any restraint that in a hundred and one shapes is put on the woman particularly on the maidens in the plains. But one of them rather a buxom girl somewhat obese but agile and vivacious, and strong, had all the graces of her sex lighting her face and forehead. There was a whole world of beauty in her eyes, which no one, neither she herself nor her companions nor the donkey-drivers of Pothohar, could distinguish. She only felt a dance in limbs, a lilt in her throat and something…rushing out of her to go and mingle with the rivers. She felt like embracing rocks and weeping she felt like kissing the moon. She had an unconscious but full realization of her rousing youth and she tried to conceal herself in the old bud-leaves, but no. In spite of her, she was expanding into a visible blossom. She stood there, watching the fleeting marketplace of cloth and other wares, and she was only watching, for she had no mind, nor money, nor wares to exchange. When Sant Singh, forgetting the premonition of his mother, looked up to her offering her to purchase a piece of veil-cloth, she looked into his eyes, when instantly Sant Singh remembered he had not to lift up his eyes as he had done. He immediately bent down his look and fixed it on the cloth which he immediately but the girls hands trembled with the blue cloth she held. The vision was shaking her hands as it they were two hearts trembling. She said: - “ No Thori
  • I do not want it just yet. Next time when you come, I will think of making a purchase. But will you accept the corn in exchange? My parents are too poor to have money or any other valuable wares that these other girls can given you.”
Sant Singh: “You can have the cloth, I will accept the corn from you when I come next.
The girl: “No sir, debts crush our life, our youth. They absorb all our labour.”
Sant Singh: “I give you free”
The girl: “But why?”
Sant Singh: “Simply because you are so innocent.”
The girl: “I am not innocent. I play so many tricks with my goats and they are all deceived I spread my palms and they come running to me and then I close my first and they put their months to force it open. And I open them and they go away sad. And still I can deceive them again and again.”
Sant Singh: “Well then, have the veil-cloth because you are so pretty and talkative.”
The girl: “But other Thoris do not give things free to us for things like these that can not travel on to you, my beauty remains with me, it can not be exchanged like these wares and so why should you give me aught for a thing which can never become yours in any sense.”
Sant Singh: “You take the veil cloth from me and I will carry a thought of you in exchange.”
The girl: “No sir! I would not be bartered like this. If you carry me a away in your thought, there would be nothing left to my poor parents.”
Sant Singh: “No. No. You will be here. I am not carrying you. I will carry only a remembrance of yours.”
The girl: “But you do not know name.”
Sant Singh: “Alright, tell me you name and for that courtesy take this cloth away.”
The girl: “No sir, feel there is still some more hidden cleverness in it. Thoris never exchange this wares without some profit to themselves.”
Another girl: “why, her name is Bakri. You have that and give me the veil cloth.”
Sant Singh: “All right, you have this” And addressing Bakri he said: “Now that she had that cloth for telling your name, why don’t you have another piece for having that name?”
Bakri: “so you make fun of me.” Saying this she fled away. Towards the nightfall, Bakri brought Sant Singh a glass of goat’s milk and offered it to him saying:”sir! No one else in this village has goats. There are no cows here, I take them to the targets and I love seeing them Brouce fresh leaves no milk. I thought you might need it after your long travel. Take this milk. It is fresh from my own goats that are my playmates. And while browsing they look at me. Sometimes I cling to their necks and we both laugh and weep together.”
Bakri: “Look price for milk! We hill people never sell milk. If we have, it is yours as well as ours. It is the drink we give to our guests.
Sant Singh: “But how can I accept it, when you decline to take piece of veil-cloth from me.”
Bakri : “But you do not create cloth, as my goats create milk, it you bring me a piece spun and woven by yourself, way? I would accept it from you and that also when I go as a guest to your village.”
Sant Singh: But you can never be my guest. You are the rose of this Forest.”
Bakri: “No I would go with you, if you take my parents also with you, and my goats also.
Sant Singh: “But you wont’s have these wild forests and these parting rivers and these innocence’s of life.
Bakri: “But I will sing my lilts to you and you will listen. And my goats will be there to tick my hands and my parents for me to love. I will need nothing more.”
Sant Singh: “you are a lovely burden to carry, but when you are once torn away from these mountains, you may fade away.”
Bakri: “Flowers fade away. Leaves fall when dry. How does matter if too fade away when the autumn comes. But jokes apart. Here is my milk for you.”
Bakri: “All right I would accept that, you accept this.” Sant Singh took the milk and again forgetting the premonition his mother; he looked up and gazed at the hill girl. And she left him after giving the milk, and turned her back towards him. He looking full at her back thought she was a princess in rags. Her youth shone through her tattered garments like the rose petals oozing out of the rose leaves! She was a flower of the forest that waved in its own glory of virgin blushes unseen and unadmired. And no one saw. Bakri’s eyes were red and she quivered from head to food with love that young women like her do not know; the glance of Sant Singh thrilled her being, as a wayward wing excites the bosom of a lonely calm blue lake.
When Sant Singh came next, he brought mer many presents and this time he went straight to see her in her jungle hut and asked her to accept them in the presence of her parents. The parents were delighted like little children seeing to many pieces of cloth and glass bangles bought thither for their daughter. Bakri looked at him and quivered with feelings she did not know how to name. She felt like embracing Sant Singh as if he were one of her little lambs. She frowned at him and that moment was the intense moment of her passion for him. And he thought it was so strange that instead of smiling she was frowning like a young lioness.
The Mother said: “You have brought us the dowry of Bakri. We will celebrate her marriage now.”
The Father: “Would you come and join her wedding.”
Bakri: “I do not like marriage, they murder the white lambs for
The feast. I like loving them and singing to the trees the songs the that resound in the hearts of our rivers.”
The Mother: “Don’t say that daughter. Marriage is a great sacrificial fire out the God comes and one sees Him face to face before one dies! Loving lambs and goats is all right as long as you are a virgin. After marriage it is loving man that is the pillar on which the sky stands.”
Bakri: “Mother! Then marry me to man- Singh is very Beautiful. When he went away, as I slept, he slept with me as I walked he walked with me. As I sat grazing my goats, he came and sat be me. I touched him, I held him in my arms, real as true I touched him I held him in my arms, as real as true as I see him now before me.”
Mother: "Foolish little goat! How can we hill-man think of these Khatri Maharajas (Khatri Princes) like that."
Bakri: But he told me, he would bring a pony and bear me away. I asked him to take me away, my goats away. And also you mother and you father!"
Father: "The flowers come and go, bushes remain. You are the flower of our forest. Your parents must stand dead in their own fields and die thinks of you when you are married."
Bakri: "That is why I don't like marriages. It is death and you kill lambs! Does not death come and take lambs in the very first step. Marriage is death!"
Sant Singh: "I will certainly attend Bakri's wedding, if you only arrange it so as I may be present."
Bakri (to Sant Singh): I wont' marry. If I marry, I must marry you. But do not wish to marry me. Why not? I fail to understand. Didn't you say you will bring a pony and carry me away marriage is death then. You do not like it. So the story must end there. I am a shepherd girl, I am much too busy with the love of my sheep and you are a Khatri Prince."
Sant Singh: "A Woman like you is always a whole kingdom by itself. Only I am afraid of disturbing the glorious dream of innocence that is spread before you here?'
Bakri:"But the forests have already gone from my eyes. And the whole dream is but you. My forests are in your eyes now."
Sant Singh: "It is the fancy of your youth. I am a shattered man, a poor donkey driver of Pothohar and but for a few donkeys, a little mud-walled house and a little piece of brown insipid piece of land, I have nothing. I own but my hands and feel which much be moved rather vigorously to give me my bread. I bless my little legs, their business in just to travel, travel, go to and fro."
Bakri: "Just like the legs of my lambs, they frisk about. There is great joy for me as they run to no purpose. Everybody then is like this."
Mother: "Stupid girl! Comparing these princes with your lambs. You have only this much of poor intelligence."
Father: "No. My poor daughter, I will seek for you a good husband. These Khatris are not for us. They have their own women and their lots and lucks are cast by God with them. The threads of their unions are stringed together in other ways than ours."
Bakri: "Indeed! Have they one like me."
Mother: "Hush! You will offend the Khatri Maharaja."
Sant Singh: "I have seen none like you. You are a wonder to me. The sun rises from within your heart and love quenches its thirst op the fountains of your lips, and in your eyes, there is all the mystery of the stars. And you they call you so meaninglessly a Bakri-a goat."
Bakri: "Father! He talks so sweet. Give me away to him."
Mother: "My impertinent girl. Your thought for him would ripen into love in ten births. Not this birth. Wait."
Sant Singh: "Bakri you promised to show me your forests and rocks and flocks."
Bakri: "Mother! I go with him. And I take my flock!"
Mother (laughing):"Your have taken my permission, but has he taken the permission of his mother to go with you.
Sant Singh: "No. But let me take yours." The mother laughed. And they both left for the forests.
Sant Singh had not come to that side for another six months. His business took him to other hills. Bakri was married to a hill shopkeeper, a bania an old, wrinkled, oil-besmeared coughy, sludgy fellow. Bakri's parents owed debts to him and he having lost his first wife, took Bakri to wife for the unpaid debts. And the parents were comforted by the cancellation of debts and by the warmth of the thought that their daughter would be living next door to them. In those hills girls were sold away. And this particular bargain was acclaimed by all as very happy.
The bania Lachhman Das too considered it a bargain, as he got a woman who would cook his meals and light up his evening lamp-a servant whom he had to pay no wages and yet none more faithful. He loved the counting of copper piece and silver rupees and was much too absorbed in accounts to think of her as a wife. And so much work he threw on her, mixed with threats, frowns, abuses, chill and studied indifference, and little contempt’s from his eyebrows that the goat-herd's daughter, Bakri, felt like a wild gazelle bound to a peg by a rope. The forest beauty is not felt by the ignorant villagers, and most of it lost unseen, and so indeed was the beauty of Bakri wasted! But slowly and gradually she was domesticated and she became the docile, dirt-besmeared coolie-wife the Bania and felt somewhat settled.
Sant Singh's mother had tried to get a wife for her son. But people of his caste were afraid of Sant Sing who had something elfin in him. As he bloomed up in his full youth, his eyes did cast such a spell on the village girls that they would sit gazing at him for hours. And when parting, they would shed a tear and heave a sigh. Sant Singh felt helpless when overwhelmed by their sweet love for him. They would on the first available opportunity, steal into the fields apparently grazing their father's donkeys, but inwardly to hold some kind of take with Sant Singh. Sant Singh on the other hand always respected their felling and responded to them in a delightful manner. He would look at the girls when their eyes would be fixed. On the ground and they would look at him when his eyes would be fixed on the ground.
Sarasvati (a grown up girl of the village): "I hear your mother is thinking of your marriage."
Sant Singh: "Yes I hear, but I don't know why?"
Sarasvati: "To get you a girl to talk to."
Sant Singh: "But here am I talking to you."
Sarasvati: "Well to cook meals for you, to wash your clothes to bid you farewell when you go, and to welcome you when you come home."
Sant Singh: "But in the case I need a girl at every inn. This house of mine is a good-a destination as any other inn. In fact under every tree where I sleep and wake."
Sarasvati: "Then here I stand. But who cares for unshapely girls like me?"
Sant Singh: "No. You are so very affectionate. Your smiles go and intertwine round my heart like threads of lighting."
Sarasvati: "If you don't go and tell your mother, I will always wait for you here to welcome you with my smile and bid you adieu with a tear."
Sant Singh: "But how could you? You are married, your husband will take you away and then I will come here in vain."
Sarasvati: "If you give me your love. If you open your eyes full once, I will not go with my husband. As a married woman, I have certainly more freedom to attend to you."
Sant Singh: "Ah! But Sarasvati, such pleasures are flashes of stars. They are mere rays of some hidden heart! We are like drops of dew hanging between different hidden influences and impulses and we only reflect love. These inspirations are fleeting, we cannot catch them. They are sweet illusions. They shine through as at some moments as they must. We seldom realize such things, we are seldom ourselves. The unseen souls use us as their vehicles. In small acts lower souls possess us, in great acts the great souls."
Sarasvati: "I do not know what you say. I only know my heart beats like a hammer when I see you."
Sant Singh: "I do not know why?"
Sarasvati: "Just give me your hand and let me show you how it beats."
Sant Singh: "But I see it throbbing in your temples."
Sarasvati: "Then you do not love me."
Sant Singh: "I love you why? I love every girl."
Sarasvati: "That is only a world."
Sant Singh: "You don't believe me then."
Sarasvati: "Hold me in your arms."
Sant Singh: "My arms are not mine."
Sarasvati: "Whose are they?"
Sant Singh: "They are of a hundred women."
Sarasvati: "Jokes apart. Love is holy. You must not throw away my love, my heart beats, see, like that."
Sant Singh: "I love your face that glows with love. But there is a woman that goes walking in the stars. Have you ever seen her?
Sarasvati: "But stars are only burning charcoals. Thrown out of the hearth of God."
Sant Singh: "The woman of the sky that kindles the hearth fires is in my arms."
Sarasvati: "No. I see not."
Sant Singh: "What do you see?"
Sarasvati: "I see your arms are quite empty. They need a girl like me. Hold me, I fall."
Sant Singh: "fall. I feel my arms are full."
Sarasvati:(falling into his embrace) "They are full of me."
Sant Singh: "No of the great woman."
Sarasvati: "No of me."
Sarasvati: "If not a full prophet yet he is surely a prophet in the making. All stories about great prophets seen so true, when we see the miracles of the beauty of our Sant Singh. Strange things I have seen! I will tell you if you keep it private. Kirti, another girl (as she and Sarasvati were going to stream for a bath): "Sarasvati! You still doubt my friendship."
Sarasvati:"Today I met Sant Singh by chance on the way. And I saw he changed into a woman. I put arms round his neck, and as I looked up, I saw he was girl like myself, only she was differently made, her body shone as if made of light. Here eyes were such as would make the hearts of stone thumb. My arms are still feeling the sweetness of "her" limbs. My very bones are feeling the relish of "her" as if they were tongues."
Kirti:"Sarasvati! Sant Singh is the dream of every girl but we have tried to find him without success. Similar is my experience. But when I embraced him, I found I was embracing a white little lamb. I think he can assume any shape he likes or he mocks us with a thousand images. But yet he is so dear, dear young man. I am married now, but the wounds of love in me make my very limb ache with love for life. He is me full, and I am his bond slave for life. He is like Krishna, a prophet. He is alluring. His eyes sing."
Sarasvati:"But for a married girl to think of another man is a sin they say."
Kirti: "Ah! They say! But pray how can we control the volition of love."
Sarasvati: "But how can you leave your husband like that in the lurch?
Kirti: "Ah where is my husband when I sleep. Where is he when my mind wanders to the stars? He is not with my when I faint away. We cannot suffer from an earache by proxy. And how strange my hunger is not cured when he had satiated himself."
Sarasvati: "That is quite true. Oh why then they say, the husband and wife are unity?
Kirti: "Ah! They say! Unity! Unity between an object of dream and an object of walking."
Sarasvati: "But they say, husbands are very good. They give fine clothes, fine ornaments. And the kisses, which no parents can give.
Kirti: "Ah! They say. One has to be married to know what torments are these husbands. Their gifts are the price of one's freedom which we had when virgins. Well does the Guru say: "When a virgin, I longed for my marriage, and when married I long again for my virgin hood for the married life has its enslavements, limitations, and heartaches."
Sarasvati: "Then it’s no good to be married."
Kirti: "No, Such is this wretched world. Centuries have passed over this earth in a brutal hurry, they never stopped to think that they are going merely imagining that in their lives they have done a lot, when they had not yet settled finally in an amicable manner the relations between husbands and wives. Rotten, rotten is the very home of the civilized man. And then look at these robbers that daily break into houses, that kidnap women, that murder for a moment's hunger, that cover themselves with gold and turn out hunger, that cover themselves naked and starved into the streets! The man's palaces are curses. And there is no kindness and love on this earth, except when you see it in the eyes of men like Sant Singh."
Sarasvati: "Kirti! Marriage puts a lot of knowledge into one. I do not understand what you say."
Kirti: "You need not. Girlhood and possibly your bride hood," a stage of life before wifehood, is the only age on this earth when we are in the lap of God-not the temple-God of stone, but the living God, the Guru. And the latter settles in us the whole empire of stars, he sends to us from there these little joys that dance on our hearts, as he sends, the rays into the hearts of flowers." When we arrived, they suck this blood out of us, and after we are drained of youth, they throw us away."
Sarasvati:"But why I still love to be married. My limbs ache for my man. I am throbbing to be in the embrace of my husband. I wonder when would he come and take me away."
Kirti: "This exactly. We have to get married and pass through all the harsh hell of it. We are born for it. This world is perfected only in the next. And unless we do what we must do here on earth, we can not fit in the art of perfection whose only one end touches our soul at one unseen point in us."
Sarasvati: "But what about Sant Singh? you think he would not marry."
Kirti: "If you wish to know the truth about it, listen. Sant Singh is a man from the other world of perfection. He does not know himself, he plays with us village girl just as a shepherd plays with the little kids and lambs. The donkey drivers of Pothohar have him amidst them, but he is different. There is star shining on his forehead."
Sarasvati: "One thing is certain, he can make us dream of him in a thousand shapes. And when we run into his arms, we find either a girl like us. or a lamb as you say, or a Pothohar donkey. This is very strange. He is great magician. How his eyes glow and his hair sparkle with seraphic blackness. Mystery of creation trembles about him, as the rays of the sun tremble on running waters."
When Sant Singh next went with his donkeys to the Punchh hills, Bakri was settled down as Bania's wife. He called for her at her parental house and wished to present a few pieces of calico he had brought for her. Her mother met Sant Singh and welcomed him with mother's affection.
Sant Singh: “Where is Bakri? I have a few presents for her."
Mother: "We married her."
Sant Singh: "Where and to whom?"
Mother: "To the Bania who lives in the "gully," "yonder and she pointed out the hut of Bakri on the brow of a yonder hill.
Sant Singh: "Then I must go and see her."
Mother: "Yes! Come I will go with you." Seeing Sant Singh and her mother coming up, Bakri ran down to receive them. And as they were scaling up the brow, Bakri said: "Sant Singh! You never came with the pony to bear me away."
Sant Singh: "But I will."
Bakri: "But you are too late. I am married now."
Sant Singh: But the marriage has not altered you shape for me. And I suppose there has been no rechiselling of my face for you by your marrying a shop-keeper."
Bakri: "But husbands alone can carry women on their ponies. And you can no more carry me away."
Sant Singh: "Bakri! You are mind. No marriage can make you anybody else's."
Bakri: "This is quite true. Though I have married him, yet I loathe to wash his soil-besmeared clothes. He takes them out when they are much too offensive with dirt. And he beats me."
Sant Singh: "So you are not happy."
Bakri: "No. I am happy when I think of your promise of bringing a pony and bearing me away. And then I see you as clear as you now are by me. I am then happy. And I irresistibly burst into laughter, my husband beats me, saying: "I am in so much loss, I can not sleep for a moment at night with cough and cold, and you laugh like that. You sleep so sound. And he beat me again." By this time, they arrived at Bania's shop who came along from the opposite side with a load of green-stems of maize for his buffalo and had just thrown down his burden in the courtyard full of buffalos dung and mud.
Mother of Bakri: "Shah! You are very cruel to my daughter. If you cannot love your wife, I better take her back and make happy. We have plenty for her. You seem to think we are helpless, we can not afford bread for her." Bania (with pungent sarcasm in his comment): "No you pay me back my mother you took and take her. I see you have a new financier."
Mother: "Every one take money for their daughters but no one's daughter is so unhappy as mine."
Sant Singh: "You have a pretty wife, Sir, she is like a lamp in your dark heart. Why not make her a star of your mind and be happy."
Bania (furiously): "you come to praise my wife. You must be in league with the mother with a new offer."
Sant Singh: "Foolish fellow I only came to tell you of your treasure over which you are passing your days never thinking what you have."
Bania: "thank you. But I don't like people coming to my house and admiring the beauty of my wife." Sant Singh: "All admire moon, why not a pretty face?
Bania furiously: "Got away you "badmashes" of the plains. You come here only to steal women."
Bakri: "If you don't stop, I will quit your house."
Bania: "You can not."
Bakri: "I can."
Bania: "Try."
Bakri: "Here I go." Bania caught hold of her hair and began dragging her inside the hut. Sant Singh went up and threw him aside and asked Bakri to go down with them to her parents hoe. And they all then went down. And Sant Singh presented the calico he had brought for her, and she accepted with the old child like glee. And they went again together through the forest where she used to graze her parental flocks, looking at stars.
Bakri Suddenly: "Sant Singh my saint, my Sant who is there roaming creiding in the sky?"
Sant Singh: "It is you."
Bakri: "No. I am here sitting how can I be there too."
Sant Singh: "compare your face with hers."
Bakri: "I do not see myself."
Sant Singh: "Then believe me. Your face reflects just a little of hers. And you are a woman, she is a woman. Bakri's eyes filled up with tears and she gazed deep into the stars.
Sant Singh: "The great goddess of skies sometimes comes and lives in you. She loves simple shepherdesses like you."
Bakri: "I never knew."
Sant Singh: “But your inner goodness knows of it quite well."
Bakri: "I have no goodness."
Sant Singh: "This ignorance is of the great."
Bakri: I know only I am the Bania's wife."
Sant Singh: "Enough is the evil of the day thereof."
Bakri: "When will you come again?"
Sant Singh: "But I am with you."
Bakri: "Only your face, not your sweet speech."
Sant Singh: "Now it is your turn to come to me."
Bakri: "But I can not. I know not your place. And I am another's wife. I have to look after the buffalo and the old man. I am his coolie for the day."
Sant Singh: "But your though is a bird whose wings touch the stars, your eyes can look into space. And in the disguise of a Bania's wife, there is a white swan that loves to swim in the blue of the sky."
Bakri: "No tell me when you would come again."
Sant Singh; "But I may get married this time. My mother insists on it. I do not know if my fate becomes the same as yours."
Bakri: "It will be a good thing if you get married. Send me a pony a man and I will come and attend yours. Marriage is a holy affair. I love to see your wife. When will you bring her? As regards your coming here, wives don't bind men as men bind wives. And you could come!"
Sant Singh:"Bakri! Do you like marriage still? What is not good for you, how can it be good for me."
Bakri: "No. No. I love my husband. One thing is very sweet. By marriage, I feel the buffalo is more mine than his, the shop more mine that his and the money more mine that is. And you see I don't know why I love those bones of his more than anybody else does or can. He knows it. And he feels that no one can look after him as well as I do. This is the miracle of marriage. Well! Little differences and beatings are the accidents of the way. We are travelling together as pilgrims on this earth to the far off Golden Lands! Even brass vessels of the house sometimes clash with each other with a strange clang. So are our feuds."
Sant Singh: "Bakri! This is truly womanly of you. There is a great woman in you. And after hearing you. I feel I should marry because after all you need some one to take personal interest in you."
Bakri: My Saint! My Sant! This is indeed great of your I will attend your wedding and see your wife."
When sant Singh returned to his mother, the mother embraced him and wept bitterly saying: "My son! My Son!"
Sant Singh: Mother! Why so distressed this time?"
Mother: My son! My son!
Sant Singh: "What terrifies you Mother?" Mother: “My Son! I dreamt last night that angel came and bore you away to Bright Heavens. I saw those Bright worlds. And I tried that they should take me too, but the angels sang and soothed me to sleep. When I woke, I heard neighing of your donkeys come in. Welcome, welcome my son!"
Sant Singh: "Mother! Dreams are dreams, why be so distressed for them."
Mother said: "My son! My son! And embraced him with her quivering old arms, and bathed his face with her kisses." After about a month came thither an old hill man to the house of Sant Singh. He had walked all the way on foot. And as Sant Singh come home after his path in the stream, the old man fell at his feel, crying like a little child. And he said; "Sant Singh! My little child. Bakri is dead!" The old man cried, Sant Singh, "Dead! Bakri dead!
Sant Singh lifted him up to his bosom, and comforted him. The old man's feet were swollen with travelling and Sant Singh washed his feel and laid him in a bed and gave him milk to drink. And Sant Singh sat by him and asked, "What had happened so suddenly as that?" One day, she had gone cutting Pahn twigs for making little baskets in which you know she had great skill. And her husband rebuked her for making baskets when she told him she was making and for your wedding and that she would give them to your wife. And in the morning this altercation took place, in the afternoon she got fever, perhaps she caught fever by cutting Pahn twigs as people generally get it when cutting that plant. We were sent for. We both went up. And the Bania was weeping "Oh! My wife went cutting Pahn twigs, oh! She is dying! Oh! What will I do" and he was sobbing.
1. "My daughter spoke and comforted him: "Why are you weeping? The Pahn twigs give a little rash and a little fever. All get it. I will soon be well! And the Bania sat by her, giving her fever away. We never knew till then how dearly he loved her. He could hardly rise from the ground. His backbone was wholly broken with her fever. Oh! He loved her so much. He prayed that her fever might come to him. He said: "Bakri! I will never rebuke you for anything. Bakri! Once live, once rise from your bed again. Bakri! I will bring you flowers from the forest picked with my own hands, wreathed with my own hands. O Goddess! Don't be annoyed with me. I have been harsh, selfish. Now make me your devotee.' His pathetic cries made us all weep. And Bakri again comforted him. And when she would say she would be quite all right, he used to go about trying to get some physique for her. Otherwise he could hardly get up! Pitiable, pitiable was his condition. But fever abated not. My daughter got delirious. She said: "Oh! The pony has come. I shall now be borne away from here. The wedding is one. Put my baskets also on the pony, they are for his wife. The pony has come! The pony has come! There! There it comes! There it comes! O! Why not let me put on my calico shirt he brought me. Give me that veil cloth he gave me. I am to go to attend his wedding." And saying such strange things, she died!"

Thursday, July 18, 2013



Saturday, July 6, 2013


In the olden days, the wedding of a Pathohar maiden used to be an interesting function, full of color and charm. The wedding did not begin nor end in a day as in these civilized days it does. It was the chief event which colored the whole Pathohar life with its sweet memo­ries. The bridegroom would rejuvenate himself by going back memory to the wedding night and the bride would delight her soul in the daily humdrum her labour by peeping once again through the chinks, at her gay bridegroom entering for the first time into her bridal chamber to have a look at her when she was alt new to him and herself, Usually this fire of’ youth was not allowed to blaze up; it was kept covered down by all kinds of incurnbustible ashes of life thrown on it. No Pathohar maiden’s hair were ever woven into broad plaited braids before her wedding night, nor was she allowed to decorate herself with flowers, she could never use collyrium to enhance the charm of her eyes with that amorous blackness. She was to live, like a laboring girl in the dust and dirt of the house without addicting herself to the feminine poses of vanity, coquetry or conceit. Her raiment’s were of the thick coarse home-spun. Her veil cloth just covered her hair only and not her face which in its abandon of innoc­ence always reminded one of an unportrayed madonna.
The mother took care that her daughter did not come to know of her youth and she provided the wildness of the forest life to her in her father’s count yard. Till late in their youth, the boys and girls used to play together in the open fields in the moonlight, making the com­mon villages great cities by the delight of their sports There is no doubt that seeing the premature sex-consciousness of the boys and girls of Pathobar of today and the vain co-quetish airs of girls, one fee’s that, after all, the commercial knowledge, come from the contact of such innocent people when aliens and their institutional, is not an unmixed blessing. The ever-expanding curiosity of the former, Spreading its hands to gather the sensations of the new and the alien does spontaneously affect man as he is unhinged from his inner centre and the old self consciousness that are, somehow, kept propped up on old traditions and customs
‘A month before the day fixed for the marriage the old and young women of the whole village used to assemble at the bride's house at night and sing the love lyrics of Pathohar. They used to so arrange that two weddings never came off within the period of two months in the same village or town, so that the joy might not be divided. The under lying feeling was that whatever may be the differences about the marriage of a son, all differences must he sunk on the occasion of wedding of a daughter. The latter was the child of the village, and the whole village had to put together their prayers. their feeling, their joys and their tears to celebrate ‘her wedding inn, to give her away to love an event as pathetic as to give her away to death. They took it that life is an ocean in whose depths lie the pearls of love, hut are held there in the hands of the death, it is after all an enterprise on which the bride goes, she may win it or lose and there is no other way for her but to be given away like that.
Alas! that concentration of solemnity unit’. of feeling for the neighbor’s daughter has well nigh disappeared, and to-day there are about half a dozen of weddings taking making place in one little town during a single night with the semi-comic tom-tom of the rejected military drums and out music of’ the cast out bag-pipes from the stores of a British Regiment of the Highlanders. Now-a-days S religion too in consonance with the general degeneration of these people is in an extreme hurry to complete the ceremony which is more a vulgar formality than a holy passage to love.
On Devangni's wedding, the old ways of love were quite bright and no one then dared to break customs. The Railway line was just laid from Rawalpindi to Lahore and many people had not yet had a ride in the train. Her father, Delawar Singh, was pathetically busy in making arrangements for wedding of his only daughter, and while going Out or coming in, he would hurriedly go to Devangni to embrace her and shed a tear which fell upon her hair and dried there.
For full one mouth at Delawar Singh's house and in the village of Takhtpari (throne of the fairy),-there was the bustle of joyous celebra­tions. Sardar Delawar Singh had seen better days. Lie was not then very rich, but, as they say in Pathohar, the o oil pots remain full of Oil ness for ever. No one of his kins-folk ever doubted of his being quite well off, for in those days, the noble old men never talked of their financial condition, and even when starving they treated their guests with sweet hospitality Sardar Delawar Singh and his wife. Attro had but one child, Devangni, who was the soul of both; they lavished all their feelings on her. She was brought up like a princess in the full pride of her parents Devangni, even as a little girl was so pretty that all their kins­folk came to see her. No one missed to bring one trinket or and colored cloth-dolls of Sialkot for the pleasure of this little, cherub. She was, so to say, a spoilt child and the usual constraint under which the girls were usually brought up then, was wanting in her case. She was a willful girl who did what she liked, played what she chooses. Unlike other, if she wanted flowers, her father garlanded her with wreaths of jasmine. She had had silk wear and in all such respects she was treated like a son. Devangni. when grown up had invented sonic night games of her own which were played in the broad fallow fields of the village and she ‘was having a full measure of all sports including the ordinary sports of 'hide and seek' and Kikli or spin-dance. The girls and boys all acted under her commands, and she whole have from them the respect Shown to a queen; And when she sang the epigr­ammatic verses composed by herself, the enthusiasm of her playmates knew no bounds. The flying arms extended to the very stars.

The arrival-night of the bridegroom's party was drawing near. It had to come from Kallar and great were the wailings all along the un­metalled road from Kallar to Takhtpari. The house of Delawar Singh was full of kins-men and women, and they had gathered there in gay attires with happy faces. The mingling of their feeling was like the meeting of little streams and the confusion of their speeches as joy giving. At last. the sacred night came. The bridegroom’s procession entered Takhtpari like a conqueror’s triumphant entry into a conquered city The torches on either side of the procession lighted the path. The bridegroom rode on a fine white mare in the middle of the procession, and over his head was held an umbrella of honors. And there was an atmosphere of joy, no one was in hurry. The whole night they had before them, for the ceremony generally takes place towards the break of the dawn. For the ceremony, they have to wait for the coming up of the sun his standing Over the head of the couple, giving his blessings like an old golden-locked seer.
And the two parties met in bride’s love-street. The old men of the bride’s side came forward to meet in loving embraces the guests, the grand old men of the bridegroom, side. Then came the father of the bride to meet the father of the bridegroom. Sealing with their embrace there by lifelong kinships, and forgetting any clannish hostilities Or fueds that might have existed between the two families.
And after this meeting the bridegroom’s kinsmen made a great show of’ their joy, letting fire-works play on the gate of the bride's house, on the roofs of her neighbors and in the street.
After a while, the young bridegroom, Jassa Singh, was taken to a retiring g room and left to the Young maidens of the town, n, the sisters-in-law, the bride’s maids. And it was their duty to welcome him with lyrics for the ceremony late at night. It was their duty to castanets of all kinds around him a captive of the charms of feminine life. They made the hours flit by in light-hearted talk and laughter. For exa­mple, they would keep his dinner before him and when he would lift a morsel, a dozen of girls would laugh together and non-plus him. The young Jassa Singh, still not very familiar with their way’s would natur­ally feel he had not taken the right thing to eat or what. And they will all say “Ho! Ho! Such a fine young man, bending low for a mere morsel”
"Ah! The mother has not licked this calf, he does not know how to eat”, would say another.
“Hush ye naughty girls! you are vexing my sweet young boy. Eat my boy! Eat. Poor hungry fellow! They are fond of your race, and they wish to gaze at your eyes and your lofty forehead, And when you bend low for a morsel, you drop their visions, that is why they shout like birds and cry.” “Mind them not. Go on! Sweet young boy” Go On”, would say another.
“Oh ! Why did you not bring your mother along? We here she is a lady with enough power to match herself with a hundred men” says another. “Don’t be silly. You will offend this man. Mothers are very dear to the babies. He is just a baby, a bearded baby that is all”. “But have I said wrong?. His mother is a great woman, she would save him front these awkward situations only if she had come’’.
“Look here boy. The matter in fact is that you cannot eat this charmed dinner till you answer our questions. (‘An you thread these little pearls in this string for us
Jassa Singh then attempted to thread the pearls, a work usually meant for ladies. Ah! The poor lamp, light, amid the small pearls and the thread string so untwisted and swollen, and his sorry plight! He tried but he failed miserably. Another great burst of laughter. Another girl store behind him and whispered
“My friend! You take me into confidence; otherwise it would be really difficult for you. You know, you need give us each a ring. Did your mother give any chhalas (rings) or did she forget about it. Hear, she forgets everything but her own mirror. Is it not? “
Jassa Singh searched his pockets and found a bunch of thin rings which might weigh a thousand to halt’ an ounce, and he opened the knot and he was about to distribute, As he actually put the hunch in his upspread palm, bang came from another girl an upward hand blow, and all the rings were scattered.
‘‘0 silly girl ! ! The boy is shivering with hunger. See, his mother never fed him well. Let him eat’. A naughty girl would pour salt on the very articles he would try to pick up from the huge metallic dish.
“Practical jokes apart,” said another elderly lady who just then came in and placed the silver plate with the sumptuous dinner arranged in it, and all the delicacies that his mother-in-law had cooked for him with her own hands.
As Jassa Singh took his midnight rest, the girls sang lyrics to him. Amid late at night, they welcomed him to the holy place especially made for the purpose.
The holy place is a’ temporary four-pillared structure, light and frail to last only for a night, it is made, with four plantain-stems waving their long broad leaves auspiciously, in the traditional form of a temple, with stars as if set in its high sky-roof and a holy fire blazing in the centre . In this temple is celebrated the wedding ceremony.
Jassa Singh was taken there and united with Devangni, and the star witnessed the ceremony. Devangni was then taken away to her chamber and Jassa Singh to his. And after a good rest, Devangni was bathed and attired. She was done up into a be jewelled bride during the whole of the next day.
Devangni had bathed, and her braids were plaited and woven, and fully attired, she rose in full splendor like the dawn coming out of the east in the figure of a young women. A tall, slendier maiden, when stand­ing erect she had the idyllic face of a Greek goddess, a living Minerva in io sooth. The mingled charms of the holiness of her maidenly inno­cence, the budding ripeness of her new youth, the symmetry of the faultless sculpture of her limbs and bashfulness of the knowledge of her awakening womanhood, and all these pervaded by the gushing love for him whom, till then, she had not seen, made a thousand fascinations dance round her shaking ear-rings and in the sounds of her bracelets of gold. Her red-lacquered ivory bangles filled both her forearms up to the elbows which charmed the very air around her into a reeling dance— measure when she tessed her with utmost devotion. Everyone loved her. She was exceedingly charming. She was a veritable queen of beauty, a bride conic from the fairy world
And towards nightfall when the flower-laden bridegroom was led into her room, both were pelted by the bride’s maids with jasmines and the poor mud-walled room of Takhtpari gave the vision of some palace built by titans. The bridegroom, the young Jassa Singh could not see the bride, he only saw flower wreaths, her shining raimenis, and was overpowered by the divine influences of love pervaded the room. He almost fainted with joy and did not know now to greet his bride. He simply laid his head down on her knees. It was  complete surrender to beauty Jassa Singh was a hit shorter in size and was an extremely emotional Sort of man, and there too, his emotion  for her over-powered him. There was a little earthen lamp burning the bride welcomed him by unveiling the: face. And she lifted his head up to her boson as if she was the mother and he was her little baby. The bridegroom was still weeping; the tears fell on her shirt of gold brocade. She was deeply agitated. "O Lord my life What is this? This is time of auspicious! why tears?, said Devnngni in visible perturbation. "I feel I am not worthy of such beauty as you, To have such a luck of a sudden! I am too insignificant for such a great gift from God! I weep with too much joy, not in any other sadness."
Devangni : -  ‘‘Tears at this time are inauspicious! But you seem to be lonely in your soul, But now be no more sad, I am wholly yours, for the whole life yours. A death too, yours. Make me yours from this moment. Have no doubts. If I am beauty, you are lose. What is beauty if there is no loving eye to gaze on it? As long as you think I am to great for you, so tong you ref­use me love which is mine, wholly mine by right. When you make yours, I become a young girl meant for your joy pleasure and for your service. I am yours wife".
The bridegroom gazing at her majestic face fell to weak to possess and said:-"You are a queen, I only a street beggar. I feel so much below you, to touch your hands with my hands will be defilement "But how can you see yourself’? As you see me, allow me, O blessed husband; to see you. You are the most beautiful man ever born on earth. I see no other so beautiful, You are my God, I ch­ose you I now have you. You are mine. To admire you more than this in words, mere empty words, would be tearing the silence of my worship for you into pieces. I cannot speak any more.’’ And she began weeping. Jassa Siugh rose up and lifted her to his lips.
Jassa Singh was yet in a college at Lahore reading for his B.A. And After a few days of a hurried honeymoon, he had to go away, leaving Devnangni at his village.
Comparatively speaking, Jassa Singh’s father was very rich and many vanities and coquetries of such a society clung to the speech of everyone of his family. Jassa Sirigh had two brothers, one elder than himself, Mehar Singh, and one younger, Lilan Singh. His younger brother was in the Intermediate College classes, His cider brother with his father was looking after the agricultural business of the house.
The eldest. Mahan Singh, owing to his dynamic influence in the family considered himself a demi-god arid looked after his brothers and their Wives in a liberal manner, but in a patronisin spirit. There Was apparent condescension in his speech to everybody. His manners were free of all restraints. But it must be said to his credit that he did not love money as his old father did. He had what they call charitable instincts and the princely habits of giving gifts though. in return, he did expect ever body to give him the credit for his princli­ness, And accordingly he spent money freely to please the women of his family and there was no end of good silk dresses aid ornaments of gold and silver for them. All the house wives at first began talking to the eldest from under the veil, but Mahan Singh soon after introduced a little more freedom into his family and ordered that his brothers’ wives should lift their veils. They should not be shy with him. a he was a constant visitor to their apartments, Devangni was, of course, the most majestic and the most beauti­ful of all, and her splendor beauty dazzled the whole family. The wife of the eldest, this Mahan Singh, soon got jealous of her, as she thought, however wrongly, that her husband bad begun to love Devangni more than herself.
For Jassa Singh to be separated from his young wife was extremely painful, yet being a minor and helpless boy, he had to endure the pangs of separation. He could not read his hooks but kept meditating on his wife all hours of day and night. He would imagine her lying in his room at the village of kallar and thinking of her ! He would recall the first night of his meetings with her and those tears. And enraptured by dreams so conjured up, lie would cheat space arid time with his sweet thoughts about her.
He appeared in the tenth examination and failed in all the subjects. His teachers wondered why such an intelligent student had done so badly. They, in spite of his failure, sent up his name to the University for being allowed to sit in the exam examination. As soon as the University Examinations were over, he left for his village by the first train And he reached home at nightfall. He met his father and brother formally and embraced the mother hastily in his deep agitation. His heart thumped and alt who embraced him saw his anxiety to go and meet his wife.
The mother said : - "Laiji"
You go in your room and rest. Your meals will ill be sent into your room. You seem quite tired by the journey and your examinations a rid hard work, you must rest. Don't wake up early, I will see to your comforts and bath in the morning, Have good sound
This was a god-send to him,, and he congratulated himself on the freedom given to him by his good mother, though he thought he had successfully concealed his impatience to see his wife from everybody else. He made directly for her room. A little earthern lamp was burning quietly, the door was wide open for him to enter. But she was not there, it seemed. He looked around and saw her not. En order to surprise him, she hid herself behind the door, and as he looked disappointed and turned his back towards the door, she softly put both her palms on his eyes arid blind-folded him from behind, asking him at the same time "Guess who is it ?.“ With her bangled wrists, and her rustling silks and her voice, she could not be mistaken, but it was really a nice welcome she gave him, and the)’ met each other in an embrace made sweeter by this surprise. The door was quickly shut by young Jassa Singh, and they met again under the lamplight as they did meet on the first night of their acquaintance on this earth. It was still the first night for them.
The whole night passed, both waking and crooning in e4ch other’s arms, and his mother’s instructions as to taking complete rest were followed in spirit, and broken in letter. To be with her was complete rest. For buds to flame up into full-blown flowers to fall on the ground and die is rest. For the lovers met after a long separation, wakefulness is sweeter than sleep, excitement is as holy as religion, and repetition of each other’s name and song a hundred times is as the reading of the great holy scriptures for kindling and rekindling faith in each other,
Long nights of winter are too short for them. The sun is an intruder, The calls of brothers and mother are as shrieks disturbing the great harmony of their lyric fusion into each other’s being.
When the servant brought their meals at night, they had hastily taken the meal plates and drinking water and all other necessaries and a few fruits that were brought by him from Lahore a few plantains of Bombay, a few dainty boxes of Kabul grapes. An they had bidden the servant not to call again, they needed nothing more. Devangni went and shut the door, putting On the patch. And both felt quite secure, and be sat to dinner. Devangni took a morsel and put it into his mouth, and he put one into her mouth out of the same plate. And after they had finished this love-dinner in about half an hour, They began eat­ing fruits in the same way. Once Jassa Singh hit her hand as she lad just put a grape into his mouth and was withdrawing it, almost wishing that he should eat it. And she did the same when he tried it next time to put a grape in her mouth. Such was their wakefulness during the nights. During the day, they slept.
The University results came. Jassa Singh had failed in all the subjects. The father and the elder brother were full of wrath, they attributed it to the beauty of his wife. His mind was preoccupied with her; he had neglected his studies. Mother said nothing. She was glad her son was there with his beautiful wife. But the whole house was disturbed at this sad news.
Jassa Singh felt ashamed when all blamed his wife so openly. He felt grievously hurt and he thought the blame, if any, was entirely his. He was inwardly incensed against all of them. He would say nothing in reply. But he felt miserable. The wife saw her perturbation,
Jassa Singh
"It is a curse to he a younger brother and dependent on these elders. What. is life if one is not free to love ? Knowledge, a mere cramming of foreign languages, and dry-as-dust events of English History or Indian History is death, while loving ycu is life, more than life, If this is not allowed me, as they are proposing to send you away, I better die".
You see, nothing is amiss, We can turn everything to our advantage. Suppose you pass a few bitter months and forge your attachment with me and pass your examination. Jf you choose, you cart have the freedom you desire after that. You need not then depend upon your brothers or father. You could strike the solid earth with your own spike and get water out".
Jassa Singh
But to pass a day without you is death. I cannot bear the pain of separation from you even for a day any longer. You say I should swallow bitter months like that and pass my examinations 1 can be a roadside pebble-breaker and be happy if you he by my side”
‘No. For my sake you bear up. And for my sake get through the examination. Don’t fall out with your good father and mother. One year more and all will be right again. If you wish to see me at my parents’ house where the are sending me, come and meet me there without their knowledge, and thus the separation will not be as painful after all. I will ask my father to send you the necessary money”.
Jassa Singh
“If you say, I will jump into fire, what is passing an examination ? Very well : Go to your parents and I will be your guest. I hope you will not turn me Out”.
Devangni wept at these words, and he wiped her tears and soothed her, The whole of his manhood was called out and he agreed to do whatever she said. And they had another reveried night with each other.
The time Came for Jassa Singh to return to the College. The whole night previous to the day of his departure was spent in teats. Jassa Singh wept and his beautiful wife kept soothing him. His father had disallowed Devangni's going to her parents. And Jassa Singh going to Lahore was like leading a lamb to the butchers house, Devangni gave him two white silk handkerchiefs on which she had embroidered the name Of her husband in voilet silk thread. And Jassa Singh told her when be would weep at lahore in pang of separation, her handkerchief’s would still wipe his tears there, and he would feel her hands in his own.
Jassa Singh left for Lahore and the whole day Davanagni kept within her room, refusing drink and food.
Davangni differed from all other house-wives of Kallar. She was much too majestic, vivacious and liberty -loving to be tolerated for long in that old conservative house. The old lather of Jassa Singh disliked her ways, and had begun to have a sort of hatred toward her. He succeeded the persuading his wife to agree with him, Thin as growing hot for her. The mother—in—law took into her head to correct her ways. She would rebuke her for the angle of her veil cloth being not right, or her steps being much too ‘‘proud,’’ or her laughing meaningless and out of’ place. Why she looked in a particular way. Why to the right or why to the left’! Why she talked much too long with her servant, and why did the stay behind other girls while coming from the stream after the bath. And so on.
But Mahan Singh encouraged her to do what she liked, and to defy his wife and mother if they vexed her. In a way, he gave her full freedom and sat for hours together talking to her in her room. This set the fire jealousy ablaze in the bosom of his wife, and she made it a hell for him and her. Fires blazed on both sides. Mahan Sin Singh's wife made constant complaints to her mother-in-law and inflamed her against Devangni. She slowly began attacking her character, a point of honor on which still the girls in India die like the Padmani of Rajasthan. Complaints were proven to the satisfaction ot’ the mother-in-law by a kind of circumstantial evidence. Things like these for example : - I saw her giving her ring away to a boy such and such, She went into the house of such and such when she came she was shivering with fear when I asked her where she has been, she made faces at me and treated me with contempt.
Father “Mahan Singh, my Sardar boy !
I wish you to take her to her parents and never bring her back.
Mahan Singh
But father Jassa Siugh loves the girl so much. And she is the most beautiful girl of Pathohar. Jassa Singh would commit suicide if we treat her with that indifference".
‘‘But I have heard of the scandals. The other day your mother saw her coining out of Chatar Singh's house late at night. And when a she meet her, she felt very. When your mother caught her like that, she shivered with fear and wept. Your wife knows all that, It is a scandal. I would not ruin the, name of my family”,
“Father ! girls grow nervous for nothing when they are too Sigh much watched and suspected. They break down even if they are innocent. And this girl is already being persecuted. The other two wives mine and to Lilan Singh's wife vex her, they taunt her, and I raw her weeping bitterly in her room all by herself, Father, you should not he so cruel to the girt, and she is a goddess. One thing is quite true; All others are old-fashioned girls, with their spirits quite subdued. And she is bright humorous, excited, restless and liberty loving. She has such fund of wit that makes every one laugh”.
"I was always against this marriage. She thrust upon me by that old Sardar and foolish friend of mine, the old Malan Singh. I was forced to accept her for the brightest gem of the family, ;uy ablest boy Jassa Singh. I believe this girl would make him very unhappy by her instinct of being free of all restraint. And I doubt not that she will desire to live apart from the family with him and thus destroy us. I value nothing more than the closed first of the harmonious unions of all the brothers in one indestructible joint family. 1 wish to have the proudest distinction of having only one family in the country with such a harmony between its members.
“Father, I will see that your wishes are carried out. And Singh there would he no dissension. But I assure you, there is nothing wrong with the new girl, only my wife does not understand her”.
Mahan Singh had to go out to Rawalpindi and from there he brought a few presents lot’ Devangni. She refused to accept them, say­ing they might as well be given to others.
Mahan Singh
"Devnangni ! Why are you annoyed with me? There is so much of my affection for you in them. It is dishonoring me, If you refuse to take these offerings”.
“Eldest brother! I am much too wretched, so made by the mother. To be in a mood to accept them. I know there is feeling, tender feeling behind these tokens of your affection but excuse me, I am not in a mood for them,”
Mahan Singh
“What is it that makes you so distressed?”
“Nothing. The usual fate of a woman in this country”.
Mahan Singh
“But pray, tell me what has happened so suddenly in my absence?”
"Nothing. Only the jealousy of your wife, and the women of this family. I am hountded by them like a harlot. They follow and watch and suspect me. I cannot talk to a girl or a boy safely. They already point the finger of calumny at me. And they have vexed and abused me to my face, saying things that I have never heard of in my life”.
Mahan Singh
“But my wife and all of them cannot understand you. The inborn sense of the liberty of movement you have is a species of immorality to them. You should understand them if they cannot, and avoid all this unnecessary rancor in the family. I will protect your honor at all costs’’.
Much distressed by the helpless condition of Devangni for whom he harbored a secret passion, not of the very best kind, almost a kind of lust, he went and began chastising his wife for all that nonsense. \and so bitter was his remonstrance that his wife began apologizing to him her ever averse that site loved Devangni, and was doing all for her sake. And so on she knew time art of appeasing him in a way that he may when her turn comes, obey her like a docile lamb. If she wanted a thing done, she did have it done by him, only she so manipulated the affairs that her husband fondly thought that what fact was her design and a long laid plot was his own. She suspected for long her husband’s vicious design on the beauty of Davangni and she had resolved to have her out. And she was much too clever to come in to as open clash with him in any matter whatsoever. She abided her time and always made him her cat’s paw.
Mahan Singh said to his wife, “Devangni is in advance of her time. After thirty years or so, every woman of Pathohar, of any family of consequence would he more free than she is, she is the coming woman kind, free and noble. I too, love this free new woman of the future, you are all so tricky and subdued little slaves, there is no joy of life in ordering love from your hearts at the bayo­nets point. But all that does not mean that this sort of freedom necessarily means any deflection from the path of rectitude, I tell you are all wrong. Ye stupid geese of’ a village pound."
His wile read much between the lines and only smiled and said ‘‘yes I know, I know all that. But we are we conservative women’’.
Devangni was undone for life. Her difference with her mother-in law grew space. And the gulf between the two went on widening with every conversation, because Devangni, in her innocence, kept up her proud attitude and hooked down upon all of them with contempt for their silly conjectures about her character. Devangni was a woman of extreme sensitiveness as to her self respect and with the self-consciousness of her beauty, had a powerful queerly personality, naturally dominating. Fates had Mown her lot with these prattling, low minded omen. But she stood up in her full stature refusing to be bullied by them. She glowed from head to foot with her snow white purity. She had faith in the love of her husband and she cared not for what the harked about her. The more they oppressed her, higher rose the flames of her beauty in its rare majesty But who was there to see the purity of beauty they wanted her full enslavement to them. Selves. She was however caught in thrones, and the more she tried to extricate herself, the more her garments stuck in their spikes.
One night, she was invited by the wife of the manager of the Sardar’s Estate. The manager. Tirtha, was an ugly brute whose daily business was that of a butcher, Instead of killing animals, he killed tenants, men and women and children to fill the coffers of the Sardar’s house. He never combed his hair, vermin and I ice ran in them. His eyes were full of gum, and his nose of wax, He was hard of hearing. And the girls of the house had to speak aloud in his ear to get things done by him for themselves, and they hated to go near him. But his wife was a very sympathetic person, and she Was confident of the young wives of the Sardar’s family. The wives generally went to her and the daughters of the manager came in return, So a stream of social visits in that village flowed between these two houses. And so poor and faithful was the wretched Tirtha, that Mahan Singh gave him all the keys of the safes and boxes. And he kept all their accounts. He was past middle age, and, on the whole, socially an idiotic per person -a through-bred accountant and a butcher quite fIt for his job of tax-exacting. The Sardars also lent money at an exorbitant interest to ‘their poor tenants, and lived so proud ly on the squeezed human blood in the form of high interest. And Tirtha’s wife would sympathise with Devangni most, knowing how wildly the others persecuted her, She instinctively hated the administrative talents of the eldest wife and her back-bittings and other pranks. Her sympathy attracted Devangni to herself, and more intimate grew their friendship, of which the others were jealous.
One night. Devangni was late in returning from Tiratha’s house. It was moonlight and she inadvertently kept alon2 there talking of her difficulties to her bosom friend, Tirtha’s wife. And to be there till 10 p.m. did not strike her as very late, because as a girl, she had been playing in her village sometimes till dawn in the green or harvested fields. But this was made into a new scandal by Mahan Siagh’s wife, arid it came about like this. She had taken care to let her husband stand in ambush to watch Devangni coming out late at night in a suspicious manner from Tirtha’s house. Devangni came out of the house evidently afraid and nervous because of the late hour. She truly realised that she had stayed too long, as the charged atmosphere of the whole house was against her, Mahan Singh called out : - - "Devangni ! Is it you?“ And she came and fell upon his feet. “Yes brother, it is I, the wretched Devangni." It seems this wicked call at her by Mahan Singh at the instigation of his wife crushed her. Her pride that she had kept up so long against the women of the family gave way suddenly. Her nerves were much too shattered by the resistance she had shown to the all and when the sudden voice of Mahan Singh caught her unawares under the shade of a tree in the moonlight, she collapsed.
"Get away from me wretched girl, after all my wife is right,” said Mahan Singh. On this, she understood the mistake had she dune in collapsing at his feet. She as a woman realized that all was over for her, at least in that house of her husband. And with her head drooping, she slowly walked into her room. Her condition was of a ship wrecked mariner who was still struggling with the sea-water to - find a rock of safety, The sky above and the sea below, all so cruel, cruel!, all Heartless brutes all ‘‘Friends,” religion, society, all swayed against her. Absolutely lonely. In such a state of collapse, it was difficult for her to think of God or man. The rescue was nowhere. It was too tragic a situation to think of her young husband, because she was much too distressed to have any faith left in any one. And in her room, alone she cried a young girl of seventeen, and her pillow was drenched with her tears.
Such is the love of these refined men, put in layers of cotton wool, protected from the sun, stored away into the sandalwood almirahs and perfumed with voilet and rose, But on occasions like boxed these, when the boxes are actually opened, one find nothing but rottenness and dirt. Husbands! What are they ! China-toys in these tyrant hands, they can make then dance as they like, Love of such as there is sentimental jtv. cupidity, intensity of animal lust arid the hunger for women lasts for a few days A base enamel 0 god, what hopes?
Mahan Singh too much distressed on his own account, shut him­self in his room and wept and cried. “O the reputation of the family ruined thus. That scoundrel of Tirtha, I trusted him so much and he turned a snake to bite us. Ah, we arc ruined, ruined’, And he wept for the sake of Jassa Singh “His wife knocked late at night, and had to open the door for her.
“What distresses you so much? It is no fault of men, if girls are like that. You must take her early in the morning and leave her at her parents. And from there go to Lahore and take Jassa Singh, as he would certainly commit suicide if this news reaches him all of a sudden. You know how dearly he loves her!”
Mahan Singh
“But we have treated most cruelly by fate; Thai rascal Tjrtha must be dismissed. And we are all ruined! Ruined! It is all your fault, you did not look after the girl properly.
“My Lord: I did try my best, but she is a proud girl. Her ways are quite different”,

Mahan Singh burst into tears and said. “Oh: I thought Devangni would be the crown of our head. She would be the light of our house. But alas! Alas!“
Jassa Singh was waiting for the arrival of the down mail near the Ravi Bridge at Lahore, and about ten minutes the train was due, he had laid himself down on the track. But Mahan Singh had been searching for him the whole day and had given him up for drowned in the Ravi, when all of a sudden his accompanying search part cried and lifted Jassa Siugh off the Railway line. Just then the mail train flew past at a terrific speed. A few months were enough to the for Jassa Singh into believing in the infidelity of his beautiful wife. He sailed for England, a broken-hearted young man.
Devangni was welcome at her father’s house. The old man, Jassa Singh’s father, thrust all the calumny into the teeth of her father. And much bitterness ensured.
Delawar Singh
“Sir I cannot believe you. I have known from various sources how your women folk combined to ruin my daughter’s reputation. She is the love-nourished child of mine. She is straight, free, at time, naughty but never what you wish to change her with, And even if it he true what you say, she is my child, My arms are open for her. My house be burnt if she can not come into it again, as she went and as she came to me from Heaven. I cannot shut my doors against her. As long as I alive, if’ I have one bread, I will give half to her. She is no good to you. She is the very piece of’ my soul”.
Jassa Singh's father
I know you have no honor; no ethics, a wretched family."
Delawer Singh
“Sir, You may say anything. It is goddess-fire,when another’s house is burning. It is fires wretched fire, when your own house catches.” One thing I tell you, my daughter is innocent before man and God. Arid if this is so, you will be ruined; such will be the curse of a helpless girl. And the plan you have given my girl would come to you too and all keep in your household.
Goodbye. Go. Leave my house. It is all over”
Devangni was distressed, hut she put it to the jealously of women.
Her husband had been sent away. When he comes, she will tell him everything and he would believe her, so she thought, She told all what had happened to - her old father and mother. And she said she could not understand where was the wrong, and in what she was wrong. And she wept bitterly. The poor old father! His Long grey veheroble heard rouge in tense sympathy. His whole figure was cost in goose & habits childlike with distress. He took his child in his arms and cried bitterly with tears flowing in a stream over her hair.
Devangni wrote many letters to her husband in England, hut none came there. Jassa Singh remained unresponsive for his brother had given - him all the circumstantial evidence to prose her guilt. And he threatened him too if he corresponded with her, He had made much of his witnessing of her nervous collapse. This was enough for him, and lie thrust it into Jassa Singh. For he thought, such are the usual signs of a confessed guilt; He was too dense to suppose that there could he many other cause of such collapse. An extremely sensitive person can feel lie has committed murder. hearing that some one else It as done it and behave e exactly as a murderer under some insolent and stupid questions.
Mahan Singh had pictured to Jassa Singh the future life of Jassa Singh. If he showed love to Devangni any more, it might lead to his murder, to her murder, and to the utter ruin of the family. And he had wept before Jassa Singh. He had also considered it with Jassa Singh from an ethical and religious point of view, and from the view point of society. Mahan Singh had succeeded in making Jassa Singh suppress his pangs and his keen disappointment against his parents and brothers, hut not without great suffering.
He had tried to defend her. Jassa Singh had said to his brother: - -"It may be all wrong.
Can’t you forgive her”.
And Mahan Singh had replied: “You know how much I love  your happiness. I cannot imagine a beauty greater than hers. But beauty is a curse, if the heart within is so black. It is the curse of gods fallen upon us."
Jassa Singh had again defended her thus: "But suppose she was your own daughter, what would you have done’’.
And Mahan Singh had kept up his pretence. To me the mortal life of a woman is everything. I would refuse to own her’’.
Jassa Singh had again rejoined Brother: I feel it is cruel of public morality and religions to be so wooden. After all, God is not so relentless, If He were, what will be our due? Don’t we look so basely on other people’s wives and daughters every day’’?
Mahan Sleigh ‘‘you modern boys love liberty more than even virtue
We cannot understand you. One old father already is feeling keenly the loss of the amily's reputation. And if we forgive her, our name will be mud. Father would disinherit us all. For fear of’ him, for respect to his feelings you cannot nor can I, take any independent course, even if we like”.
And though Jassa Singh still was unconvinced, he had yielded. Jassa Singh was afraid to write Jest his letters were intercepted and his brother and father come to know about his secret correspondence with her, If it all came to be khud it would be a big scandal, and it might divide the family up, which even Jassa Singh felt extremely unwilling to do at any cost, so instinctive was his fear of family partition.
Three years passed. Jassa Singh came back and settled at Rawalpindi for his practice. Devangni still entertained hopes. She thought he was hers, and he would give her hearing and after the hearing, feel convinced of her innocence.
She could not realize why her best beloved man did not see her as she herself could see her inside. But his brothers would live with Jassa Singh, his father would come and make prolonged says and they did give no opportunity to him to go and see his wife at Takhpari he thought of many a time.
Late at night, at times, when all would lie asleep, he would take out her portrait that he had managed to have made in secret from a photographer in the early days of his marriage, and looking at it, he would weep silently for an hour or so. But Jassa Singh had no dash in him, he was a soft-soapy sort of ratty peen by and he was afraid of strenuous protest. That bugbear of his childhood, the honor of the joint-family still was a bugbear and it stood in his way. And he hated his father and brothers and she wives of his brothers for their shameful acts.
Over a long time, slowly and gradually, the truth also came out, and it was proved that there had been no guilt in her “collapse”. Her "collapse" was due to the bursting up of her suppressed feelings of oppression arid her struggles to bear the repression like a brave proud girl. But she having been sent out was an accomplished fact some knew the truth and others did not. And they had declared it from their own mouths and condemned an innocent girl. How for the sake of their position and rank and reputation, they withdra­w it later? Three years had passed since Jassa Singh's return from England, and nothing had leek done to make amends for the hatched up conspiracy against Devangni.
It was after six years of long waiting, still dreaming of the fist nights of love and hoping against hope that he might have gath­ered strength by his visit to England to rise true to his own feeling and love, her faith in him was completely broken. Her heart was as shatte­red into pieces. Her tears were dried up. Her sadness, on seeing this aspect of the world which stood before her as such a cruel illusion, flamed high up. After many years, she was red again in the face, her eves burnt with sweet, sad calm and she looked on the life and love of this earth from her sad sublime spiritual isolation. She had risen above all men who are so blind of soul, It was the reaction after her innocent faith that had stood and waited so long. And now she rose up with a woman’s resolution. Devangni was transformed into a new woman. And she begat-i reading the holy hymans of the Ninth Guru, Guru Tegh Bahadur. So noble was her realization of their mea­ning that all those who came and heard her singing, did shed tears for hours and went back convinced, for the time being, that both life and love of this earth are an illusion,
And the image of God of forgiveness was her father to her, who welcomed her when everybody doubted her, arid who wept for her all those years for distress which he was helpless to cure. True love burnt in his heart like a divine flame. His forgiveness knew her innocence, If not omniscient knowledge of her inside as much as she herself had of it. Infinite forgiveness sparkling in that noble face made her believe that there is God whose justice is forgiveness even for the sinners. If the world misunderstood her, here was a man who by the pain and pathos and love for his child could never mis­understand her, His tears rolled every now and then over his grey beard, and Devangni would curse herself’ in despair "I the cursed Devangni have caused my poor father so much distress ! why does not death overtake me. But all those violent feelings had then gradually mellowed down into one feeling of childlike dependence on God and whenever the feeling of seeing such a God in Person vibrated her being, she went and lay in the arms of her old father.
But Jassa Singh Barrister-at-Law, was still kept away by his parents and brothers, and was not allowed to see Devangni. However, his sojourn in England had put sonic kind of strength into him. At last, he could bear no longer. He was convinced; they had treated her most cruelly. His heart broke when he heard of the death of his father-in-law and of Devangni’s mother too. And that Devangni had turned a Sikh saint.
He wrote to his father and brother a joint letter.
“You have made what I am. You have trained me as a barrister. You have given me a palace, a couch, but it is all as death to me. Am grown up now, I understand, I have a soul, arid I see that after death neither you father, nor you brothers would answer for my sins, nor I yours. You may misunderstand me if you like. But I decided to go away from you. I leave tonight for nowhere. Don’t search for me. Forget me. Consider me dead. I thank you what you did for me. But I must go to expatiate for my faithlessness to my wife-she is an angel. I hear, she has left Takhatpari for an unknown destination. I should have stood up like a man against you all, when I heard of your accusation against her there and then at Lahore. I should have gone breaking pebbles on roadside. I shall remain sad till my death that I thought you were speaking the truth and that I was so afraid of breaking the decorum’s of society, especially after your accusations with all her faults, I loved her still. I am ashamed to have accepted your money after what he has done to me. You have made me wretched. He on these social decorums and names and fames that fetter-the very soul of man in a hundred shames and cries.
And Jassa Singh left for an unknown place. Devangni sad of the world had also left her father’s house. The old man had died before her eyes, her mother followed him. Both had died broken hearted, and had no one but God to leave their daughter to. Both had said:—O daughter! We leave you to the Guru” And the Guru had come to her in person of a lady of great renunciation who took her to her Dharamsala in Jammu. And Devangni lived in extreme sadness with lady guide friend philosopher, but red with the knowledge that this world was all an illusion. And she composed songs in praise of the Guru, and sang with streaming tears! Devangni thus became a whole temple in her and women, widows and the distressed wives came to her for, solace. And the luster divine of her face was such as suggested that life of ours was not all and there is a great love, peace, and joy beyond! Beyond!
Devangni was religious leader of the miserable destitute widows of almost the whole of the Punjab. She had started homes all over the Punjab interconnected with the “School of Righteousness” Dharmsala at Jammu where lived her great guide.
Jassa Singh roamed for years as an ascetic, but neither the reading scriptures, nor his mixing with the wandering Sadhus of India had made him respect any religious system, and be was sad that what goes by the name of divine knowledge in India is such a gross igno­rance. He was tired of all systems of thought, for he saw no one could cure the grief of his heart and pour strength into him with which he might forget the past. He could not forget Devaugni. He thought of Devangni till, if not in person, at least, her direct image came to him. He saw her every now amid then in trance, and he stood speechless gazing into her eyes.
One day roaming as a naked ascetic with his hair thrown in wild  pale, haggard and penance-shrunk, to a street of Amritsar, he saw Devangni in spotless white dress going past him in a two-wheeled open tonga., with another frail bodies old lady sitting by her. Her eyes and forehead sparkled with the luster of that eternal youth of soul. To his starved eyes Devangni shone like a meteor shooting past him. He ran after the tonga in a pathetic haste. And Devandni recognised him.
After many years of separation they met in the Hall Bazar Street, when Devangni stopped the tonga, got down and stood before him like an immaculate virgin-disciple of the Guru. Radiant and speechless, shining in her new splendor of the inner self-realization, there she stood, and there was he before her an ashy, dust-besmeared self-cursed, self-tortured man.