I Shall Not Hear The Nightingale Read Online Free

wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He put on his pyjamas and looked out of the window; it was dark without a trace of grey anywhere. He looked at the clock on the table; it was just after 3 a.m. He went back to bed and tried to sleep. Once more the four figures came back: Madan, the headman, his father, and Taylor. When sleep overtook him again, he found himself crossing the rail tracks once more. This time he kept reminding himself in his dream that this was only a dream. When one of thetrains bore upon him he woke up — but without the cry of terror. The sky had turned grey and the morning star shone brilliantly. His mother and Shunno were already up and at work in the kitchen. He sat down in his armchair and tried to calm himself. A drongo started calling. Crows began to caw softly in their morning sleep and sparrows twittered dreamily — uncertain whether or not it was time to get up. Then all the crows began to caw furiously and all the sparrows began to chirrup. The spell was broken. A kite perched itself on the roof of the kitchen and let out its shrill piercing cry for food:
Kreel
. . .
Kreel
. . .
Kreel
. . .
Kreel.
    Sher Singh got up to face another day.
    It was New Year’s Day by the Hindu calendar. Sabhrai was expecting all the family in the temple for the first-of-the-month ceremony. Shunno, the maidservant, came twice to say the others were waiting. Sher Singh had a quick bath and hurried to the room set apart for worship. His father and sister sat cross-legged on the floor facing the Granth. Buta Singh wore his magisterial dress of grey turban, black coat, and white trousers. A band of muslin ran round his chin and over his turban (it was meant to press his beard in shape). His grey drooping moustache fell on either side of the band. Both his sister, Beena, and his mother, Sabhrai, wore bright pink headpieces above their white Punjabi dresses. The prayer room also wore a festive appearance. The Holy Granth had been specially draped in silks for the occasion,with roses, marigolds, and jasmines strewn in front of it. From the four points of the velvet canopy above the holy book hung chains of coloured paper. From either side, sticks of incense sent spirals of scented smoke upwards to the canopy till the breeze of the ceiling fan scattered them about the room.
    Sabhrai was reading the Granth quietly. She looked up and spoke to her son: ‘We have been waiting for you for the last hour. Your father is in a hurry. He has to go to see the Deputy Commissioner.’
    ‘How was I to know this was New Year’s Day?’ answered Sher Singh. ‘Nobody told me.’ Everyone knew that Sabhrai’s remarks were really meant for her daughter-in-law. Before Champak could make her excuses, Buta Singh intervened. ‘Let us get on with the service instead of arguing,’ he said.
    Sabhrai picked up the fly-whisk lying beneath the cot on which the Granth was placed and began to wave it over her head. She started with the hymn to spring:
It is spring and all is seemly —
    The bumble-bee and the butterfly
    And the woodlands in flower.
    But there is sorrow in my soul,
    For the Lord my Master is away.
    If the husband comes not home, how can a wife
    Find peace of mind?
    Sorrows of separation waste away her body.
    The koel calls in the mango grove,
    Its notes are full of joy.
    But O Mother of mine, it’s like death to me
    For there is sorrow in my soul.
    How shall I banish sorrow and find blessed peace?
    Spake the Guru: Welcome the Lord in your soul As a wife welcomes her master when she loves him.
    Everyone bowed as the last words trailed off. Buta Singh invoked the Guru loudly. Sabhrai ran the palms of her hands along the broad pages of the holy book and placed them on her eyes.
    Shunno came in carrying a steaming tray, placed it on a low stool in front of the Granth, and sat down in a corner. On the verandah outside, Mundoo bullied little children from neighbouring houses into keeping quiet and sitting in a row. Behind him,