She committed a blunder. How bored was she yesterday! Today's the last day and he’d be
coming back again in the evening. Yesterday was the only chance. I could’ve spoken from
inside, “Bring it over here. Placing the bucket down, he would've crouched on the floor. I
could be sitting on bed with legs dangling. I could be swaying those legs, brushing him
occasionally. Dipping the tip of my finger in milk, I might have said, “It’s thin, look here,”
tapping his forehead with the milky tip. Then his cheek, then lips! Then, I would’ve pinched
both his cheeks and given them a shake. Who’s that oblivious? He would’ve understood. Then
I would’ve had him sleep next to me on my bed. No, no! First I would have him sit on the rocking
chair and talk with him while I eased myself on the bed.
Evening, she heard the clang of the bucket. Kamla dashed to the door. There was no doubt in
her mind about speaking with the boy now. She'd been waiting for him to arrive any minute. An
invisible force pulled her towards the door. All she wanted to do was gaze at his face. Her heart
desired that the shadow of that boy to fall on it. She was forced to look and keep looking at him.
She opened the door, but the boy hadn’t come. As in the past, there stood his father.
The feverish Kamla went cold like sand falls on fire. Her fever climbed down and she turned into
the same old Kamla, the wife of Manmohan Lal.
previous page
translated by Moazzam Sheikh
Kulwant Singh Virk (May 20, 1921 — December 24, 1987) is considered a pioneer of contemporary
Punjabi literature.
coming back again in the evening. Yesterday was the only chance. I could’ve spoken from
inside, “Bring it over here. Placing the bucket down, he would've crouched on the floor. I
could be sitting on bed with legs dangling. I could be swaying those legs, brushing him
occasionally. Dipping the tip of my finger in milk, I might have said, “It’s thin, look here,”
tapping his forehead with the milky tip. Then his cheek, then lips! Then, I would’ve pinched
both his cheeks and given them a shake. Who’s that oblivious? He would’ve understood. Then
I would’ve had him sleep next to me on my bed. No, no! First I would have him sit on the rocking
chair and talk with him while I eased myself on the bed.
Kamla was in the midst of enjoying the flight of her imagination. Her heart hammered away as if
the boy literally slept beside her. She was astonished. “No, it just seems like that. Thoughts alone
can’t make a heart beat so hard!” To be certain, she placed her hand there. The heart did in fact
beat wildly, like it had never done before.
the boy literally slept beside her. She was astonished. “No, it just seems like that. Thoughts alone
can’t make a heart beat so hard!” To be certain, she placed her hand there. The heart did in fact
beat wildly, like it had never done before.
As she found her entire being enveloped by this thought her pleasure only increased. She
renewed her stroll on the familiar track. And what if someone walked in on them? So what! The
door leads to many doors. And if one of my girlfriends had knocked, I would’ve hidden him under
the bed and laughed incessantly after unlatching the door. She would’ve asked, “Why are you
laughing?” I would’ve replied, “Go figure!” She would have had no way to find out and I would’ve
laughed again, while the boy underneath heard the whole exchange. And if it were someone
else, I would’ve pushed the boy out through another door, while rubbing my eyes, yawning as if
I had just woken up. This made her heart beat even faster now as though she had landed herself
in real danger.
renewed her stroll on the familiar track. And what if someone walked in on them? So what! The
door leads to many doors. And if one of my girlfriends had knocked, I would’ve hidden him under
the bed and laughed incessantly after unlatching the door. She would’ve asked, “Why are you
laughing?” I would’ve replied, “Go figure!” She would have had no way to find out and I would’ve
laughed again, while the boy underneath heard the whole exchange. And if it were someone
else, I would’ve pushed the boy out through another door, while rubbing my eyes, yawning as if
I had just woken up. This made her heart beat even faster now as though she had landed herself
in real danger.
She caught herself in the clutches of an uncanny pleasure. Dumbstruck, she didn’t know what to
do, how to rid herself of it? She decided to recite something but prayers refused to enter her heart
and mind.
do, how to rid herself of it? She decided to recite something but prayers refused to enter her heart
and mind.
She turned on the radio. The songs she found to be so inferior to the bliss that had previously
made her heart pound away. The very songs which only a day ago made her restless once they
fluttered through her heart, the songs she waited for impatiently, now appeared alien. She had
no desire left to listen to them.
What does one call this? She switched off the radio.
made her heart pound away. The very songs which only a day ago made her restless once they
fluttered through her heart, the songs she waited for impatiently, now appeared alien. She had
no desire left to listen to them.
What does one call this? She switched off the radio.
Evening, she heard the clang of the bucket. Kamla dashed to the door. There was no doubt in
her mind about speaking with the boy now. She'd been waiting for him to arrive any minute. An
invisible force pulled her towards the door. All she wanted to do was gaze at his face. Her heart
desired that the shadow of that boy to fall on it. She was forced to look and keep looking at him.
She opened the door, but the boy hadn’t come. As in the past, there stood his father.
The feverish Kamla went cold like sand falls on fire. Her fever climbed down and she turned into
the same old Kamla, the wife of Manmohan Lal.
previous page
translated by Moazzam Sheikh
Kulwant Singh Virk (May 20, 1921 — December 24, 1987) is considered a pioneer of contemporary
Punjabi literature.
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