PART-I. HOW LOVE TRANSCENDS ALL BARRIERS FOR LAZMI SHAHEEN AND MERYL REETHERSPOONE.

Dear Reader, thank you for your immense response and love given to Lazmi Humaima Shaheen and Meryl Reetherspoone. I am presenting a  four-part series highlighting Lazmi and Meryl and the people they loved in more detail. Written on the backdrop of India’s famed freedom movement this series will culminate in what Lazmi and Meryl finally achieved in their lives !

It was January 1948 and was bitter cold in Delhi. The three men stood in the sparsely furnished confines of Retiring Room number six of the Old Delhi railway station watching the bustle of tongas, carts, creaking buses, swarming by  in the street below. The police of India no longer had days in which to save the life of Mahatma Gandhi. They had only hours. Godse, Apte and Karkare had just fixed in that dim railroad station room their rendezvous with history. They had chosen the hour when they would kill Mohandas Gandhi.

They would assassinate the great man at five o’clock the following day.

Meanwhile in a remote place of Majora in Punjab love blossomed. Joginder Singh was a handsome young man with a bane of long hair and a very pleasing face. He had killer features and all the girls in his town swooned at him. But he had set his eyes on the girl who kept to herself and gave Joginder a damn !!

Lazmi had been gone from her home about an hour. Lying on his bed, Jogi stretched out his hands over his head and behind him, groping, she dodged him. Jogi caressed her cheeks, eyes and nose that his hands knew so well. He tried to play with her lips to induce them to kiss his fingers.

"Are you okay?" he whispered. He had one arm around Lazmi, clasping her to him, while the fingers of his other hand softly traced her face, probing gently, examining her. His thumb brushed her lower lip, and his breath hitched. He was staring into her eyes, and she held his anxious, burning gaze for a moment, or maybe forever .

Kiss me! Lazmi implored him. She was paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him. Lazmi was staring at Jogi’s mouth, mesmerized, and he was looking down at her, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening. He was breathing harder than usual, and she stopped breathing altogether.

“ I'm in your arms.”  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head as if in answer to her silent question.

"Jogi, what are you doing?." Lazmi got alarmed at his advances!

"You know I like you Lajo." He had one hand at the fullness of her back holding her against him, the other at her chin tipping back her head.

"No, Jogi, stop—no!". She pushed him, but he was a wall of hard muscle. His hand had slipped into her hair, and he was holding her head in place.

His breath was soft and smelled too sweet. He gently trailed kisses along her jaw up to the side of her mouth.

She felt panicky, and a heady feeling of drunkenness swept across her. She felt out of control.

The feeling was suffocating.

In a flash, Lazmi opened her mouth and bit him fiercely, Joginder jerked away. With a quick movement he caught her head in both his hands and brought her face over to his. Then he slipped his arms under her waist and hoisted her into the air above him with her arms and legs kicking, then he brought her down flat upon him limb to limb.

The world stopped as Jogi crossed his arms behind Lazmi’s back and squeezed her till she could not talk or breathe. Every time she started to speak, he tightened his arms around her and her words got stuck in her throat. She gave up and put her exhausted face against his. He laid her beside him with her head nestling in the hollow of his left arm. With his right hand he stoked her hair and face.

His hands strayed from Lazmi’s  face to her bosoms and her waist. She caught it and put it back on her face. His breathing became slow and sensuous. He stretched his left arm that lay under her head and caught her reproving hand. Her other arm was already under him. She was defenceless.

Seeing him on his knees in front of her, feeling his mouth on her, it was so unexpected, and hot. Her hands stayed in his hair, pulling gently as she tried to quiet her loud breathing. He gazed up at her through impossibly long lashes, his eyes a scorching smoky grey.

Jogi’s hands reached up to undo the laces of her salwar, and  leisurely pulled down the cloth. Without taking his eyes off her, his hands moved beneath the waistband, skimming her and moving to her behind. He then glided his hands slowly down her backside to her thighs, removing her salwar on the go. She could not look away as he took off her panties. He stopped and licked his lips, never breaking eye contact, and then leaned forward, running his nose up the apex between her thighs. She felt him.

                                                                                  There.

In a state of frenzy, she dug her nails into his handsome puffy cheeks. The stars above her went into a mad whirl. Strands of hair washing her face, the soft breeze spattering her naked limbs, she pushed the moment away and immersed herself totally to Jogi. It was an evening of wild love making !

That night, in this little town of Majora, five armed dacoits disembarked from a train coming from Lahore. There was no stoppage at Majora, as the train slowed the armed men silently slipped into the darkness. It would not be before morning the train reached Delhi station.

Rehmat, the leader had come to finish Joginder Singh as he had heard enough of his flirtations with his sister Lazmi. That night, Jogi was fatally wounded and Lazmi silently took her mother and left Majora for good. She was heading for Calcutta where she would find a job at the theatre for a living.

                         In the summer of 1941 Jogi had vanished into the gunshots of Majora !!

Lazmi vowed to come back and avenge Jogi’s death !! In the pre-Independence era Punjab and Bengal bore the largest brunt of mayhem and bloody killings.

Meryl Reetherspoone, a lovely and adorable English girl, had come to India for a week’s visit along with her mother Adela, hosted by local British officer Charles Hope. While Charles, who had an eye on Meryl, offered a drink on arrival, Meryl refused and announced that she was desirous to see the real India. And meandering through discussions Miss Meryl said she avoided speaking to Indians unless they were her own servants, but amused everyone by saying I want to know India and I want to see Indians!

Pre-independence India was awash with visiting English men and women – people who wanted to see first hand the health of the country they ruled and from where a large sum of money bulged the English coffers. The amount of loot that went to the British Empire could have made India the second largest economy – if not the first, if that wealth would have stayed with Delhi and made London one of the poorest countries of the world – though poetic justice has placed Britain from where they see South Korea with an admiring eye, that Seoul has overtaken London in GDP is a matter of great pride for the Koreans; not to speak of today’s India – which boasts of one of the largest economies of the world; in spite of the loot !! (Please tap www.cheekychatur.com and read BRITAIN HAS BECOME A POOR COUNTRY NOW. THE PROS AND CONS, a tasteful find of how the modern Dorian Grays have run amok !!).

                                     Anyway, what has not happened has not happened !!

Mrs. Jennifer Morton, well known to Adela, had long been to India. A stupid British woman, Jennifer spoke without hindrance and more often than not left the audience bite the dust for her shameful utterances. You would come to know how silly she was !

       When Meryl stepped to visit the place and know Indians, Jennifer was left astonished:

“Wanting to see Indians? What I mean is I was a nurse before my marriage and came across Indian natives a great deal. So, I know. I really do know the truth about Indians. A most unsuitable position for any Englishwoman – in my native state one’s only hope was to hold sternly aloof.

“Even from one’s patients?” Adela asked wickedly.

“Why, the kindest thing one can do to a native is to let him die!!”

“How if he went to Heaven?” asked Adela with a queer smile.

“He can go where he likes as long as he doesn’t come near me. They give me the creeps!”

That day, Apte found to his relief and surprise the entrance of Birla House posed no problem at all. The guard had been increased, but no one was searching the crowd coming in for weapons. He was relieved. Godse had made his entrance safely. Karkare and Apte walked out to the end and there they saw Nathuram mingling with the crowds. He seemed composed and in good spirits. The crowd was scattered around the lawn. At five o'clock, as the time for the prayers grew near, people began to move together. Apte and Karkare took their places on either side of Nathuram.

Karkare's eyes were on Nathuram as he took the pistol from his pocket and passed it between his palms. He had decided to pay respects to the man who had rendered admirable service to his country. When Gandhi was only a few strides from him, Nathuram stepped into the corridor.

He bowed slowly from the waist, and said Namaste Gandhiji, and in a flash took out his Beretta pistol and shot Gandhi thrice.

On 30 January, 1948 around 5.17 pm Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated by Nathuram Godse !!

There is nothing sadder in India’s Independence than the way it traversed its way. At three minutes before midnight on 14 August 1947 the unity of the Indian subcontinent was broken. Pakistan was established as an independent, sovereign state. Exactly five minutes later India became independent.

And what Pakistan got from Jinnah !

An astounding fact cropped up during Mountbatten’s last years in office – long after he left India. He came across a medical report of the doctor who treated Jinnah. The report described in detail a chest X-ray; the plate confirmed the advanced stages of tuberculosis.

In spring of 1947, Mohammed Ali Jinnah, the inflexible Muslim leader who had quashed all of Mountbatten’s efforts to preserve India’s unity, knew he had only a few months left to live !!

Lord Louis Mountbatten was startled. "If had only known this at the time, the course of history would have been different. I would have delayed the granting of independence for several months. There would have been no Partition.”

“Pakistan would not have existed. India would have remained united. Three wars would have been avoided” – an exasperated Mountbatten exclaimed !

And Gandhi ji would not have been assassinated !! There would be no Pakistan, there would be no POK, there would be no Bangladesh !!

Do you think Gandhi knew that Jinnah was going to die in a few months? Maybe not !!

A bereaved Lazmi set foot in Kolkata with her mother. She was seething with anger for the injustice meted out to her beloved Jogi and was determined to go back to Majora and kill her brother.

Disclaimer: The names Joginder Singh, Rehmat, Lazmi, Adela, Meryl Reetherspoone, Charles Hope are imaginary and do not hold any resemblance to any person(s) dead or alive.