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Her Sadistic Karma "Amrit, let's elope," I puffed my chest and said. "Impossible!" she snapped. "Why?" "You don't have a high school diploma, and you have only ten rupees
in your pocket. And we have no place to go." "I can steal one hundred rupees from my father's safe," I
said. "We will purchase tickets to Bihar and work in coal mines." "What about your dreams of becoming a great bridge designer and
my desire to become a doctor?" "Sorry, I was carried away by my crazy heart," I said. "We
have no choice but to wait." "Well, Mahatma Gandhi is breaking the caste barrier. I'm sure
by the time we get our degrees, our parents will accept our union." "All right, I'll pray for it," I said. "Look, my father has given me his promise." "What promise?" I asked. "If I do good in the tenth grade, he will permit me to enter college
to become a doctor and won't force me into a marriage before that." "That's great! I, too, will work hard at my books." I was 15, and the beautiful girl standing with me was 14. We were neighbors,
growing up in Ranjitpura, Amritsar. When I was 4 years old, I used to pull her long, shining braids while
playing in the public garden near our homes. When I reached 6, I could
no longer play with her. Girls went to separate schools and were supposed
to shun boys. Still, whenever she was walking alone, I managed to whisper
a few words to her. Our friendship grew. I started growing a black fuzz
over my upper lip. Now, even, whispering to her in public was impossible, and we met in
the dark corner of our temple. Our parents were good friends, but they
belonged to the castes whose children could never marry each other. In 1942, I joined Khalsa College, Amritsar. Next year Amrit stood first
in the school and won the university scholarship. Her parents threw
a big feast, and our family participated in it. Amrit's father, who was a tall, well-built man with a flowing white
beard, was transferred to Lyalpur. Before leaving, Amrit met me at the
temple. She sighed and said, "Bir, parting is like the separation of two
rivers: They part and never meet again, till they end in the ocean."
"We're not rivers, and we'll be joined by the Holy Book,"
I said. "You'll be a great doctor, I'll be an engineer, and we'll
have twelve children." "Those are only dreams," she said. "Anyhow, please keep
in touch with me." "I can't write you at your father's address." "Use your sister's name. She's my close friend, and my parents
won't suspect," she said. "All right, I'll do that," I said. "Keep in mind, I don't want less than a dozen kids." She blushed. "I had a foreboding that my life is going to end in a tragedy,"
she said and grabbed my hands. "If that happens, please promise
to throw my ashes on the sacred river." "I promise, but you will be my wife and 90 years old at the time
of your death." We parted with tears but continued writing to each other for two years. In 1945, I entered Engineering College Lahore, and she joined the medical
college at Lyalpur. My cousin, Mastan, had a farm not far from Amrit's
house. So I stayed there and visited Amrit at her college, and our bonds
of love grew stronger.
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