The Light Shines Through the Clouds

By Shibani Ghose Chotani

For generations, the Dutta family, had lived contentedly in the pluralistic culture of Old Delhi, and cherished the comforts of the British colonial life as much experienced its challenges. When the political changes in the country began to fragment the unity in people, bringing paramount decisions about the future of India, the fabric of the social culture also began to reveal its complexities. As the independence movement escalated inside British India, the formation of two nations, India and Pakistan, was proposed based on their religious affiliations. Amid the uncertainties, the Dutta family is put through momentous situations as they came to terms with the national events, alongside, their own struggle to interpret the beliefs of an age-old religious system from how they revered faith and love. The story narrates pivotal moments in understanding the values and assumptions of faith against the established religious norms anchored in society in the backdrop of the tremulous historical shifts taking place.

“Throughout the story of this extended family, Chotani consistently weaves in many evocative details drawn not only from historical events, but also from the more intimate social fabric of life. Readers are submerged in the fine points of business, culture, faith, and cuisine......An illuminating but static tale of an Indian family clinging to its core values.”--Kirkus Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781543707830

Shibani Ghose Chotani

Shibani Ghose Chotani was born in Calcutta. She graduated from Woodstock school, Mussoorie, India. Shibani studied German in Jawaharlal Nehru University(Delhi), University of Heidelberg (Germany) and later lived in France where she studied French and continued German at the University of Sorbonne. She taught German for several years with teaching certification from the Goethe Institute. Shibani has been living in the United States since 1985. She completed her Masters from the University of Rochester, NY. She taught in elementary schools, community college, and later in private language schools. She enjoys reading, singing, travel, gardening and volunteering in community work in her city. Shibani has published two books – Scattered Petals (2019), and Pictures Through the Rearview Mirror (2018). Shibani lives in California with her husband, daughter and her dog.

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Shibani Ghose Chotani.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/india

CONTENTS

Preface

1: Old Delhi

2: The Ancestral Home and the Dutta Family

3: Friends

4: Outside and Home

5: Unsettling Changes

6: Maturity and Love

7: Discourse

8: Reflections

9: Anguish

10: Safeguard

11: Reliability and Certitude

12: Desperate Days

13: The First Letter

14: The Young Girl

15: Bold and Conscientious

16: Unacceptable

17: Tolerate in Silence

18: The Second Letters

19: Separation and Suffering

20: August 14, 1947

21: The Night Together

22: Strength to Withstand

23: A New Feeling

Glossary

About the Author

Challenging events have given birth to

inspiring stories throughout history, stories of

human values inside complex situations.

To all

whose extraordinary lives have

enlightened our minds and reached us to

places that remain in our imagination.

Preface

The Moghul emperor Shah Jahan built the walled city of Northern India, Shahazanabad, in 1639. It was renamed to Old Delhi when the British took control of the territory in 1857. Since 1772, the colonial capital Calcutta had been the business, commercial, political, and cultural center of British India, and in 1911, the new administrative capital became New Delhi.

As freedom from colonial rule surged inside India, so did the social scenario of religious disruptions to partition the country. Parts of the eastern and the western states, Bengal and Punjab, were separated as Islamic states. The partition of India took place on the midnight of August 14, 1947. India became an independent nation on August 15, 1947.

1

Old Delhi

The orange morning sun rays stretched out over the shaded red walls of the massive seventeenth-century Red Fort, the palace and the seat of the Moghul Empire for two hundred years. The bright glow ignited the red stone citadel of Old Delhi, the enormous architecture that exemplified an amalgamation of Islamic, Persian, Timurid, and Hindu traditions. Despite the loss of its once eclectic gloriousness, the remnants of the opulent Moghul Era and its innate charm remained an emblem of magnificent history of Old Delhi, immortalized with spectacular monuments, beautiful gardens, engaging settlements of long narrow ancient gullies, exquisite havelis, and wearied remains of red sandstone walls. It was a place nourished with a rhythm of coexistence—diverse faiths and skills living and enduring peacefully.

Business was the mantra of the city, embraced with the local population of shopkeepers, tradesmen, craftsmen, property owners, renters engaged earnestly to prosper their daily living in novel ways. Every morning a wide range of goods arrived in the shops, and by the end of the day, the sounds of hope elevated as shop owners counted their clinging metal coins. Men sat on stone porches in front of the unwashed walls of decrepit structures with shiny silver, brass, copper commodities in the same hours every day to auction the goods, while artisans displayed their embroidered clothing, carpets, decorative jewelry, ivory merchandise on both sides of the long tangled, cramped lanes named after the ancient crafts. The shopkeepers yielded contentedly when passersby exchanged bargaining words, Shukriya! Dhanyawad! They were the gracious utterances of everyday interactions. In between the daily work, the sellers orated a few pleasing lines of Sufi poetry to one another, hummed a few favorite Urdu tunes that elicited cheerful sentiments of "Wah! Wah!" from the people around, a deserved reciprocation for the inspiration received from the lyrics. They voiced about the raw chill of the Delhi’s winter mornings or the anticipated hot dry summer winds coming their way in the months ahead; they had graciously accepted the recurring acts of Mother Nature as a symbol of life and power since the dawn of time. By midday, the aroma of the bright-colored spices prevailed the air. Men sat chopping onions, potatoes, coriander leaves for the sumptuous street food in front of their shops. A few shops down, a man prepared the charcoal fire in a cylindrical clay oven, tandoor, to cook the meat marinated in rich spices. Another man sat on a low wooden stool, rolled out the ball of flour dough on a metal table to prepare the soft spongy bread. The raw lingering smells remained constant in the air, overpowering without discomfort. In the late-evening hours, just as the pale crescent moon emerged in the dusky sky, horse-driven carriages with courtly men dressed in elegant Pathani outfits, dopalli topi perched over their heads, and women in splendidly embroidered sharara suits and Patiala salwar kameez passed swiftly through the constricted lanes; the coachmen hastily urged pedestrians to clear the way. The carriages stopped in front of two-storied mansions with muraled walls and balconies, the melodious sounds of Urdu verses echoed out of the windows, a time when exhilarating social hours were to be spent listening to the rhythmic poems of ghazals, evoking the deep sense of introspection at the day’s end.

The packed neighborhoods of the two-storied havelis were a few blocks away from the convoluted web of crowded business alleys. The luxurious homes were once the royal residences of the Moghul family members. The intricately-carved overhang, arched entrance doors, ornate pillars, scalloped framed windows, and long wooden balconies emphasized the characteristics of the exclusive structures. Inside the havelis were spacious red and white marble courtyards with beautiful fountains in the center, surrounded by delicate marble lattice screens with unique patterns that separated the indoor from the outdoor area. The two floors were connected with a narrow marble spiral staircase that led to the wide-open terrace on top. As the winds of change swept through the city, weakening and transforming the influences of the empire, the havelis became the established homes of generations of joint families of Old Delhi. The owners were dignified people, not simply because of the fortunes they inherited, but also for the rich cultural entities of art, music, and the heterogenous values of living they engaged in. They spoke Urdu, Punjabi, Hindi, and English and lived with deep-rooted traditions that had been passed down through ages. At the furthest end of these vibrant, well-to-do neighborhoods stood the residue of the two grand havelis next to each other—the charm houses as they were called by the local people. They appeared like languid spiritless structures during the day, but transformed to a different reputation in the night for the kinds of men and women who frequented the houses. The houses had enormous open halls, Moghul carpet spread in one half of the room and the other half with a bare white marble floor where splendid entertainments filled the nights. The entertainers were young women kathak dancers. They wore gorgeous long pleated skirts with churidars underneath, short blouses, and covered their heads with chiffon veils. On their bodies, they decorated with embellished jewelry, and on their feet, they tied the musical anklets made of many small brass bells strung together. Every night the dancers came to the charm houses to perform the rapid-spin movements with footwork in front of an audience of self-indulgent landlords and businessmen. The men smoked hookah while intoxicating themselves with alcoholic drinks. The tradition of the nighttime entertainments had transited through ages from the tastes of the Moghul rulers who customarily held the dance shows in their royal courts. The glittering lights inside the charm houses stayed on till late into the night. The sounds of the jingling faded before the break of dawn, when the first morning light seeped into the sky. It was the time when Hindu priests made their entrance into the sacred sanctuary ringing the hanging temple bells. As time elapsed, the remains of the nostalgic past endured and assimilated, fabricating a unique identity to Old Delhi and its living.

*     *   *

Rathin Dutta inherited the mansion of his ancestral generations. In 1890, his forefathers uprooted from Calcutta to establish a printing business in Northwestern India. During those years, the business did not demonstrate a promising prospect in the west as anticipated. Disappointed with the downturn, the family members chose their path back to Calcutta. But Nihar Dutta was not one of them. An ambitious and compulsive man, he would not quit on his attempt for a jewelry business that had also been his dream. He began aggressive communication with the large and small businesses of Old Delhi once he foresaw the rich prospects of crafting jewelry from precious gemstones with Moghul designs He sold the printing business, hopeful of the new opportunity; it was then the jewelry business made its raw beginning in the western region. But the encouraging outcome did not come ’til years later when Rathin’s grandfather, Bhupen Dutta and Rathin’s father, Bijendra Dutta acquired the smaller jewelry businesses whose ornament designs were influenced from the motifs of the Moghul period and the quaint craftmanship styles of the Rajputs. The father-and-son duo supplemented novel styles with precious gems—sapphires, rubies, emeralds, jades, diamonds, and pearls on gold and silver, —striking a new balance between the traditional Moghul and Rajput artistry and the modern trends.

Rathin mastered the expertise from his enterprising father, a man with an aesthetic temperament. Jewelry was a statement of prestige and prosperity for Bijendra. He made sure Rathin continued the legacy of the intricate craft that he believed never depreciated in value. In his engaging years of work, Bijendra made trips to Calcutta with Rathin to explore the prospects of expansion. The vibrant colonial capital offered opportunities of accomplishing the unique jewelry business he desired to expand. Bijendra succeeded in establishing the first showroom in one of the thriving business centers of the metropolis. Interestingly, in one of the trips, a marriage proposal for Rathin was put forward to Bijendra and his wife Revati. The young woman was Anju, the eldest daughter of Sushil and Nirmala Majumdar. Sushil had been a schoolteacher most of his life in Calcutta, and Nirmala was a devoted homemaker occupied in social work in her community, helping poor children learn to read and write. For generations, the families of Sushil and Nirmala had been following the practices of Brahmo Samaj. They revered all forms of spiritual practices without the ritualistic interferences or confined beliefs. The family’s exceptional candor fitted to Bijendra and Revati’s spiritual and moral philosophies as they did not believe in harsh practices of any faith. They saw their own life to be a manifold of diverse thinking living in mixed communities in the northwestern part of the country—religion was never a barrier when it came to true friendship. As for initiating a relationship with the family, Bijendra and Revati were taken to the pleasant cognizant persona of Anju, her charming youthful appearance that blossomed on her medium tanned complexion, bright doe-like eyes and long thick hair. In spite of the two families stationed in two culturally-diverse regions of India, the matter did not raise concern to them. The diversity is our richness we should be proud of, Bijendra had proudly stated.

But Nirmala had expressed her own feelings, recognizing that Bijendra’s family, though Bengali in their ancestral roots, were accustomed to the northwestern cultural ways. They spoke Urdu, Punjabi, Hindi, which she could not relate to. "As long as I am able to get my thoughts across in Bengali or English, I don’t see any worries."

Sushil, who had listened silently, expressed his feelings with cordial words. So long we respect one another to carry our relationships with a character of philanthropy, we will hold deep reverence for this new connection.

But Bijendra’s wife, Revati, viewed the marriage proposal from a different angle, unlike the women of her time. She raised no concern for the indispensable cultural entities; they seemed pointless to her unless the voice of the bride-to-be was taken into consideration. Though she was most impressed by the educated and upstanding family of Sushil and Nirmala Majumdar, she was keen to hear what Anju thought about the liaison. If the girl’s feelings are apprehensive for the marriage arrangement decided by parents, we should give it foremost consideration.

The talks did not go back and forth for long. When the marriage took place, Rathin was twenty-six and Anju was nineteen. Bijendra passed away at seventy-six years of age. It was then Rathin took financial ownership of the jewelry business.

2

The Ancestral Home and the Dutta Family

Rathin Dutta had routinely walked the lanes of his Old Delhi neighborhood from childhood, the place he was born, and cherished the memories of his growing up years. A tall slender well-built man in his early fifties, with light complexion, a prominent nose, and high cheekbones, Rathin was often mistaken as a gentleman of North Indian roots because of his physical characteristics and his ardent command of the northwestern languages. He appeared older in age with his thick black hair sprinkled with gray. He had a personable, contemplative persona that made him approachable even to strangers. Most always, he dressed for two seasons: dark trousers with loose-fitting half-sleeved cotton shirt in summer altering to a full-sleeved plain shirt with a sweater on top in winter. He considered his seasonal outfits formal enough even for special occasions and never cared to wear suits or ties, though he owned a few for selected formal occasions.

Rathin’s home was two blocks away from his jewelry showroom. The reputed gallery existed before his grandfather’s time, then a small shop with jewelry crafters working tediously alongside people selling the ornaments. The first hint of an expanded jewelry shop began with his grandfather, embellished further by Rathin’s father to a modern showroom, adding fine glass showcases to exhibit the varieties of precious gemstone ornaments. Now, as the owner of the exquisite showroom, Rathin had renovated the place, adding newer lighting, carpets, comfortable sofas, and refreshment services for convenience to the customers. Six days a week, Rathin walked to the showroom, even though he owned a black Austin, which he used for traveling longer distance. He believed in keeping his physical health active without depending on the car. The driver of his car was Ramesh, the forty-year-old son of Bijendra’s driver. He lived at the back of Rathin’s house in a two-room unit provided by Rathin. The unmarried man held an immense fatherly devotion towards Rathin and never cared to change his job or begin a family life. Rathin left all decisions to Ramesh, even though, Rathin often inquired whether Ramesh wished to have a family of his own. Ramesh gave the same response every time: "Babuji, I have chosen to be by your side. There is nothing more I want." Rathin never asked further.

Rathin appeared a conservative man, but he was not. In all truth, he was a compromising man who believed in the magnanimity of all individuals, revering them irrespective of age, gender, faith, or social hierarchy in caste. Inside the streets of his neighborhood, Rathin knew the locals: the vendors, the shop owners, the landlords, the homeowners, even the family members of their earlier and later generations. His trustful perception of the people he had seen for years never changed. He appreciated their daily hard work and oftentimes felt intrigued by the stories of their lives, their ability to overcome demanding moments with resilience and strength. He listened empathically to their grievances whenever they came forward to speak to him. There was no doubt, even with his respected social position, this was what Rathin expected himself to do—to have a share of their emotions and, in return, invigorate their spirits with inspiring words or helpful acts. He was unpretentious in every way in spite of his significant fortune. He graciously extended his hands to those in financial need, oftentimes offered gold ornaments to families who could not afford the high-priced jewelry for their daughters’ marriage. There was never the question of repossessing what he often gave as gifts. He respected the holidays of different faiths people celebrated and closed his business on those days. When he returned to the showroom, he found boxes of baklava, halva, badam barfi, dates, nuts, and souvenirs left for him as gifts from the families as a gesture of kindness. In exchange, every year on the night of Diwali, Rathin distributed boxes of sweets to the families, irrespective of their faith and social status, and gifted special gold coins to those who welcomed the birth or adoption of a child into their family. Every part of him believed in the dignity he observed in people, the extent of emotional support they provided for one another, and the courage they displayed to protect the sense of loyalty toward others.