Angels with One Wing

By Sangeeta singh

Kartikeya from India and Kadira from Pakistan meet in London and fall in love. Little do they know that their destinies were interwoven 43 years ago in pre-partition Delhi…

The story begins on a Ganga ghat in Banaras, where an old sadhu shares the tale of courage and duty with a group of students. Spanning the decades of 1938 to 2019 and numerous cities—Banaras, Dilli, Lahore, Cambridge—the narrative of "Angels with One Wing" takes readers on a journey of self-realization, leaving us with the reminder that, like angels, humanity needs both wings—individuality and collective support—to truly navigate the journey of life.

With "Angels with One Wing", embark on an epic journey across the kaleidoscope of time, a profound multi-generational saga that unfolds against the seismic shifts of India's history. As the narrative sweeps through three nations—India, Pakistan, and England—the lives of two families intertwine amidst the tumultuous echoes of the partition. Family secrets and unimaginable acts of sacrifice propel the drama of their lives, emphasizing the profound impact of love, friendship, and family that transcends the barriers of religion and nationality. Through hidden truths and unexpected reunions, the story invites you to explore the enduring power of the human spirit against the backdrop of history's unrelenting march.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Rose Publishers
• Release date: Feb 23, 2024

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BLUEROSE PUBLISHERS

India | U.K. Copyright © Sangeeta Singh 2024

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ISBN: 978-93-5989-041-8

Cover design: Rishav Rai Typesetting: Rohit

First Edition: February 2024

Contents

Disclaimer

Preface

Meet the Characters

Prologue

1. Banaras

2. Allahabad

3. The Alliance

4. The Wedding

5. Family Affairs

6. Chandni Chowk

7. Tumult & Turmoil

8. The Partition of India

9. Lahore & Banaras

10. Naaz and Paro

11. Paro and Naaz

12. Lahore

13. Kaadira and Kartikeya

14. Cambridge

15. Lord’s

16. Banaras

17. Diwali

18. Lahore

19. Cambridge

20. Banaras

Epilogue

Glossary

Acknowledgements

About the Author

We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another.

Luciano De Crescenzo

Disclaimer

This work is a product of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

The author acknowledges that certain elements of the story may be inspired by historical events, cultural references, or existing works, but these are used in a fictional context and are not intended to represent factual accounts.

Readers are advised to interpret the content of this book as a work of fiction and to recognize that the author has taken creative liberties for the purpose of storytelling. The views and opinions expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author.

The author and publisher disclaim any liability, loss, or risk incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly, of the use and application of any content in this book. Readers are encouraged to form their own opinions and interpretations based on their individual perspectives.

Preface

In my life, I've had the chance to experience a wide array of human connections, face different situations, and witness various ways people behave. Each encounter has added a new thread to the complexity of reality, contributing to my understanding of the world.

I was born and raised in the heart of Delhi, surrounded by the love and support of a family rooted in tradition and good humour. Growing up, our home was a bustling place, always open to spontaneous gatherings with relatives and friends. It was in this lively environment that I learned to value relationships, seeing firsthand how these connections form the core of our lives.

Looking back at the moments that shaped me, I realise that in our quest for success and enjoyment, we often forget the deep importance of family ties. Sometimes, we prioritise wealth and pleasure over the bonds that truly define our existence.

This story revolves around the beauty of these bonds, exploring the intricate dance between tradition, relationships, and the human spirit.

As I moved to the next stage of my life as a navy spouse, I imbibed the defence forces' principle of embracing no caste or religion. This element became a critical aspect of the story, emphasising the universal values that connect us all, irrespective of our background.

My motive to write this book was to make people understand the simple emotions of love, friendship, courage, and sacrifice. These emotions may sound intricate, but I believe that the world needs people like these characters for it to be a better place.

Join me in unravelling the layers of this narrative, where simplicity and wisdom intertwine to create a story that resonates with the essence of our shared human experience.

Meet the Characters

Bharadwaj Family

Luxmi Prasad Bharadwaj

Shakuntala Devi (Wife of Luxmi Prasad Bharadwaj)

Bhawani Prasad Bharadwaj (Oldest Son of Luxmi and Shakuntala) Ambika Gautam (Wife of Bhawani Prasad Bharadwaj)

Parvati (Paro, Daughter of Bhawani and Ambika)

Vishnu Prasad Bharadwaj (Middle Son of Luxmi and Shakuntala) Roopmala (Wife of Vishnu Prasad Bharadwaj)

Surya Prakash (Son of Vishnu and Roopmala)

Bhanu Prasad Bharadwaj (Youngest Son of Luxmi and Shakuntala)

Chaturvedi Family

Hardayal Chaturvedi (Hari, Bhawani Prasad’s Best Friend) Manjula Chaturvedi (Wife of Hardayal Chaturvedi) Shivdayal Chaturvedi (Son of Hari and Manjula)

Munshi Ji’s Family

Bhajan Lal (Munshiji)

Maya Devi (Wife of Bhajan Lal)

Mohan Lal (Chuttan, Son of Bhajan and Maya Devi)

Gautam Family

Ved Prakash Gautam

Girija Gautam (Wife of Ved Prakash Gautam) Ambika Gautam (Ved and Girija's Daughter) Aditi Gautam (Ved and Girija's Daughter) Aparna Gautam (Ved and Girija's Daughter)

Agarwal Family

Seth Roshan Agarwal (Owner of Rohan Masala) Seth Roshan's wife is referred to as Sethani Gopal Agarwal (Son of Seth Roshan Agarwal)

Khan Family

Syed Ahmed Khan (Business Man in Chandni Chowk) Syed’s wife and Mansoor’s mother is referred to as Ammi Mansoor Ali Khan (Son of Syed Ahmed Khan) Mehrunissa Khan (Wife of Mansoor Ali Khan)

Naaz Khan (Daughter of Mansoor and Mehrunissa)

Sheikh Family

Mohammad Amir Sheikh (Lawyer in Lucknow) Huma Bano (Wife of Mohammad Amir Sheikh) Rafi Sheikh (Son of Mohammad Amir Sheikh) Saira Bano (Daughter of Mohammad Amir Sheikh)

Prologue

Tulsi Ghat, 2019

It was just after sunset on a tranquil November Sunday. The picturesque Ganga ghats in Banaras were a gathering place for the students of Banaras Hindu University to seek solace, socialise with friends, or steal moments with their beloveds over a shared smoke, a steaming cup of tea, or a flavourful paan.

As the evening unfolded, a group of students found themselves engrossed in a passionate discussion about unity in diversity. Their animated conversation carried across the breeze, catching the attention of an old sadhu seated nearby. Although he only caught fragments of their fervent dialogue, he sensed their mix of excitement and frustration.

It's simply not feasible in India. With the multitude of diverse communities and their conservative beliefs, unity is beyond reach, one of the students remarked. The consensus seemed to favour this viewpoint, except for one young woman who remained steadfast in her belief that India could achieve unity by nurturing freedom and promoting genuine equality. The others made attempts to persuade her that peaceful coexistence in India was a mere illusion, advocating for building a life abroad, free from such complexities and familial expectations.

Just as the group was deeply engrossed in this debate, the sadhu beckoned to them. Come here, children.

The group moved closer to him. "What is it, Baba? they asked him. We don’t have anything to give you," one of them said.

The sadhu, with a serene countenance, responded, I seek nothing but your time. I wish to share a story—a story of love, friendship, courage, and sacrifice. It will demonstrate our capacity for unity and resilience in the face of adversity. However, there is one condition: you must promise to return here every day until I conclude this tale.

The students found the enigmatic old man's offer intriguing. One of the boys, however, voiced his scepticism, asking, Is this a religious story? If so, we’ve had our fill of those.

The wise sadhu responded with a gentle smile, No, my dear children, this is not a religious tale. It's a story about real people and real lives.

The students exchanged curious glances. They had been gathering at the Ganga ghats after dinner almost every evening, so why not invest their time in listening to what the sadhu had to share?

Alright, they nodded.

The sadhu's face brightened behind his long beard. It's settled, then. We shall commence at 8 p.m. tomorrow. I will be right here, awaiting your presence. With that, he rose to his feet, offered a respectful namaskar, and then turned to bow in the direction of a haveli on Assi Ghat. Intrigued, the students followed his gaze but found no immediate explanation for his gesture. When they turned back towards the sadhu, he had vanished into the obscurity of the dusk.

The following evening, the students returned to the designated spot to find the wise old man waiting for them. "Namaskar, Baba. We apologise for keeping you waiting," they said before settling around him. The air had turned crisp, and the scene before them was nothing short of mesmerising. The moon's reflection created a nearly straight, glistening path on the tranquil waters of the Ganga. The sadhu began to speak, his words flowing softly and deliberately, as though he wished to measure every phrase with care.

The story begins in the year 1938 in Benaras.

Chapter 1

Banaras

1938

After a long, very cold winter, February 1938 brought much needed warmth to Banaras Hindu University. The sun was bright, birds sang in abandon, and the campus buzzed with excitement. The university was decked up with flowers, and the students were dressed in their finest because their hero, the beloved founder of BHU, Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya, was visiting today.

Bhawani Shankar Bharadwaj woke up early to be a part of the college festivities. He asked his trusted helper, Bhola, to lay out fresh clothes for him and to inform the coach-wan to get the tonga ready. As he hurried towards the river for a bath, Bhawani saw his father returning from his daily ritual of a holy dip in the Ganga.

Luxmi Prasad Bharadwaj, a landlord, a successful textile businessman as well as the trustee of family temple, just like his forefathers were. A well-built man with salt and pepper hair, he made quite an impression with a thick moustache and trademark round spectacles perched on a sharp nose. Deeply respected in the community, Luxmi Prasad had won people’s trust with his good deeds. Kind and compassionate, he believed in sharing wealth while refusing to follow the caste system. He was a staunch patriot who discreetly gave money to Hindustan’s freedom fighters as well.

Whether it was a sweltering summer morning or a freezing winter dawn, Luxmi Prasad began each day with a dip and a scrub in the crystal waters of the Ganges. Then he visited the family temple, where he engaged in philanthropic and charitable activities. Finally, he returned home to begin the day with a meeting with his munshi, Bhajan Lal, in the mardana, a part of the haveli accessible only to men. This was Luxmi Prasad’s arena—it was here that he spent a large part of his life, attending to his business, meeting people, and solving problems.

Bhawani rushed to his father and touched his feet. Luxmi Prasad blessed his son, Always be well. Up and about early today, I see?

"Ji Bauji, today is a very special day as Pandit Malviya is visiting BHU," responded Bhawani.

Don’t forget to visit the family temple, his father reminded him.

Can I go tomorrow, please? I am already running late, Bhawani said.

Even though Luxmi Prasad was preparing Bhawani to take over his business along with the family patriarch’s daily rituals, he understood his son’s enthusiasm. Luxmi Prasad still remembered the founding ceremony of BHU in 1916 and the palpable energy in Banaras’s air at becoming home to India’s first residential university. Pandit Malviya had dreamed of setting up an educational institute that focused on the study of the sciences and technology to prepare India’s future citizens. Rabindra Nath Tagore had been present alongside Pandit Malviya on the blessed day, the riverside campus comprising humble rooms with gabled roofs, the grand Indo-Gothic structures yet to be built.

Twenty-two years later today, Bhawani, Luxmi Prasad’s own son, was studying towards a bachelor of sciences in applied sciences and technology. He wanted to learn the technology of his family business so he could take it to new heights. Tall, lean, and clean-shaven with big eyes and evenly set teeth on an ever-smiling face, Bhawani was well-liked and respected in college. Much like his father, he was always ready to help a needy student. Luxmi Prasad patted his son’s shoulder and smiled. Bhawani touched his father’s feet in farewell and dashed towards the river.

At Assi Ghat, just like his father, Bhawani submerged himself in the Ganga’s clarifying waters. He paid obeisance to the sun and said his prayers. By the time he reached home with wet hair, a crisp, white kurta pyjama set was laid on the bed with an elegant Nehru jacket and shining black shoes spit-polished with a warm cloth by Bhola.

Bhawani’s tonga was waiting at the end of the lane. Nanu, the coach-wan, bent forward to greet him. "Pranam, Sarkar."

"Arrey, Nanu, I have told you not to call me Sarkar. We have just one Sarkar who lives up above." Bhawani pointed skywards.

"Sarkar, you give my family and I, the means to eat. I run my house because of you," said Nanu.

You eat because of your hard work and destiny, Nanu, not because of us, Bhawani responded. Now let’s hurry. We have to pick up Hari on the way.

Hardayal Chaturvedi had been Bhawani’s closest friend since school and they continued to be inseparable at college. Where Bhawani was shy, deliberate and quiet, Hari was happy-go-lucky and gregarious, seeing the humour in every situation. Hari belonged to a large middle-class family whose financial difficulties were often eased with the support of his dear friend Bhawani. His father owned a sweet shop in the main market, which also sold Puja items. Above their shop was a guest house which earned them rental income from families visiting Benaras.

Hari had lost his mother at the age of fourteen and with his father’s refusal to remarry, it had become his responsibility to keep an eye on his five younger siblings. Hari’s Bua—his father’s sister, Satya—took care of the household. She was a child widow, a wise, kind woman everyone referred to as Satya Behenji.

As soon as Hari turned twenty-two, he was married to Manjula, a petite girl from Mathura. Within a year, Manjula and Hari welcomed a son. Hari hopped onto the tonga humming a tune from the latest Hindi film, Dushman. "Looking dashing,

Bhai, Hari told Bhawani, settling next to him. All the ladies at the college better be warned."

Late as always, Hari, Bhawani responded to his friend’s good-natured ribbing. I can see you have treated your face to a good dose of Afghan Snow face cream. Ladies be warned indeed.

They both chuckled. Dear friend, once you get married and have a child, you will understand why I am late, Hari said, mock- philosophically.

Oh, please don’t give me that. I have known you and your late-coming habits since you were five years old, Bhawani said. Besides, you know I’m in no hurry to get married. I want to study further, work for the betterment of our people, he continued, sobering up.

Ah, lofty goals, Hari responded. "Bhai, all I want for you is to get married and have a daughter so that our children can get married and we can become samdhis."

Bhawani chuckled, shaking his head. Hari put an arm around Bhawani and said, Look up. On the top floor of Hari’s house, his younger brother could be seen holding up Hari’s toddler son, Shiv. Watching his father going away, the child was waving his little hands.

Look at your future son-in-law. He is saying goodbye to you, Hari said. The friends laughed as the tonga moved towards the college.

They arrived at BHU to be greeted by the students walking towards the assembly hall. The crowd gathered in the hall was mostly men. From Bhawani’s vantage point, a small sea of white and black Nehru caps roiled in front of the stage. Under the caps, most students had neatly slicked their hair back with oil. The more westernised ones used hair gel imported from England. Everyone was eager for a glimpse of their founder.

Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya appeared on the stage in his chancellor’s robes and was greeted by a thunderous applause. The country had been resounding with calls for Swaraj and Pandit Malviya was at the forefront of India’s fight for independence. As he began speaking, his words roused each young student gathered in the assembly hall with the determination to do something meaningful for their country. The founder concluded his inspirational speech with these words:

The Banaras Hindu University was built keeping in mind the motto, ‘Knowledge Imparts Immortality.’ India is not just a country of Hindus. Muslims, Christians, Sikhs and Parsis are as much Indian as we are. The country can develop and gain strength only when people of different communities live in goodwill and harmony. It is my earnest hope that this centre of life and light will produce students who will not just be intellectually equal to the best of students in other parts of the world but also live a noble life, love their country and stay loyal to the nation.

Pandit Malviya folded his hands and touched them to his forehead. The audience leapt to its feet and gave him a standing ovation with a deafening applause.

After the event, a few senior students went to the staff room to consult with their professors about carrying the torch of BHU’s motto to educational institutions outside Benaras. The students union unanimously selected Bhawani Prasad to lead a group of students and represent BHU at Allahabad University’s three-day festival, scheduled for March next month.

Bhawani and Hari boarded the tonga with Pandit Malviya’s message imprinted on their hearts and minds. From today, it would be their life’s mission. Bhawani Shankar dropped Hari on his way back and returned home. Bhola came running to help him wash his hands and feet. Bhawani Shankar patted his head in a gesture of appreciation and as he walked towards the drawing room veranda where he could see his father sitting with his munshi, Bhajan Lal.

Munshiji was a stout forty-year-old with a habit of peering on top his round spectacles. He kept his salt and pepper hair very short and sported a bodi, a topknot. He had been with the Bharadwaj family for over thirty years, looking after the finances of the business and the temple. Loyal, sincere, and hardworking, he had great regard for Bhawani Shankar and his father. His wife, Maya Devi, was equally devoted to the family and Bhawani’s mother Shakuntala Devi was very fond of her, asking for Maya’s assistance during festivals and ceremonies. In return, Shakuntala gave Maya presents of sarees, sweets and whatever was grown in their fields.

Munshiji and Maya Devi’s son Mohan Lal was born sixteen years after their wedding—after long months of prayers, fasts and medical treatments. He was the apple of their eye and they lovingly called him Chuttan.

Bhawani noticed his father deep in conversation with Munshiji who was speaking in low tones. Luxmi Prasad had a concerned look on his face. Tell-tale binders with red covers lay open in front of them. Bhawani gauged that serious money matters were being discussed. As soon as Bhawani entered the veranda, they both stopped talking.

Munshiji stood up and folded his hands. I should take your leave, he said. Bhawani returned his namaste and turned to his father. "Babuji, all well? You look so serious."

Luxmi Prasad brushed aside the question. "Money matters are always serious. But as long as Munshiji is taking care of things, there is no reason to worry," he said.

As Munshiji was leaving, Bhawani’s youngest brother Gudda came running into the room. He looked exhilarated. "Bhaiji, come with me!" he hurriedly said to Bhawani and started leading him to another part of the haveli.

Arrey Gudda, what’s the hurry? Bhawani said laughing, letting himself be pulled along.

"Come look at gifts for my Bhabhi! Gudda replied. Bhawani smiled. Bhabhi? But, where is she?"

She’s coming soon, said excitedly Gudda and led Bhawani into the drawing room. Their family jeweller, Heeralal, was sitting with his assistant on spotless white sheets spread on the ground. Red and blue velvet boxes with gleaming pieces of jewellery inside lay open in front of Bhawani and Gudda’s mother, Shakuntala Devi.

Look at these beautiful necklaces, son, Shakuntala said to Bhawani, patting the seat next to her for him to sit.

"Very beautiful indeed, Ammaji. Who are they for?" Bhawani asked, settling by his mother.

Who else but your wife, my dear. I have found a perfect upper caste girl for you. Someone who will be worthy of being my daughter-in-law and just right for this exquisite jewellery. Everyone will be envious of her and will compliment me on my superior selection. Shakuntala said.

Bhawani was concerned. "Hold on, Ammaji. I am in no hurry for marriage. I want to focus on my studies and get a higher degree," he told his mother.

I have found the right girl and I have no patience for your excuses. Look at your friend, Hari. He is the same age as you and already has a son. Shakuntala Devi was firm. Bhawani knew there was no point in arguing so he got up to leave.

Before you leave, select the pieces for your wife, his mother stopped him.

"I don’t understand all of this Ammaji. Please choose whatever you like," Bhawani said, desperate to leave the scene.

"We will take the biggest diamond and emerald jewellery set and the two large kangans. With her peach and cream complexion, my daughter-in-law will look like a princess in these jewels," Shakuntala Devi muttered, smiling.

Then she turned to Bhawani and said, "Chalo, time for dinner."

Luxmi Prasad ate his dinner at seven p.m. at the family dining table, which is where Bhawani joined him. Father and son ate their dinner under the watchful eyes of Shakuntala, who