The Song of Distant Bulbuls: A Saga Of Love Inspired By True Events

The Song of Distant Bulbuls is a moving saga of love spanning rural Punjab, the Princely city of Patiala and the Southeast Asian theatre of WWII. Inspired by true events, The Song of Distant Bulbuls is set in a singularly turbulent time in world history.

The novel poses epic questions: is happiness an elusive goal? Is love the ultimate aim of human life or a means to something else? What does it take to realize who one truly loves and how much?

An excerpt

Jeeti Bhua’s story was the kind that people told in muted voices with raised brows as a cautionary tale to spurn the follies of adolescence. Jeeti Bhua belonged to a village on the other side of the River Ghaggar, close to Patiala. 

Her father was a successful farmer who rotated cotton and wheat on a large stretch of land, hiring many a farmhand to work his fields. A teenaged Jeeti Bhua had fallen for a young farmhand, who was an importunate lad from an unknown hamlet with neither land nor parents. Knowing that he hadn’t the means to approach her father for her hand, measly employee that he was, the farmhand had lured Jeeti Bhua, meeting her clandestinely after dark, seeking to change his luck by hooking the affluent farmer’s daughter. 

Young, naïve and beautiful, Jeeti Bhua had given of herself wholly to the unscrupulous lad. What followed threw her world asunder. At seventeen, she had found herself pregnant. Hearing the news, the young man had run for his life, never to be seen again. Jeeti Bhua’s father was aghast. Shamed beyond redemption, he disowned his daughter, banishing her out of sight. The village elders arranged for her to live with another family in the village. Dejected and denounced, heartbroken and grieving, shunned by family and society, Jeeti Bhua gave birth to a prematurely delivered, stillborn child. 

Giving in to despair, she became a recluse, refusing to step outdoors from fear of ostracization. The village elders called over the elders from the neighbouring four villages to consider her case and at their behest, a large gathering comprising young and old men from the neighbouring four villages met on a designated day in Jeeti Bhua’s village. The elders had Jeeti Bhua stand under an old pipal while they asked the young, unmarried men in the gathering if anyone would be willing to take Jeeti Bhua as his wife. No one stepped forward even as Jeeti Bhua continued standing under the tree, her eyes listless as the sunny morning slid towards a dim afternoon. 

Sammi’s grandfather happened to be in that village that day. He had come to make a payment on a pair of oxen that he had purchased from someone in the village. With his wife dead and both his daughters married, he lived with his son, Sammi’s father, who had only recently been married. Sammi’s grandfather pined for the caring presence of a daughter in the house. Seeing that no one wanted to accord Jeeti Bhua the status of a wife, Sammi’s grandfather had walked up to the front of the gathering. 

‘I have married off both my daughters, I will take this girl into my house as a daughter. No one will cast an evil look in her direction. She will have the protection of my name,’ he said. 

Sammi’s grandfather was no stranger to the area; people knew him for his resources. His only son, Sammi’s father, had also married a woman of means. The village elders whispered to one another for a while before one of them got up. ‘Sardar Sahib, you enjoy an undisputed reputation. You may take the girl,’ he said. 

Sammi’s grandfather had placed his hand on Jeeti Bhua’s head. ‘Come daughter, let us go home,’ he said. 

Jeeti Bhua had followed him to the tanga that stood waiting. Never once had she glanced back at her father who had disowned her. Nor had she looked back at the village in which she had been born, raised, and now been banished from. Stepping aboard the tanga, she sat by Sammi’s grandfather, her eyes dry and impassive. 

As the tanga sped by green fields and thickets, past old banyans and thick rosewoods, hurrying along the swirling River Ghaggar to reach the outskirts of Aliwala, Sammi’s grandfather had turned towards Jeeti Bhua who had been sitting still the whole way. 

‘Daughter, I take you into my home and hearth. I promise to watch out for you like a father. Other members of my household will treat you like a daughter of the family too. You also must promise to never let this father of yours down and lead a life of righteousness and purpose,’ he said. 

Jeeti Bhua’s eyes had moistened, tears welling up and rolling down her cheeks. Folding her hands, she had vowed to lead a virtuous life and take the family from height to height. 

Reaching home, Sammi’s grandfather had introduced Jeeti Bhua to Sammi’s parents before leading Sammi’s father and Jeeti Bhua into the baithak where in front of Guru Gobind Singh’s photo that sat on the mantle, he had Sammi’s father proclaim Jeeti Bhua his sworn sister, whom he would cherish and protect till the end of his life. Sammi’s father had done accordingly. 

From that point on, Jeeti Bhua had come to live with the family. Sammi’s parents had only been married a few months and Sammi’s mother, who was pregnant at the time, had been glad to have Jeeti Bhua help her about the house. Soon Jeeti Bhua had taken to managing the house all on her own. In time, Jasjit was born, followed soon after by Kirpal and Sammi. In years to come, Sammi’s grandfather had passed away, and Jeeti Bhua had become a beloved aunt to the three children. In fact, all the village children came to refer to her as Bhua, paternal aunt, and grateful for a second chance at life, she had more than redeemed herself, devoting her life to caring for anyone in need—working hard from daybreak to sunset, speaking thoughtfully, evolving in time to become a model woman of restraint and courage. 

An excerpt from The Song of Distant Bulbuls written by Simrita Dhir and published by Speaking Tiger Books.

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