‘What of sleep? My life hangs in my mouth . . . I don’t know how I am going to spend the night.’
I wanted the butler to suggest some plan to quench the raging fire within me so that I didn’t have to feel embarrassed. But he was a shrewd fellow. He just said, ‘Take Allah’s name and shut your eyes, sleep is bound to come.’
‘No, sleep will not come. Yes, I might die. Does the sahib count his bottles? Does he actually keep a count?’
‘Arré! Huzoor, he is very shrewd. If he does not finish a bottle, then he puts a mark on it. Dare a single drop be lost!’
‘That is a big problem. I just need a glassful, just enough to make me fall asleep. I will give you any reward you ask.’
‘You will of course give me a reward but I am afraid that if he so much as gets a whiff of this, he won’t leave me alive.’
‘Come on, yaar, don’t test my patience any more.’
‘My life is at your disposal, but let me tell you, one bottle costs ten rupees. Tomorrow I’ll have to get a servant to replace the missing bottle.’
‘I am not going to drink a full bottle, no way.’
‘Take it along with you, sir. If he finds half a bottle lying with me, he will get suspicious immediately. He is very suspicious. He sniffs my mouth to see if I have had a gulp or not.’
I had received twenty rupees as my fee for the day’s work. It hurt me no end to part with half my day’s earnings, but there was no other way out. I quietly took out ten rupees and handed it to the butler. He got me a bottle of English liquor, some ice and soda. I opened the bottle right there in the darkness and proceeded to quench my parched soul with this nectar.
How was I to know that fate had other designs for me, that it was planning to serve me poison instead?4
What can one say about the sleep induced by alcohol? I had finished almost half the bottle of whisky. I kept sleeping till late in the morning. Only when the sweeper came at eight o’clock did my eyes open. I had hidden the bottle and the glass next to my head with my umbrella. I had placed my gown on top of it to cover it up. As soon as I woke up, my eyes turned towards the pillow. There was no sign of either the bottle or the glass. My heart skipped a beat. I looked out for the butler thinking he might have taken it away. I got up with this thought and walked towards the back of the Dak Bungalow, to the servant quarters. But I couldn’t dare move further when I viewed the heart-chilling scene there.
The sahib had seized the butler by his ears. The bottles of alcohol were lined up. The sahib would count the bottles one by one and ask the butler where the missing bottle was. The butler answered, ‘Your Majesty, let god strike me dead if I have done any bungling.’
‘Am I lying then? Weren’t there twenty-nine bottles?’
‘Master, I swear by God, I have no idea how many bottles there were.’
The sahib slapped the butler several times. Then he shouted in Hindustani, ‘Tum gine, tum na batayega, to hum tumko jaan se maar dalega (You did count them. Tell me, otherwise I’ll kill you). Nobody can touch me. I am an officer and all officers are my friends. I shall kill you right now unless you tell me where the missing bottle is.’
I was half-dead with fear. After a long time, I seemed to remember God. I remembered Govardhandhari and said, ‘Now, my honour is in your hands. God, only you can save me otherwise my boat is going to drown midway. He is an Englishman after all. God knows what problems he can create. Please seal the butler’s lips, take away his voice, you have come to the rescue of the worst of sinners and criminals. You were the one who saved Ajamil. I am a sinner, the sinner of sinners. Please tide me over. If I can save my skin this time, I will never even lift my eyes to look at alcohol.’
Even ghosts are frightened by the rod of punishment. I was conscious at every moment and feared this proverb would prove to be true. What if the butler opened his mouth? I would be a dead man! I was not as scared of losing my post, or being framed in a false case or even of being humiliated by the judge as much as I was of being the target of the judge’s kicks. What if he were to chase me with a whip? It is not that I am a weak person. In fact, physically, I am quite well built and can stand my ground. I have won several prizes for games in college. Even now in the two rainy months, I do dumbbells. However, at that moment, I was trembling with fear. My moral strength had already abandoned me. A thief does not have any power—my honour, my future, and my life hung on just one word from the butler’s mouth, just one word. Whose life could be so weak, so precarious and so outworn?
I was making promises to myself, not the fake promises made by drunkards, but a real, truthful and firm promise, that if I were saved this time, I would never drink again. I doubled this up with a very intense vow in order to shield my heart from all sides, in order to close the gates to any evil arguments. But all in vain! It was no help at all. Neither Govardhan nor Nrisingh took any heed. They came only in the satyug. The pledge did not help nor did the vow improve matters. All that was fated for me, good or bad, had to happen.
