The butler stood by his word. He got slapped, pushed around, had his beard tugged, but he didn’t utter a word. He was indeed a truthful and courageous man. Even I, perhaps, wouldn’t have been able to stand my ground under similar circumstances. Perhaps I would have blurted out everything with the first slap. The deep fear I was nursing of him proved to be completely unfounded. Till the day I live, I am going to sing praises of that brave soul.
But I got struck by lightning from an altogether different quarter.5
When the beating and slapping did not produce any results, the sahib took him by the ears and dragged him towards the Dak Bungalow. When I saw them approaching, I rushed towards the veranda and sat down trying to pretend that I knew nothing. The sahib presented the butler to me. I also stood up. If someone had cut my heart open at that moment, he wouldn’t have found a drop of blood.
The sahib asked me, ‘Well, Vakil Sahib, do you drink?’
I couldn’t deny that.
‘Did you drink last night?’
I couldn’t deny that.
‘Did you take alcohol from my butler?’
I couldn’t deny that.
‘Did you hide the bottle and glass under your pillow after drinking?’
I couldn’t deny that. I had been afraid of the butler spilling it all out, while doing just the same myself.
‘You know that this amounts to stealing?’
I couldn’t deny that.
‘I can get you suspended, your licence could be seized, and you’d be sent to jail.’
It was true, indeed!
‘I can kick you and nobody can touch me.’
This too was true.
‘You black man, you think you are a lawyer! And you sent my servant to steal alcohol for you. But your punishment shall be of your choosing. What is it that you want?’
I said to him trembling, ‘Your Majesty, I beg your pardon.’
‘No, name the punishment.’
‘Whatever you think I deserve!’
‘Okay, then that will be done.’
After saying this, that cruel demon summoned two guards and had both my hands tied. I kept standing there in dumb silence with my head bowed in the manner of a guilty student waiting to be caned by the teacher. What punishment had he decided to give me? I hoped he wouldn’t pinion me or make me do sit-ups. There was no hope of any help from the gods, but I had no other option than to invoke the invisible powers.
Leaving me with the guards, the magistrate went to the office and from there he emerged with stamp ink and a brush. Tears had started flowing from my eyes. I felt deeply humiliated and all for a little liquor! That too after paying double the price!
The sahib painted my face black. The colour was so dark that I would need to use up several bars of soap to scrub it off. I kept standing there, tail between my legs. Those two angels of hell also felt no pity for me. They were my countrymen, but I was suffering this sorry plight at their hands. Surely we will gain independence at this rate!
The sahib kept laughing as he painted my face black. He didn’t leave a spot of clear space except for the eyes. I was being turned into an ape for a few drops of wine. In my heart, I was thinking that as soon as I leave this place, I am going to sue the rascal for my loss of honour, or else I would get some hooligans to beat him up with shoes in the court precincts itself.
After turning me into an ape, the sahib released my hands and clapping his hands, he ran after me. It was nine o’clock. All the people—the staff, lawyers and clerks—had gathered around. There were hundreds of people there. I don’t know what struck me all of a sudden, but I ran from there. It was the most pathetic sight in the entire scene of my ridicule. I was running ahead and behind me the Englishman and hundreds of onlookers were chasing me, clapping in glee and shouting, ‘Catch him, let him not get away.’ It was as if they were chasing a monkey.
This running went on for a mile at least. Thanks to the fact that I was an athletic person, I made good my escape, otherwise God alone knows what would have happened to me. Maybe they wanted to make me ride a donkey. When I had left them behind at a distance, I sat near a stream. I was out of breath. If someone had come there, I would have pelted stones at them. But I did not try to wash my face in the drain. I knew that the ink would not go with water alone. I kept on thinking about how I was going to file a suit against the judge. Of course, I would have to suppress the fact that I had stolen alcohol from his butler. If this came to light, I would fall into a trap instead. What harm could there be in hiding this? I would furnish some other reason for the enmity, but sue I must.
Where to go? Who should I show this blackened face to? O horror! If the rascal had to put black paint, couldn’t he have used ash or the black in the lamp? At least it would have rubbed off. Whatever insult I had to suffer would have remained confined to the particular episode. Now it appears as if I myself am trumpeting the news of my misdeeds. Anyone else in my place would have drowned himself in humiliation.
The only relief was that I had not met anyone on the road as yet. What would I have told him if was asked how I had got my face blackened? When my weariness diminished somewhat, I got thinking about how long I would sit there. Come on; let me make an effort and see if the ink will wash off. I started scrubbing my
