It was a dark night. Janmashtami, the birth anniversary of Lord Krishna, was being celebrated at the temple. A toothless old man was singing dhrupad on his tamboura and the devotees were waiting with drums and cymbals for the song to get over so that they could begin their kirtan. The sweets vendor was preparing the prasad. Hundreds had gathered to watch the spectacle.
Suddenly a group of Muslims arrived with sticks and started pelting stones at the temple. There was a commotion. ‘Where are the stones coming from? Who is throwing these stones?’ A few men stepped out of the temple and looked around. The Muslims pounced on them with their lathis. What else did the Hindus have in their hands besides drums and cymbals? Some of them sought refuge back in the temple; others ran in the other directions. There was tumult everywhere.
Chaudhary Sahib came to know of the riot. He said to Bhajansingh, ‘Thakur, check out what this commotion is about. Ask these scoundrels to lay off. If they do not pay heed, serve them a few punches. But, mind you, no bloodshed.’
Meanwhile, Bhajansingh was gnashing his teeth with growing impatience. Chaudhary Sahib’s order was like the answer to his silent prayer. Carrying his club on his shoulder, he rushed to the temple. The Muslims had created mayhem there. Chasing the Hindus many of the men had entered the temple and were indulging in vandalism.
Bhajansingh went mad with rage. He bellowed and entered the temple and started beating the scoundrels. He was one against fifty, but he fought like a tiger! He vanquished all of them single-handedly. Blind with rage, he did not seem to care for anyone’s life. He felt as though some divine power was egging him on, and Lord Krishna himself was protecting him. Men are known to have performed impossible feats in the name of religion.
After Bhajansingh’s departure, Chaudhary Sahib felt worried that he might spill someone’s blood and hurried to the temple. He witnessed the chaos that reigned there at the moment. Some were fleeing the scene with their lives, some lay there groaning and wailing. He wanted to call out to Bhajansingh when a man came running towards him and fell on the ground. Chaudhary Sahib recognized the person, and the world darkened before his eyes. He was Shahid Hussain—his son-in-law and sole heir.
Chaudhary rushed forward and took Shahid in his arms. He called out loudly, ‘Thakur, come here . . . lantern . . . lantern! Oh, he is my Shahid!’
Bhajansingh’s hands and feet froze. He took the lantern and came closer. It was indeed Shahid Hussain. His head was wounded and blood was gushing out.
Smiting his head in anguish, Chaudhary said, ‘Thakur, you’ve snuffed out the light from my life!’
Trembling all over, Bhajansingh said, ‘Master, God knows, I didn’t recognize him.’
‘I do not blame you. No one has the right to trespass on the temple of God. My only regret is that my family line has come to an end and that too by your hands! You’ve always risked your life to protect me. Now, God has chosen you as the means for my destruction.’
Tears streamed down Chaudhary Sahib’s face as he said this. Thakur was overwhelmed by guilt and remorse. He would not have been so grief-stricken if his own son had died. Ah! To have brought about his master’s ruin! For whom he was ready to lay down his life! One who was not only his master but his God. He was ready to leap into fire at his mere suggestion! To have cut the roots of his family line! He’d turned out to be a snake hidden in the grass! He said in a choked voice, ‘Lord, there wouldn’t be a more unfortunate person than me. I will have to live with this disgrace.’
Saying this, Bhajansingh pulled out his dagger. He wanted to wipe out the disgrace with his blood by thrusting the dagger into his chest. But Chaudhary Sahib leapt and snatched away the dagger from his hands. He admonished him, ‘What are you doing? Control yourself. Fate had this in store for me. It’s not your fault. Whatever has happened was God’s will. I would have forgiven you for taking my life with full knowledge of who I was if I had entered the temple and defiled the deity. There is no graver crime than insulting someone’s faith. God is my witness that even though my heart is being torn asunder and I feel that I won’t be able to bear this grief, I hold no grudge against you. Had I been in your place, I would have done the same, even if the victim were my master’s son. I know my family will taunt me, my daughter will cry for vengeance; the entire Muslim community will bay for my blood. I will be called a kafir and a heretic. One day, some fanatic young man may decide to kill me but I will not turn my face away from what is right. The night is still dark. Run away from this place at this very moment and hide yourself in some barrack in my estate. Look, some Muslims are coming this way. Members of my family are with them too. Run, run!’4
For a year Bhajansingh kept hiding in Chaudhary Sahib’s area. He was wanted by the police, and the Muslims were also on the lookout for him. But Chaudhary Sahib managed to hide him from their prying eyes. He bore the taunts of the society, insults by his family members, hostility from the police and threats from the mullahs, but he refused to divulge Bhajansingh’s whereabouts. As long as he lived, he did not want to hand over such a loyal devotee to the ruthless guardians of the law. The barracks in his estate were raided several times, the mullahs tried to
