They saw Jama Masjid before them. The wrestlers readied their sticks, and all of them became alert. The stragglers in the procession came closer to form a well-knit group. They whispered amongst themselves. The trumpets blew louder. The clarion call became shrill. The procession reached the mosque.
Suddenly a Muslim came out of the mosque and said, ‘It’s our prayer time. Stop the drums.’
Bhajansingh replied, ‘The drums won’t stop.’
‘You have to stop them.’
‘Why don’t you stop your prayers?’ Bhajansingh challenged him.
‘Don’t swagger on Chaudhary Sahib’s strength. We’ll teach a lesson you’ll never forget.’
‘You’re flexing your muscle on Chaudhary Sahib’s strength. We depend on our own strength. This is a religious matter on which there can be no compromise.’
Meanwhile, some more Muslims stepped out of the mosque and requested the processionists to stop beating the drum; instead, the drumbeats grew louder. The situation worsened. A maulvi called Bhajansingh a kafir. Bhajansingh grabbed his beard. Pandemonium ensued. All those who fancied themselves as heroes jumped into the arena. Bhajansingh let out a clarion call and entered the mosque, the fight entering with him. It was difficult to say who won the battle. The Hindus said, ‘We chased them and beat them to a pulp.’ The Muslims claimed, ‘We gave them such a thrashing that they won’t dare come this way in future.’ But they all agreed on one thing and that was Bhajansingh’s daredevilry. The Muslims said that but for Bhajansingh’s presence, they wouldn’t have allowed a single Hindu to escape. The Hindus asserted that Bhajansingh was Lord Mahavir’s avatar, no less. His stick brought everyone to their knees.
The Janmashtami festival was over. Chaudhary Sahib was smoking a hookah in his drawing room. His face was flushed, his eyebrows raised, and sparks of fire shot from his eyes. ‘The house of God has been defiled!’ This thought wrenched his heart.
The house of God has been defiled! Wasn’t the field beside the mosque sufficient for those cruel men to fight in! So much bloodshed in the sacred house of God! Such denigration of the mosque! Both the temple and the mosque are God’s abodes. If Muslims are liable for punishment for profaning the temple, aren’t the Hindus accountable for the crime of defiling the mosque?
‘And Thakur is the perpetrator of this crime! He killed my son-in-law for the same offence. Had I known that he would do this with his own hands, I would have rather let him hang to death. Why would I have been so harassed, so defamed and so grief-stricken for him? He is a loyal servant who has saved my life several times. He’s always been ready to shed his blood for me. But today he has defiled the house of God and he must be punished for this. What is the punishment for this? Hell! There is no other punishment for him save the fires of hell. He made the house of God impure, disrespected God. He who violates God’s house denigrates God Himself!!’
Suddenly, Bhajansingh appeared before him.
Chaudhary Sahib looked at him furiously and asked, ‘Did you enter the mosque?’
‘Master, the maulvis had attacked us,’ Bhajansingh replied.
‘Answer me—did you enter the mosque?’
‘When they started pelting stones from inside, only then did we enter the mosque to catch hold of them.’
‘Do you know that a mosque is the house of God?’
‘I know, master. Wouldn’t I know that?’
‘The mosque is as holy as the temple.’
Bhajansingh did not reply.
‘A Muslim who defiles a temple is to be punished with death. Similarly a Hindu who desecrates a mosque deserves the same punishment.’
Bhajansingh found no reply to this either. He had never seen Chaudhary Sahib so angry.
‘You killed my son-in-law, but I defended you. Do you know why? Because I felt that my son-in-law deserved the punishment. Had you killed my son or me for the same crime, I wouldn’t have sought revenge. You have committed the same crime today. I would have been truly happy if some Muslim had killed you while you were in the mosque. But you escaped shamelessly from there. Do you think that God will not punish you for this act? God commands that whosoever disrespects him shall be punished with death. This is the duty of every Muslim. If a thief is not punished, does he cease to be a thief? Do you accept that you have been disrespectful towards God?’
Bhajansingh could not deny this crime. Chaudhary Sahib’s good counsel removed his intransigence. He said, ‘Yes, sir, I’ve committed this offence.’
‘Are you ready to accept the same punishment which you once meted out?’
‘I did not kill your son-in-law intentionally.’
‘Had you not killed him, I would have done it with my own hands, do you understand! Now I must take revenge for the blasphemy you’ve committed against God. Tell me, do you want it from my hands or from the court of law? The court will sentence you to prison for a period. I will kill. You are my friend; I don’t hold any grudge against you. No one except God knows how much this pains me. But I must kill you. My faith commands me to do so.’
Chaudhary Sahib drew his sword and rose before Bhajansingh. It was a strange sight. An old man with grey hair, his back bent, was standing with a sword before a giant. Bhajansingh could have settled everything with a single stroke of his lathi, but he stood there with his head bowed. He respected Chaudhary Sahib deeply, though he had never suspected him to be such a religious person. He had assumed that Chaudhary Sahib was a Hindu in his heart. How could he think of causing harm to a master who had saved him from the gallows? He was fearless and like all truly brave men, he was without guile. At that moment he was not angry, but repentant. He didn’t fear for his life but was sorrowful for what he had done.
Chaudhary Sahib stood before Bhajansingh. His faith
