Swami Ghananand turned to Munshiji and his men, ‘Son, accept this charnamrita. You will attain bliss.’ Jhinku, Rambali and Bechan spread their palms as if under compulsion and accepted the charnamrita and drank it. Munshiji said, ‘You drink it yourself. I don’t need it.’
Swamiji stood before Munshiji with folded hands and pleaded wittily, ‘Have mercy on this beggar, don’t go that way.’
But Munshiji brushed aside his hand and entered the lane. His three companions remained fixed behind Swamiji with bowed heads.
Munshiji called, ‘Rambali, Jhinku, why don’t you come? Who has the gumption to stop us?’
Jhinku: ‘Why don’t you go back? One ought to obey the saints.’
Munshiji: ‘So this is the morale with which you set out from home?’
Rambali: ‘We set out thinking we would fight if anybody stops us forcibly. We didn’t come to fight saints and ascetics.’
Munshiji: ‘It’s rightly said that the ignorant are like sheep.’
Bechan: ‘Go ahead if you’re a lion, we’re good with being sheep.’
Munshiji entered the liquor shop haughtily. The shop itself looked depressing and the vendor was sitting drowsily on his pouffe. Startled at hearing Munshiji’s footsteps, he looked at him sharply as if he was a strange creature, filled the bottle and dozed off again.
When Munshiji reached the exit of the lane, he could not find his companions. Many people surrounded him from all sides and called him derogatory names.
One said, ‘A courageous man should be like him.’
Another said in Persian, ‘You can’t be shamed before men.’
A third said, ‘It’s some old drunkard . . . an absolute addict.’
Just then the inspector came and dispersed the crowd. Munshiji thanked him and headed for home. A constable went along with him for protection.4
All of Munshiji’s four friends threw away the bottle and walked away.
Jhinku informed them, ‘Once when my buggy was hauled in for unpaid work, it was this Swamiji who intervened with the government peon and had it released.’
Rambali: ‘Last year when my house caught fire, he came along with the boys from the volunteers’ organization to help. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been a thread left in the house.’
Bechan: ‘This lawyer doesn’t think anything of anybody. If you have to do something shameful, then you do it on the sly. You should not exhibit your shamelessness.’
Jhinku: ‘Look, brother, you shouldn’t speak ill of somebody behind his back. And whatever be the case, the man is full of determination. The way he just went past so many men!’
Rambali: ‘That’s not determination. Had it not been for the inspector, the mukhtar would’ve had it rough.’
Bechan: ‘I wouldn’t even step into the lane, even if anyone offered me as much as fifty rupees. I was so ashamed I couldn’t look straight.’
Eedu: ‘I accompanied him and landed myself into trouble. The maulana will have questions for me wherever he sees me. Why should we do such blasphemous acts that leave us shamefaced? I was so ashamed of myself. I renounce these from this day. Now I won’t even look that way.’
Rambali: ‘Drunkards’ vows are no stronger than a raw thread.’
Eedu: ‘Blacken my face if you ever see me drinking again.’
Bechan: ‘It’s decided then. I quit from today. Let alcohol be the same as cow’s blood if I drink again.’
Jhinku: ‘So you think I am the biggest sinner here? Hit me fifty times with your shoe if you ever see me drinking again.’
Rambali: ‘As if we don’t know! If Munshiji invites you to drink, you’ll run to him like a dog.’
Jhinku: ‘Hit me a hundred times if you see me seated with the munshi. One whose words and actions are not the same must be a bastard.’
Rambali: ‘Then it’s decided, brother. I also vow never to loosen my purse strings for liquor, though I won’t decline a free drink.’
Bechan: ‘When have you ever loosened your purse strings?’
While this was going on, Munshiji was seen sprinting towards them. Although he had won the fight, frustration was spread across his face. He could not enjoy his victory heartily because of some unmentionable reason. Shame, lurking in some corner of his heart, was pinching him. Although unaware, regret for his audacious act was making him miserable.
Rambali said, ‘Come, Mukhtar Sahib, you took a long time.’
Munshiji: ‘All of you turned out to be idiots. You were deceived by a sadhu.’
Rambali: ‘These people have vowed not to drink from today.’
Munshiji: ‘I haven’t seen a man who once addicted can quit. Shooting from the mouth is different.’
Eedu: ‘If we live, you’ll witness this.’
Jhinku: ‘Nobody can quit his regular fare. But if something does affect you deeply, then quit. There just needs to be one strike. Nobody dies from not being an addict.’
Munshiji: ‘I’ll see how brave you are.’
Bechan: ‘What’s there to see? Quitting is no big deal. Just that one will feel sad for a few days. If the English, who drink like water, could quit during the war, then it’s nothing difficult for us.’
While the discussion was still on, they reached Mukhtar Sahib’s house.5
The sitting room was forlorn. The clients had departed. Algu was sleeping on the floor. Munshiji sat down on the mattress and started taking out glasses from the almirah. He was still unable to believe his friends’ oaths. He was absolutely convinced that merely a whiff of the smell and a glance at the colour of alcohol would make everybody break their vows. The moment I prod them, they will all come and plant themselves here and the party will be on, he thought. When Eedu made a move for the door after bowing to him and Jhinku picked up his staff, Munshiji grabbed their hands and spoke humbly and sweetly, ‘Friends, it’s not good to desert like this. At least taste this liquor. This is especially good.’
He continued, ‘Come, come. It is meaningless to talk like this.’
Eedu retorted, ‘You stay happy. Let me go.’
Jhinku said, ‘God willing, I won’t go near it. Who wants to be
