Yours
Sushila
I handed over the letter to Lajjawati. She read through it and said, ‘I’ll go to meet her today.’
Guessing her intent, I said, ‘You must forgive me. I don’t want to test your generosity a second time.’
Saying this, I went up to Professor Bhatia. He was sitting in the car and sulking. If Lajjawati had returned without me, he would have shouted at her.
I touched his feet and said, ‘You’ve always treated me as your son. Please strengthen this relationship now.’
Professor Bhatia first looked at me with unbelieving eyes and then said with a smile, ‘This was the deepest desire of my life.’
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
Defending One’s Liberty1
Mir Dilawar Ali had a pedigree bay horse. Though he would often claim to have spent half his life’s earnings on it, it was really just an easy bargain from a regiment. Better still, you could say that it had practically been forced out of there. Perhaps the officers of the regiment did not feel like keeping it any more, and for that reason had decided to auction it.
Mir Sahib was a court clerk. He lived outside the city and had to travel three miles just to reach the court. This had him worried about a means of conveyance. The horse was a timely convenience, and so he bought it. Mir Sahib had been riding it for the past three years. Though it had no faults whatsoever, the animal seemed to bear perhaps an excessive measure of self-respect. Engaging it against its will or securing its services for demeaning tasks was simply out of the question. Anyway, Mir Sahib was unable to contain his joy because he had got a pedigree horse for a nominal amount. He brought it with him and tied it at his door. Now, finding a horse keeper was tricky. So, the poor fellow would himself stroke it gently for a while in the mornings and evenings. The horse probably felt pleased by such a gesture. It was because of this that it never seemed discontented despite the exceptionally meagre amounts of food it would get. It had developed a sense of sympathy for Mir Sahib. This devotion to its master had made the horse quite weak. But it would happily carry him to the court at the appointed hour. Its leisurely gait indicated spiritual contentment, since galloping had always been against its natural sense of solemnity. There was a certain kind of wilfulness in its eyes. In its devotion to the master, it had sacrificed so many of its long-standing rights. The only privilege it was fond of now was its guaranteed Sunday rest.
Mir Sahib did not go to the court on Sundays. Rather, he would rub down his horse, give it a bath, and allow it to swim on Sundays. And this really delighted the horse. Otherwise, outside the court, it was tied to a tree and had to make do with dry grass. The hot winds scorched its entire body. But on Sundays, it would feast on fresh grass in the cool shelter of its shed. It thus considered resting on Sundays a prerogative, and it was quite impossible to deprive the horse of it. Sometimes, Mir Sahib would try mounting the horse to go to the market on Sundays, only to be utterly unsuccessful in such an enterprise. The horse would even refuse to wear its harness. Eventually, Mir Sahib made peace with his pet’s obstinacy. He did not want to risk his limbs by hurting the horse’s sense of self-respect.2
Mir Sahib had a neighbour called Munshi Saudagar Lal. He, too, was somehow related to the court, though he did not hold a position there. No one had ever seen him reading or writing anything, but he was still highly respected in the company of lawyers and solicitors. He and Mir Sahib were close friends.
It was the month of June and the mania for weddings was at an all-time high. The obsessed ones went around the fireworks shops like Catherine wheels. The jesters and storytellers had their own way with people. The ones who carried palanquins acted like the stone gods—even presents and offerings did not melt their hearts. It was during this auspicious period, amidst this uproar, that Munshiji too decided to arrange for his son’s wedding. After all, he was an influential person. He gradually made arrangements for everything that was needed, except for a palanquin. The Kahars had returned his advance deposits at the eleventh hour. Munshiji was furious. He even threatened them, but to no avail. So he helplessly decided that his son would ride a horse for the ceremony involving the groom’s journey to the bride. The marriage party was scheduled to proceed at six. Around four o’clock, Munshiji went to Mir Sahib’s place and said, ‘Dear friend, why don’t you lend me your horse so that it can carry the groom to the station? I can’t seem to find a palanquin anywhere.’
Mir Sahib said, ‘But don’t you realize that it’s Sunday today?’
Munshiji responded, ‘Well, why won’t I? But it’s only a horse after
