‘Be my guest, for what’s mine is also yours. But I doubt if the horse will even be approachable today.’
‘Oh, come on! A sound beating can even drive away demons. You’re just afraid of it, and for that reason it behaves wickedly towards you. Once I mount it, it won’t be able to shake me off no matter how hard it tries.’
‘All right, suit yourself. And I’ll owe you one if you can bend it to your will.’3
The horse grew suspicious the moment Munshiji entered the stable. It neighed once as if to say he had no business spoiling its peaceful Sunday. The distant cacophony of the wedding’s musical instruments made it even more anxious. When Munshiji tried to untie the horse, it got vigilant and began devouring the fresh grass with characteristic pride.
But Munshiji was also a shrewd one. He immediately ordered some straight corn from his house and put it before the horse. It had been days since the animal had had such food. It began eating with joy and looked gratefully at Munshiji as if implying its consent.
At Munshiji’s house, the band was playing in full flow. The groom was elegantly dressed, waiting for the horse. The women of the suburb stood there, with the plates for the aarti ritual in their hands, waiting to see him off on his way to the bride’s house. It was five in the evening. Suddenly, they saw Munshiji coming their way, along with the horse. The band members marched forward while someone got the rider’s equipment from Mir Sahib’s place.
It was decided that the horse should be strapped into its harness. But the very sight of its bridle made it turn away. Munshiji coaxed and urged the horse. He even patted its back and served it straight corn again. But the horse did not seem remotely interested and it was then that Munshiji lost his cool. He immediately whipped it several times. But when it still refused to be bridled, he unleashed the whip baton relentlessly on its nostrils. The beast started bleeding. It looked around helplessly with abject eyes. The problem was indeed a tricky one. It had never received such a thrashing before, and had always been Mir Sahib’s favourite. He had never been so merciless towards it. Realizing that things would get even worse if it were to resist any further, the horse simply gave up. And that was all that Munshiji had hoped for. He quickly saddled the horse while the groom hopped on to it.4
The horse woke up to its situation the moment the groom mounted it. It realized that to forfeit one’s liberty for a small amount of straight corn would be like giving up one’s birthright over mere trifles. Why should I do unpaid work today when all this time I have been resting on Sundays? And there’s no telling where these people will take me. The lad, too, seems like an expert rider. He’ll spur me on, make me run, and whip me half-dead. And who knows if I’ll even be given food or not? Thinking thus, it decided not to take even a step further. At worst, they’ll beat me, but I’ll throw myself down and roll over with the rider. They’ll spare me then. And my master, too, must be somewhere around this place. He’ll never want me beaten so much that I won’t even be able to carry him to the court tomorrow.
The women sang auspicious songs as soon as the groom mounted the horse. Flowers rained down on him. The marriage party began to march forward. But the horse was determined not to budge an inch. The groom spurred it on, whipped it, and even tightened the reins, but it seemed as if the beast’s limbs had been firmly cemented into the ground.
Munshiji was so furious that he would have shot the beast had it been his own pet. One of his friends said, ‘It’s quite headstrong. This won’t work. Try beating it from the back and it’ll change its mind.’
Munshiji welcomed this proposition. He struck the beast several times from the back but to no avail. It only raised its forelegs towards the sky. Once or twice, it even attacked with its hind legs, which meant that it was not completely passive. Munshiji barely escaped the horse’s retaliation.
Another friend said, ‘Why don’t you light a fire near its tail? The fear of the flame should do the trick.’
This proposition too was welcomed and the horse’s tail was completely burnt. Twice or thrice, it jumped around the place in agony, but still refused to move forward. The horse was a true satyagrahi and the torment had perhaps further hardened its resolve.
Meanwhile, the sun had begun to set. Panditji said, ‘Hurry, or the auspicious hour will soon pass.’ But how could one hurry? It was not as if anything could be done about the matter. The marriage party had arrived outside the village. Women and children had assembled there in large numbers. People began murmuring, ‘What kind of a horse is it if it doesn’t take even a step forward?’ An experienced person added, ‘This beating won’t do. Order some corn. Someone could lead the way with the corn in the nosebag. The bait should do the rest.’ Munshiji even tried this idea, but he simply could not succeed. The horse did not want to trade its liberty at any price. Another man suggested, ‘Give it some wine. It’ll start prancing around once it gets drunk.’ A bottle of wine was ordered. The liquor was poured into a trough and placed before the horse. But it did not even sniff at it.
What could one do now? The evening lamps had been lit and the auspicious hour had passed. The horse was quite pleased with itself, having successfully endured these various misfortunes. It actually revelled in
