Doctor Aunty: (English); Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat.

Doctor Aunty: Deepak Budki

Translator: J L Bhat

I came across Doctor Aunty by sheer chance. My friend's sister, Lalita, was in Srinagar undergoing B.Ed. training, and I was her local guardian. Kamla Devi and her daughter had come from Delhi about a week ago and were staying with Lalita to escape the scorching heat of the plains. They were keen to visit famous tourist spots in and around Srinagar.

Aunty, a simple, medium-sized, affable lady, dressed in an ordinary cotton saree, looked like an embodiment of love, kindness, and compassion. On seeing her, nobody could imagine that she was a very successful Gynaecologist in Delhi.

During my very first meeting with her, I was mesmerised by her personality and felt as if my mother, who had left me long ago when I was just twelve years old, had been reincarnated in her form. My emotional bond with the mother unwittingly brought me close to her daughter as well. I left all my personal engagements and, as a professional guide, accompanied them to many easily accessible tourist places in the valley, and helped them purchase some local handicrafts. After a few days, I reached Lalita's residence to see them off as they were leaving for Delhi early the next morning.

As soon as Kamla Devi saw me, she couldn't help but express her gratitude: "Son, you have made us so grateful that I find no words to express my thanks to you."

"Aunty, there is no need to express your thankfulness. You are like my mother, and as a dutiful son, it was my duty." I replied with great humility.

Her daughter Sarita was looking askance at me as if saying, "Mama, why should you be thankful to him? He has charmed your daughter and, with his cunning smile, stolen her heart forever. How does it matter if he looked after us for a few days?"

I paid little heed to Sarita, except to exchange a few smiles once in a while. Meanwhile, Lalita came into the room with hot tea poured into glass tumblers and some snacks, which she set on the table, then sat in one of the chairs. Aunty again addressed me, "Son, tomorrow morning we are proceeding to Katra directly from this place. We intend to have a darshan of Mata Vaishno Devi on our way back. Have you ever been to Mata's durbar?"

"No, Aunty, I have not ventured out of the valley more than twice. Once, I visited Jammu with my parents at the age of seven and spent the whole winter there. The second time visited Ooty down south while on a botanical tour with my department at Kashmir University."

"Then I suggest you also accompany us to Mata Vaishno Devi to have her darshan. It will do a lot of good for you."

For a few moments, I pondered over it and hesitated because I am a non-believer and do not frequent temples and other places of worship. However, I was tempted to have their company for a few more days and therefore agreed without further thought.

Aunty had earlier obliged me by visiting our house without any invitation. She had stayed at our place for several hours and gelled with everyone, young and old. All my family members were in praise of her. There she chanced to examine my ailing aunt, my father's sister to be exact, who was suffering from gastroenteritis for a long. After thoroughly examining her, she gave some instructions and prescribed a few medicines.

The next day before sunrise I hung my backpack on my shoulders and accompanied them to Katra. During the journey, a lot of informality had grown between us, and I had almost become a member of their family.

On my return to Srinagar, I realised that Aunty had cast a spell on me, though my love for her daughter had already taken root and grown very strong. We exchanged letters and sometimes talked on the telephone, yet most of the time, Aunty dominated my thoughts more than her daughter did.

After some time, I started thinking seriously about my relationship with Sarita and did not find myself at all suitable for her. She was the only daughter of her adoptive parents, a medical student at a reputed college in Delhi, while I was earning just two hundred rupees per month, though well qualified and holding the designation of Assistant Manager in a retail chain of handicrafts.

I had been seriously considering leaving my current job because it didn't fulfil my aspirations, not only for financial reasons but also for emotional stability. Ultimately, after a few months, I took the unpleasant decision to resign from my present job and seek better prospects in Delhi.

After reaching Delhi, I started searching for Aunty's residence. As a newcomer to the metropolis, I had a lot of trouble finding her address, but I finally succeeded. Her clinic was right on the roadside near the Moti Nagar bus stand in Delhi. Outside the clinic hung a signboard –'Dr Kamla Devi, Gynaecologist'. Behind the clinic and adjacent to it was her house, rather a continuation of the building that sheltered the clinic, and Aunty lived there with her sister and brother, both younger than her. All of them were unmarried. Sarita was, in fact, the daughter of Kamla Devi's elder brother, and she had adopted her as a child.

I gently knocked at the door, and a voice answered from inside, "Who is it?"

"It is me, Aunty", I responded. The door flung open, and I got in. Kamla Aunty was examining a patient and, upon seeing me, she felt ecstatic and said, "Son, when have you come?"

"Aunty, I reached Delhi yesterday. Actually, I found myself maladjusted to my job there; it wasn't to my taste at all, so I left. I have decided to seek a job here in Delhi."

"You sit inside; I'll join you within a few minutes."

I went into the adjoining drawing room and sat on the sofa. Sarita probably heard my voice, came running out of her bedroom, and sat in front of me. She was excited to see me and began asking me about my welfare. Meanwhile, Kamla Aunty's brother and sister also entered the room, and Sarita introduced them to me.

"Surrinder, she is Sharda Aunty, younger sister of Mom, a dental surgeon by profession, while he is the younger brother of Mama, Amarnath uncle."

I stood up and offered a folded hand Namaskar to both. They soon walked away after exchanging pleasantries; one went to the market for some snacks, and the other went to the kitchen, perhaps leaving us free to talk again. We got so busy conversing with each other that we did not notice when Aunty came out of her clinic and walked straight into the kitchen. She laid out the dining table with tea and snacks and turned to me with love and affection, "Surrinder, did I hear it right that you have left your job? Why did you take such a hasty decision? You could have come here on leave, looked for a desirable job, and then resigned."

"Aunty, I was fed up with my job. There was nothing except deceit, plunder and corruption in our dealings. I felt deeply anguished and always looked for an opportunity to resign."

"All right, what is done is done. I wish some good comes out of it. Maybe there's a bright future waiting for you!" After a brief pause, she enquired again, "Have you any arrangements for your stay here?"

"Yes, Aunty, that's no problem. I'm staying with my friend in his flat."

While in Delhi, I would meet Sarita regularly after college hours. It was she who revealed that she was not Doctor Kamla Devi's real daughter. She was actually the daughter of her elder brother, who owned a cotton mill in Coimbatore. Kamla Devi adopted her at age 5 after migrating to India. She had brought her up with great care and affection. After facing the nightmare of partition, Kamla Devi, Amarnath, and their younger sister, Sharda Devi, decided to remain unmarried and live together in Delhi. Sarita was a darling of them all. As a child, they would swing her in their arms for hours on end. After Sarita moved into her college hostel, the house looked desolate and cheerless, though she never failed to come home on weekends to be with them.

One day, Doctor Aunty related the full story of her miseries during the partition. They had lived in Lahore, and when conditions worsened, their elder brother left with his family at the first available opportunity and took refuge in Coimbatore, but Kamla Devi, Amarnath, and Sharda Devi insisted on staying behind. No sooner had they realised their lives were at risk than they, too, packed up their bags and baggage. Eventually, they were rescued by an army Major who drove them across the border in his army jeep and left them in a refugee camp in Delhi. Subsequently, they were allotted a small house nearby, which had been vacated by an emigrant family. Kamla Devi converted part of the house into her clinic, where she started practising as a doctor. As days passed, she gained a good reputation as a doctor and succeeded in restoring the lost glory of her past; nevertheless, she was unable to forget the bruises inflicted on her and her family during those dark days of partition. She handled the household affairs all by herself. Strangely, Doctor Aunty did not run into any emotional hiccups or shed any tears while relating the sordid events of her past. She maintained her calm, as was visible on the outside, but I could easily dive into the inner turbulence she was passing through. Who knows how many choicest dreams of hers may have been shattered and how many castles she may have built must have crashed during those days? She could not speak of them. It was not even expected of her. Her failed loves, her unaccomplished ambitions and her aborted dreams!

Probably as a consequence of the human misery they had witnessed, all three decided not to get married, but in order to fill the vacuum in their lives, Kamla Devi adopted little Sarita as her daughter and brought her up with great care and affection. It was apparent that Dr Kamla Devi was the main active earning member of the family. Besides earning enough from her profession to support the entire family, she used to work in the kitchen and handle all other household chores single-handedly. Her sister was excessively bulky and easily fatigued by a little work. Brother Amarnath was crafty and clever. He lived off his sister like a parasite. Amarnath did not contribute in any way to the household but had a glib tongue and gave the impression that everything was handled by him.

Looking at her simplicity, sincerity, sacrifice and self-restraint, I once casually asked her while drinking coffee in the dining room, "Aunty, you have reached a stage of life where you own almost everything that one aspires for---wealth, reputation and other comforts of life. Sarita is also going to become a doctor in a year or so. Your responsibility towards her is as good as over. Then why do you charge fees to poor patients? You could at least give free consultations to the poor! 

Dr Kamla Devi smiled lightheartedly and answered, "You are right, son! I've got everything I wanted and now don't look for anything more, but the world has changed a lot since then. In the olden days, people would not care for minor ailments such as coughs, colds, and fevers due to weather changes, but now affluence has changed people's attitudes. They seek a doctor's advice even for an ordinary sneeze and are ready to pay any amount of fee. People go to specialists even when it may not be necessary. It is my goodwill and reputation that stand by me; otherwise, there are many highly qualified gynaecologists in this area. If I don't charge for consultation, people with minor ailments will throng to my clinic day and night. Thus, in order to keep such patients at bay, I charge fees. Secondly, nowadays, the amount of the fee charged determines the doctor's standard. So I have to balance out between philanthropy and personal tag. Still, my fee remains by far the lowest compared to the market rate in this field. Even then, patients sometimes knock at my door at midnight. Some I avoid, but in emergency cases, I am compelled to examine patients at their homes at odd hours. If I offer free consultations, I'll have to run around nonstop and be away from home all the time. A reasonable fee prevents ordinary patients, and only serious ones come seeking my advice at night." 

The uncle, sitting on the other side of the dining table and spreading butter on his slice of bread, interjected sullenly, "Surrinder, you do not know how much we doctors have to suffer in life; we neither enjoy a proper sleep at night nor feel comfortable during the day."

Sarita glanced at me with a mischievous smile as if asking, "Since when has Uncle become a doctor?" He always lived on the earnings of his elder sister, never ever earned a rupee himself, yet talked authoritatively. I understood the language of her eyes, what she wanted to convey and reciprocated with a satirical smile, but chose to be silent.

After many days, I witnessed another interesting event. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I reached their house at about 4 pm. Sat as usual in the drawing room. Amarnath uncle and Sharda Aunty were not at home, so there was a saturnine silence in the house. Sarita also had not yet turned up on her weekend visit. Dr Kamla Devi was examining a young spinster in the adjoining clinic. The conversation between the two was quite audible in the drawing room where I was sitting alone.

"Doctor, I am facing a big fall in my life. I am pregnant, and it is probably the second month. My boyfriend took advantage of my progressive outlook in life. I was free with him and never stopped him at any point, but then he ditched me once he heard about the pregnancy. Now I have no alternative but to terminate the pregnancy. Doctor, I shall be ever obliged if you kindly abort my unwanted pregnancy. I am ready to pay as much as you demand."

"Sorry, I am extremely sorry for not accepting your request. I don't carry out abortions. You have knocked at the wrong door."

"Aunty, my mother is a very big fan of yours. I have always heard her singing paeans to you. She says you are a divine incarnate. I know I have committed a big blunder before my marriage. Only you can save me from this calamity. I've not even disclosed it at home. In that case, I won't be able to show my face to anyone. I am sure that boy is going to disown me now," the girl kept crying while speaking.

"My daughter, I do not undertake medical termination of pregnancy. As repentance, you have accepted your misdeed, which is more than enough under the circumstances. But I've some personal principles and limitations which I shall not alter under any circumstances. I haven't done this job all my life, not even during those days when hundreds of helpless abducted girls used to make a beeline outside my clinic with their protruding bellies. I'm sorry, you must go now."

The girl got up and left with a very heavy heart. Sad about what had happened, Dr Kamla Devi entered the drawing room and threw herself on the sofa. She expressed mixed feelings of sorrow and anger. For the first time, I observed such a severe strain on her face.

"See this little girl, she is not yet out of school and is carrying a baby in her womb. Shocking isn't it! Look at her audacity! She is offering me money as if everything can be purchased with it!"

It was the first time Doctor Aunty was giving vent to her professional conflict at home, and that too in my presence. I was watching the ups and downs of her face closely. In her consternation that she was going through, she even forgot to ask me whether I wanted something to drink or eat after having travelled so long. Still, I mustered enough courage and asked her, "Aunty, I think she deserved sympathy. There should have been no hitch in solving her problem. To err is human! Everybody commits mistakes. Who would she approach except a doctor? And then she was ready to pay the requisite fees."

I was apprehensive that Kamla Devi would flare up upon hearing my suggestions, and maybe I would earn some abuse as well, but nothing of the sort happened. In a while, her usual soft mood was restored, and she said to me, "Son, money is not everything in life. If I had wished, I would have earned lakhs of rupees from such nefarious activities. Plenty of opportunities came my way, but my inner conscience never allowed me to indulge in such things. As per my understanding, I have come to this life - Manushya Janma - to save human lives and not to kill them in cold blood. Only the Almighty Lord has the right to take any life, none else. To me, terminating pregnancy unless warranted for health reasons of the mother or foetus is the biggest crime, and no other crime is worse than that."

"But, Aunty, the majority of doctors do it. Why doesn't s their conscience prick them? Will they all go to hell?"     

"That is their personal thinking. Whether they will go to Swarga or Naraka, only God knows. I cannot be their conscience keeper. In my opinion, abortion should be done only when the life of the mother or the child is in danger and also within the prescribed time period when the woman has just conceived, and the foetus has not taken the shape of a baby; otherwise, I consider it nothing less than a murder."

"I fully agree with you, Aunty. I am sorry if I offended you. Actually, I was trying to put forward the compulsions of that abused girl. Okay, let us leave the topic and talk about something pleasant."

"Son, I have been practising as a doctor for the last thirty years. Let me share with you the moment when I got the utmost joy of my life in this profession. One day, long ago, a couple, around 35 years of age, came to my clinic for a consultation. They had been married for almost ten years, but had not had the joy of a child. They had knocked on the doors of many well-known doctors, but to no avail. They also visited several saints and sadhus to seek their blessings. Nothing worked. At last, they came to me by chance, hoping I might be able to help them. I examined the woman thoroughly and suggested douching once more. I performed the D&C and told her to come every third day for ongoing monitoring. Those very days, as luck would have it, I had received a few ring-shaped vaginal dilators from Japan as samples, which helped in preventing any constrictions in the vagina that could impede the flow of seminal fluid. I inserted them and prayed to God to help the childless lady. God did listen to my prayers. Exactly 20 days later, I gave them the good news that she had conceived and that she needed to take the utmost care now. She felt on top of the world and after nine months delivered a pretty baby. I, too, felt highly jubilant and satisfied. That was really the happiest day of my life as I had performed a miracle almost with the blessings of my Lord. I felt the presence of God everywhere around to guide and help me."

On hearing the story of her achievement and success, I admired her sincerity, hard work and veracity. Meanwhile, Sarita had also come from her college and joined us, and we all gleamed with joy.

Many years passed by. The circumstances took such a turn that Sarita could not become my life partner. She married a doctor, and my contact with the family snapped.

After about a decade, I was posted to Delhi again and had a chance to talk with Sarita on the phone. She informed me that Dr Kamla Devi had passed away a few years back. I was shocked and severely dismayed. Without wasting much time, I reached their Moti Nagar residence to express my condolences. The clinic was closed and enveloped in a strange air of grief.

I knocked on the door several times without any response. At last, someone called from inside, "Who is there?" I recognised the voice and replied, "Uncle, I am Surrinder, please open the door."

He opened the door with a lot of difficulty and spoke out immediately, "Surrinder, it is not the same Delhi now. Everything has changed. It has become a city of crime and rape. Old people who are found alone are targeted day in and day out." He ushered me into the adjoining drawing room, sat on the sofa, held his breath for a while and then continued, "Your Aunty has left us long ago. Sarita also does not visit us after her death. Both of us are scared to allow strangers into the house. Only our maidservant comes in from the back door. The clinic's shutters remain closed permanently. Thank God, I recognised your voice and opened the gate; otherwise, you would have had to wait for a long time. Life has changed full circle since our sister left."

I followed Uncle through the clinic and sat on the sofa opposite him. The total atmosphere was gloomy. It appeared that this house had not been cleaned for ages. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. In the meantime, Sharda Aunty walked in, with the help of crutches, writhing in pain and sat on the sofa next to her brother.

Both began to relate their woes in detail. Tears flowed down their cheeks and choked their voices time and again. This was the same house where I had learned lessons about love, empathy, virtue and the art of living. Today, the same house was enveloped in darkness, gloom and helplessness. It appeared the soul of the house had evaporated, leaving behind complete desolation and suffering.

*****

Dog House: (English); Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat.

Dog House: (English)

Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki

Translator: J L Bhat

Right from my childhood, I had a deep aversion to pet animals. The fact is that in my early school days, I had read a story of a pet dog and a wild wolf who were friends. The pet dog lived in his master's house where he was looked after very well while the wild wolf lived in an open forest. One day the dog told his friend about the comforts available to him in his master’s house. He told him that his master loved him much and took great care of him. He slept on a comfortable sofa in an air-conditioned room and was given special delicious foods to eat which included fresh bony mutton almost every day. In the event of falling ill, he was given specialized treatment in a dog hospital.

The wolf heard him patiently and said after heaving a deep sigh. “You are very lucky to live in such a house with a kind person as your master. My life is very hard. I face all vagaries of nature like rain and snow all year round. To fill my stomach I’ve to put my life at risk daily following my prey and am often compelled to pass many days without food.”

“Ah! Your life is really very hard and risky. I suggest you also learn to be more gentle and docile and also learn obedience to a master as I do.”

While the wolf was talking to his friend, suddenly he caught sight of the collar around the neck of his friend, the dog. He asked, “What is this that you are wearing around your neck, I never noticed it before?”

“Nothing extraordinary, it's just a collar. My master puts a chain in it whenever he takes me out for a walk in the morning or when he wants me to stay put at a place. It’s nothing, not of any importance; I’m free to do whatever I wish to ----.”

“Oh, no, my friend! It means you are a slave to the wishes of your master, not free. I spit on such a life that is bound by the slavery of someone else. Friend, I am happy at my place. To me, a few days of freedom are far better than a hundred years of slavery. I never like to enjoy the comforts of life as you do, I am fine as I am.”

The dog was dumbfounded by the oratory of his friend, the wolf. He had no words in reply to the bare truth of life. He ran instantly to the comforts of his master’s house absorbed in deep thought.

From that day on I resolved never to put an animal or a bird in captivity for my pleasure or any other purpose whatsoever. It always pained me to see caged animals or birds on sale by the roadside, in malls, or in the house of my friends. I always wished to see them all free and enjoy their freedom as we wish for ourselves.

But with advancing age, lots of compromises have to be made. My children were aware of my preference for the freedom of animals and would never think of pampering to their own taste by keeping a pet animal or a bird in their home. Unfortunately, this inflexibility came under pressure when I went out on an official tour for about a week.

Taking advantage of my absence, my son, an employed adult, went on a holiday in the hills with his girlfriend, now his wife. During the journey, he stopped his car near a wayside eatery to have some tea and get refreshed for further travel. Meanwhile, his friend caught sight of a litter of newborn puppies surrounding their mother. She got so madly attracted to them that she earnestly suggested to her friend to request the owner to part with one of the puppies and take it home for rearing it.

“Oh no, Dad is deadly against keeping pets at home, he would in no circumstances allow it!”

“You see how cute these small creatures are! They seem to be of a good breed. Please manage his displeasure anyway! You have got a big house, keep this little thing for my sake.”

My son had no option but to succumb to the wishes of his sweetheart and the puppy reached my home the same evening, though in my absence.

The next day morning my son called me on my cell to first ask my welfare and then to deliver the tidings of a new arrival at our home.

“What....!!” I cried at the top of my voice, “You know I dislike keeping animals in detention. It is sheer injustice to them. Do one thing at the earliest. Take it back wherefrom you have picked it up, that’s final.”

“Dad! That’s two hundred kilometres from here. How can I travel such a distance again? The pup is so cute; you’ll love to keep it once you see it.”

The wheel of time had turned full circle. I had reached the stage in life where one is obligated to make compromises one would never think of before; be it a cherished ideal or a belief close to one’s heart.  As such, I suppressed my anger and chose not to argue further with my son.

On reaching home, I showed no resentment and reluctantly took on with the new arrival in my house. The little dog was really cute and seemed to be of a good breed. It was given the name Tiger though it came to light later on that it was a Rottweiler, a breed that is very aggressive and because of its belligerent behaviour, it is banned for raring at home in many western countries.

Soon Tiger became an important member of our family and it also seemed to grow very fast. Within a year or so Tiger grew into quite a big animal with a very fearful countenance, though very docile to every family member especially me. In the case of an outsider, it was very aggressive and didn’t bear his or her presence in the house. A lot of care was taken not to expose him to strangers within or without the house, yet in a few year's time, it had injured not less than half a dozen of them for intrusion into the house or touching my son which he thought was an attempt to attack him.

In total contrast to my earlier negative tendency about pets, I very soon got much proximity to Tiger and soon it took a very important place of affection both in my home as well as my heart. I now fed him myself very affectionately and took him to a vet clinic whenever the need arose. It also responded with great love; often rolled around my legs and sat mostly around me and more often in my lap.

Now, once it came about that we had to attend the wedding ceremony of the son of my nearest relation at Jammu and we were all obliged to urgently attend all their ceremonies. It meant clearly that we had to keep our house locked for at least a week till we returned.

Everything was fine, but where to keep Tiger all these days was a question to which I found no answer. It could neither be kept in the house of a neighbour or a relative nor locked up in our own house. Finding no solution I asked my son about it. He had a hearty laugh and responded in a very light tone, “That’s no problem, Dad, the times have changed, we have a solution to every problem these days, especially in big cities,”

“I’m worried about Tiger, tell me, where to keep him safe all these days?!”

“Oh Dad, you get worried over trifles. There’s nothing serious about it. There are many Dog Houses in the city where people can keep their pets whenever they are out of their houses for a long time. They charge some money and keep the pets very nicely. They’ve veterinary doctors and other specialists with them so it is no problem. I’ll look for one near to our locality and talk to them.”

So on the day before we were scheduled to leave for Jammu, my son took Tiger to a nearby Dog care home called 'Dog House' and left him there. I, in my heart of hearts, felt much concern for Tiger thinking all the time about him. How the people there might be looking after him? Whether they would be taking care of him properly, feeding him well, and above all, he must be missing us all terribly. These were the questions that teased me all the way to our destination and during our stay there. So I anxiously waited for the day of our return so that Tiger gets back to his home safe and sound. Gradually I began to understand that the bonds of care can sometimes be stronger than the bonds of blood.

After about a week we were back home. Before doing anything else my son rushed to the Dog House to fetch Tiger and in less than an hour, Tiger was with us. On meeting us all his joy seemed to know no bounds and the same was with us too. I began to examine Tiger from all sides to see how much weak he has grown in our absence. It seemed to me he must have skipped many meals while missing us. Instantly I moved out to the butcher to get some bony meat for him. In a couple of days, our routine with Tiger was restored and everything was normal with us.

With this experience, Tiger had to be kept in the Dog House many a time whenever we moved out for a holiday in the hills or some wedding at some relative in Jammu, Pune, or Bengaluru.

In this way, life moved on. Eight years passed by. Tiger had grown old. It had lost its earlier glow and agility. Its responses and quickness to comprehend things had also reduced and it showed little interest in eating now.

Again, in order to attend a ceremony in Pune, we left Tiger in the Dog House as usual and left for Pune. While we were busy in the affairs there we got a call from the owner of the Dog House informing us that Tiger had suddenly taken ill seriously and had to be shifted to the Pet Hospital. All of us feeling very concerned for Tiger cut short our visit and returned immediately to find Tiger in a very serious condition. We were informed it had developed a tumour in its brain and had to be operated on soon for its removal. I was especially moved on seeing the condition of Tiger who had reduced to a skeleton and looked very keenly into my eyes seeking my help in his critical condition. Immediately Tiger was moved to the operation theatre for surgery. In an hour or so we were informed that Tiger couldn’t survive the surgery and breathed his last on the operation table itself.  

It was a real tragedy as we had lost a very important member of our family. The impact of this event remained for a long time with all of us especially me. I missed Tiger very much and occasionally felt his presence here and there in the house which welled tears in my eyes. Whenever I heard some dog bark at a distance I always felt that it was Tiger calling me.

Many a time my son suggested to me to get another pet dog in the house so that it would compensate for the absence of Tiger but I refused entirely because on the one hand, I was dejected over the death of Tiger and on the other, we were living now in a flat where we humans had to live in a cramped condition and keeping a pet was quite an impossibility.

The clock went on ticking and the time passed on unnoticeably!  I had retired from my service for more than fifteen years now and my health conditions had deteriorated considerably. Not only my movements had become difficult but my eyesight and hearing also got worse. I had become completely dependent and had to seek help in almost everything. Gradually I was becoming a burden on my children and as such, I wished to have an early end of my life. But the more I wished to die, the more Death seemed to ignore me.

One evening suddenly I overheard the conversation between my son and his wife in another room.

My daughter-in-law was saying,” The wedding of my sister’s daughter is going to be held in Bengaluru next month. We all will have to attend.”

“Okay, what’s the problem? Let us plan our travel as you suggest!” replied my son.

“I want us to extend our tour by some days more and visit some important places around Bengaluru like Mysore, Ooty, Kodaikanal, etc. I’ve already planned our trip for fifteen days as I want to have elaborate sightseeing with children who would surely enjoy greatly.”

“That’s fantastic, give me details of your plan and accordingly, I’ll book air travel and hotel bookings!”

“But there is a problem!” said my daughter-in-law rather hesitatingly.

“What problem, I don’t see any!”

“What to do about Papa, he is so weak and needs help in everything? We can’t take him along nor can we keep him here alone?”

My son stopped a while and said later on, “You are right but I’ve got a solution. He can be kept in an old age home during these days. There are some good old homes in the city where such old people are kept for some time or even permanently. They take very good care of such oldies. I’ll soon find out one where we can keep Papa for a fortnight or even more.

And before they left for Bengaluru I was put in one of the reputed old homes of the city, 'Special Care Old Age Home'. It was a painful and melancholic experience. Alone by myself! No one around. Every face around a stranger, every word uttered artificially and every action mechanical.

During the days of my stay at home, every moment I remembered Tiger. How he would have missed his home and members of the family and how he must have passed his days there away from all of us.

***   

Rape of an Abandoned House; (English); Author: DeepakBudki; Translator; Jawahar Lal Bhat

Rape of an Abandoned House:

Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki

Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat.

A steel box, a suitcase, and a bedroll - that was all they carried with them at the time of leaving their house in the thick darkness of the night. They were six souls in all - he, his wife, their two small children, and his old and infirm parents. For the first time, he felt his parents like a burden on him.

“Mom, where are we going in this dark horrible night?” His seven-year-old innocent daughter asked her mother in a spluttering voice.

“To hell....can’t you remain quiet?”  Her mother lost her nerve.

That rebuke was enough to shut the mouth of her little daughter. Nobody was aware of where they are going. When life and honor are at stake, destinations do not matter. To be safe and out of danger is what counts under such turbulent circumstances.

With trembling hands, his wife bolted the door with an old archaic chain like fastener slid over a U-type fixed hook of the main door and then secured it with a heavy lock. She pulled the lock number of times to ensure it was securely fixed and after complete satisfaction, they all walked away. Soon the family was lost in the darkness of the night. No one knew what was in store for them and what was their destination.

Locks do not ensure the security of abandoned houses. Anyone can break them. Actually, it is the neighbors who by keeping a constant vigil unconsciously ensure the security and safety of a house when its inmates are away. The situation, however, was different in this case. Whether neighbors would keep such a vigil was doubtful as they were themselves under the constant watch of extremists and any deviant behavior could cost them their life and property. Even if they found someone breaking the lock, they would simply close their window as if nothing had happened. Prudence and wisdom demanded one to be careful not to take cudgels with those who wielded the power of the gun.  

For days and months, the lock remained hanging on the door untouched. With passing time, however, there seemed a bleak prospect of inmates of the house returning. Passers-by looked at the lock with strange greedy eyes, wishing the lock and the gate opened on their own so that they had free access.

After some time an unknown person took advantage of the darkness of the night and broke open the lock skillfully without the slightest sound. Later on, everyone who saw the door opened heaved a sigh of relief and absolved himself of the crime because he had not participated in unlocking the door. People are strange, they believe it is a heinous crime to force a virgin into prostitution but it is no crime to have sex with a prostitute already initiated into the profession by someone else.

After the incident, the main gate of the house stayed ajar like a brothel welcoming one and all. Open lock, still hanging in the door hook, reminded of an aristocratic prostitute of olden days, the twaif, whose nose ring, the nath, had not been completely removed by her first customer as was customary and therefore still remained half hanging in her nose.

The person who had broken the lock was a dreaded terrorist who sought refuge in the house while running away under the hot pursuit of security forces. The lifeless house gave him shelter for the whole night. Immediately after entering the house, he threw his AK47 rifle contemptuously on the sofa as if throwing away the burden of his encumbered life. Simultaneously he threw his own weighty body on the nearby bed and within a few moments fell asleep. At about midnight he felt very hungry as he could not further resist the pangs of intense hunger. So he sat up. His AK47 rifle on the opposite sofa could neither quell his hunger nor quench his thirst. Picking up courage, he lighted a cigarette, and with the help of its dim light went into the kitchen looking for some water to drink. Apparently, the kitchen looked all empty. After some search, he found an earthen pot placed in a corner half-filled with water. He removed the lid and tilted the pot to pour out the water in his cupped hand and drank from it directly. His search did not stop there but he continued searching for something to eat by opening each and every almirah helped by lighted match sticks since switching on the electric bulb would have been dangerous and life-threatening. Finding his effort go waste he burst out, “These bastards have left nothing behind!”

By chance, he caught sight of a small mandir-like puja corner in which some idols and pictures of different Gods laden with dust were lying. In front of the pictures, a heap of leftover cold ashes of Dhoop and incense sticks was noticeable besides a few home-made sweet pancakes called 'Roth' by locals. They were actually the offerings made to the Goddess on 'Pun' the festival celebrated with high sanctity by Kashmiri Pandits. While performing puja their family priest had narrated a story about the importance of the festival to reinforce their belief in divine love and blessings. All members of the family had heard him with rapt attention and utmost devotion. The story goes thus:

“The festival has been celebrated for thousands of years. The occasion coincided with the harvesting of cotton crops in Kashmir during the autumn season in the olden days. Long ago there was a king in Kashmir who happened to be an atheist and an egotist. He enjoyed abundance and prosperity in his kingdom which made him proud and conceited. He was often overwhelmed by fits of strange anger. On the contrary, his wife was a pious, humble, and religious lady who performed her religious duties regularly and punctually. The king often scolded her for her beliefs but she bore it patiently. She used to celebrate Pun festival every year with great austerity and devotion. The King, however, did not like this forcing the queen to perform puja away from the gaze of her husband. On one such occasion, she properly cleaned her Puja room with great dexterity and baked pancakes, the Roths, herself with freshly ground wheat, pure ghee, and sugar during the whole night preceding. She was readying things with a heart filled with devotion and fervor in order to consecrate the pancakes to the Goddess. While waiting for the priest, the Rajya Purohit, the king suddenly entered her puja room with his boots on and in his usual fit of anger shouted at her besides desecrating the offerings prepared by her with great labor and austerity. The queen looked at him with great shock and surprise but did not utter a word. Being a typical Hindu wife she prayed to the Goddess to pardon her husband for the grave defilement committed by him.

Nevertheless, destiny had tricked the King. He faced troubles one after the other. In no time his soldiers mutinied under an enemy within the kingdom who laid siege on his throne and deprived him of his crown. He and his wife somehow saved themselves by running away in disguise and taking refuge in a neighboring country where he worked as a manual laborer. Forced to live a life of penury and want, both lived under wretched conditions. His wife took up the job of a maidservant in nearby households. Time marched on. One day she noticed preparations going on for celebration of the auspicious Pun ceremony in the house where she worked as a maid. She remembered her own past glory and a stream of tears flowed down from her eyes. She decided to perform the ceremony herself in a humble way and seek forgiveness from the Goddess for the wrongs committed by her husband. She had no money or means to do it but her determination showed her the way. She passed by a grain store in the evening where she found grains of wheat scatted all around. She picked them one by one until she collected a few handfuls.  She ground the grains in her home and with great remorse and penitence baked five small Roths and offered them with the deepest reverence and tearful eyes to the Mother Goddess reciting some hymns she remembered.

Within a few days, a strange miracle followed. The people back in his country came to know that the erstwhile king had been wrongly implicated in a conspiracy by his evil enemies who had usurped his throne. They revolted and called him back to the palace but he was nowhere to be seen. After many searches, they were able to find him working as a laborer in the neighboring country, carried him back with honor and dignity, and restored his crown. In a few days, everything changed. He was back as the majestic king with his queen sitting beside him. But now he was not the same arrogant and haughty self. From that day onwards the queen celebrated Pun festival every year with much more austerity and devotion and the metamorphosed king also took an active part in the same.” 

The denial of the existence of God cost the king his kingdom but here the story was totally different. Everyone in this household was deeply religious and adhered to all the fine principles of religiosity and human values yet they were punished into exile which was tragic. They had recently performed the Pun Ceremony with great dedication and consecrated it to the goddess with ultimate sincerity.

What a travesty of fate! The Roths offered to the Mother Goddess satiated the hunger of a rabid and fanatical terrorist who never felt any remorse in killing human beings by scores, young and old, men and women, and instead felt a high sense of pride in performing such dastardly acts. After filling his belly with the stale pancakes he fell asleep only to get up early in the morning. He hurriedly gathered his belongings and tried to search for some booty by opening iron trunks, wooden boxes, cupboards, and other storage items leftover in the house. He was keen on some handy moveable valuables like cash or gold jewelry but could find none to his dismay. Sharp came out a number of swear words from his foul mouth before he fled from the place. The expletives echoed in the house for a long time.

The security forces got information about the hiding of the ferocious terrorists only the next day. The whole area was cordoned off immediately by armed men in uniform with all their guns pointing towards the helpless house. Their suspicion was strengthened when they saw the lock on the main door broken and hanging in the loop. Instantly hundreds of bullets were fired randomly at the house from all directions to scare the militant out of the rat hole. Loud announcements were also made asking him to surrender but found no response. After some time 4-5 security men entered the house with great caution and conducted a thorough search whereafter they reported back to their commander that there was no one in hiding in the house. Meanwhile, the house had suffered heavy battering which had resulted in numerous holes in its walls. It had no option but to watch such desecration quietly and silently. The helpless house had no means to express its anguish and pain. On the other hand, the security men gave out expressions of both anger and surprise.

“Sir, nobody is inside!” One of the soldiers reported to his immediate commander.

“The bastard must be hiding somewhere. Search thoroughly and be careful lest he escapes!” The commander ordered in a harsher tone.

The soldiers went in again doubly energized, broke open each and every iron box, wooden box, cupboard, and closet, mercilessly throwing around all papers, files, children's books, gents' clothes, ladies' saris, shoes, and decorations. The scattered items looked like internal viscera thrown out of a slaughtered animal by a butcher. Soon the rooms were littered with items of clothing of men, women, and children besides the study material of children and their sportswear. Though the soldiers did not spare the upholstery even and hit the beds and items of furniture with their batons yet no trace of any terrorist was found anywhere. Hitting the items with batons and saying some invectives calmed down their nerves. Having satisfied themselves that there was no terrorist hiding in the house and he must have escaped the police moved out leaving the doors and windows of the house open.

From that day onwards, the house was open to all. After the sunset people started sneaking into the house one after the other. They entered stealthily and took away with them whatever they could lay their hands upon. In the first cache valuables like TV, Radio, cooking utensils, crockery, and clothes were removed followed by chairs, tables, beds with bedding materials. Soon the whole house emptied. It gave an appearance of a young maiden gang-raped by goondas who had thrown her blood-soaked body on the road. It is true that such bodies strive to be alive only to be targeted time and again. The greedy and lascivious neither spare the shrouds of the dead nor their unresponsive flesh.

Though there was nothing left in the house yet a neighbor eyed its wooden doors and windows which were made of costly Cedar and Fir. So he along with his sons sneaked into the house at midnight and dismantled all the doors and windows one by one with adeptness and skill whereafter they were carried away before sun rays hit the house again. They also put the house on fire such that no one could even guess that the house had already been stripped of its wooden doors and windows. It reminded of experienced gang rapists disposing of the dead body of the victim by consigning it to fire.

On seeing the flames go up suddenly in their vicinity, the neighbors showed concern fearing that fire may engulf their own houses. Awareness that fire is contagious prompted them to take remedial measures immediately, they came out with buckets of water, splashing it on the flames in order to douse the fire. Their worry was limited to their own houses, rest did not matter. The flames engulfed the house completely and it remained smoldering all through the day till hardly any traces of its structure remained except some stone-built walls at the base turned grey, scattered bricks turned jet black, half-burnt pillars of wood, and the corrugated galvanized iron sheets which had covered the roof besides heaps of ash and wet charcoal.

Apparently, nothing was left of the house. However, some people in the neighborhood still held hopes to find something valuable in the debris. They were not ready to believe that everything had been reduced to ashes and nothing was left.

An elderly lady caught sight of some corrugated galvanized iron sheets, dented and darkened by falling, smoke, and fire, which had earlier formed the roof of the house and were now partly covered by the debris. She called her two stout youthful sons and ordered them to take each sheet out of the debris one by one so that they can be used to roof the cow-shed in their courtyard. She stood there instructing and monitoring the operation till all the sheets had been pulled out and carried safely to their house nearby. After satisfying herself that nothing was left, the lady went straight to her house, had usual ablutions, and then offered prayers to the almighty in her room in order her claim to paradise is not jeopardized.

Another neighbor managed to dig out leftover bricks and stones which he intended to use for his toilet in the compound. He also dismantled standing walls with hammers and pickaxes and collected all the available material until no traces of usable stones or bricks were left. After some days a widow passed by the burnt house. She saw some half-burnt pieces of wood and charcoal. Her face glowed. She remembered the hardships of the previous year and thought of approaching winter, so she single-handedly collected all the charcoal and the half-burnt wood, put them in jute sacks, and took them to her own house. That night she slept in ease as sufficient arrangement for the winter days had been made.

Now only a big heap of the rubble had remained of the huge house, so the children of the locality turned it into a playground for cricket. Every day after the school hours children armed with bats and wickets would gather and play cricket here till long after sunset.

One day four urchins came with their local sports kit to play cricket at the site. One of them began hammering stumps into the debris hardened by the constant footfalls of children playing there. Despite constantly hitting the stump hard with a stone, one of them could not be driven deep into the ground as something hard was coming in its way. He pulled the stump out, opened the hole a little wider, and looked deep into it. He saw something shining inside the hole which was stopping further digging of the stump. Meanwhile, the other three boys had gathered around him and each one of them looked closely into the hole to ascertain what was the object. One of them felt it was an ornament of gold that had been buried but didn’t exclaim lest others claim a share of it. In fact, every one of them thought on the same lines but didn’t divulge to one another.

Soon digging commenced. One of them began digging with a stump while another ran to his home and fetched a better digging instrument. The digging continued until the thing was almost visible and ready to be extracted. The first boy put his hand into the hole but before he could do so another boy shouted in local lingo, "Adus...Adus", meaning thereby that I am a half shareholder of whatever you recover from beneath the ground.

Others also got the cue and didn't want to be left behind, so each one of them too shouted.

"Adus...Adus!"

The boy who had put his hand into the wide hole pulled something out. It was the same brass lock that had guarded the main door of the house for long. Suddenly all the faces drooped in despair. Without thinking much all of them went to a junk shop in the Bazar to sell their find. They got four rupees and distributed it among themselves. With one rupee each, they felt contented and went happily to their respective homes.     

************