RISHTON KA DARD: रिश्तों का दर्द;: Hindi Shortstory;हिंदी कहानी; Katha

RISHTON KA DARD: रिश्तों का दर्द;

Hindi Shortstory;हिंदी कहानी; Katha

 

Raven's Full Moon[Kaaw Punim]: (English); Short Story; Author: DeepakBudki; Translator; Jawahar Lal Bhat.

Raven's Full Moon: (English)

 Short Story; Author: DeepakBudki

 Translator; Jawahar Lal Bhat

Kailash Pandit was feeling deeply agitated and mentally anguished as a result of recalling an event of his childhood. He was eager to relate to his grandson. It is usual with an old man that he desires somebody to sit by his side, regard him as a member of the family, and listens to him attentively. Continuous isolation from near and dear ones at this age is most sickening to the old. It results in many ailments of the head and heart and drowns him in the abyss of depression.

He called his grandson Sunny.

The repository of experience in him was overflowing with eagerness to bring forth the tales of happiness and sorrow. More than a hundred tales of human barbarity, moral degradation, and human ruination were still in his psyche and hence ready to burst out.

Sunny came running and like a very obedient child sat cross-legged before him ready to listen!

Kailash Pandit mentally traveled back into his past trying to reach his roots and recollect his distant childhood. Soon he was lost in the cool romantic ambience of the land of his birth which he had left regrettably about twenty-five years ago. Now after a while his oral communication seemed to restore and he commenced the story of his life.

Those were wintry days. I had crossed the fifteenth year of my life. One day I woke up in the morning to find a strange hustle and bustle in our house. Preparations were on for observing a fast on that day. I asked my father if it was any festival on that day. He replied, “Yes son, it is ‘Kaaw Punim’, the ‘Raven’s Full Moon’, today.”

I replied in astonishment, "‘Raven’s Full Moon’! What does it signify?"

“It is really interesting to know about ravens. Every year during this period thousands of migratory ravens come to Kashmir valley after flying thousands of miles from Siberia and other polar regions of the north. In order to welcome them we, the Pandits of Kashmir, celebrate 'Kaaw Punim' or what you call ‘Raven’s Full Moon’ in English. If you just lookout, you can see these jet-black birds everywhere in large numbers ---- on trees, walls, housetops, almost everywhere. "

My curiosity was stirred up enormously by my father’s revelation. Crows are ordinarily seen in Kashmir in all seasons including winter but their colour is greyish-black with a white ring around their neck. However, these ravens are different. They are big in size and as black as charcoal from beak to tail. The voice of local crows is slightly heavier and hoarser than the ravens. During the hot season, these migratory ravens make their habitats near and around the North Pole but in winter they fly out of the inhospitable area because of extreme cold and lack of food. They move out in large flocks to temperate areas far away from the polar region.

After hearing about this interesting festival of Kashmir Pandits I could understand how the demands of belly compel not only human beings but birds as well to migrate from places of scarcity to places of abundance. These birds fly thousands of kilometres over hills and deserts, oceans and forests seeking better conditions for their sustenance.

Probably we would not have paid heed to them if our ancestors had not observed these black-winged creatures flying into our valley from distant lands at this particular time of the year. Otherwise, crows are just crows, whether they are greyish-black with white rings around their necks or jet-black. The inquisitiveness of our ancestors has crowned them with success long ago in getting information about these migratory birds who are forced to travel exceptionally long distances on their tiny wings year after year in search of food. They probably kept waiting for them eagerly generation after generation till they decided to dedicate a festive day to the little winged migratory angels. It is the day celebrated with joy to mark the arrival of these ravens in the beautiful valley of Kashmir.  It is just like various other days that are celebrated now globally---- Valentine's Day, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Teacher’s Day and so on!

In spite of the severe cold, my mother got up early in the morning and busied herself in cleaning the house thoroughly. All pots and pans in the kitchen were cleaned once more. Looking at my parents, I too decided to observe fast for the first time in my life on this day and as a result, my mother was seriously worried about me throughout the day. She fed me frequently with various types of fruit and freshly fried fritters made of water chestnut floor permitted during such fasts.

Later in the afternoon just before lunch, Father ceremoniously spread out food for the ravens with the expectation they will relish it. Two sticks, one long and the other short were placed upon each other at right angles in such a way as to form a cross-like object and they were tied together with long stalks obtained from straw bundles leftover from paddy which are available in abundance in Kashmir. The straw was woven around the junction of two sticks in such a manner as to make a platter for placing boiled rice and cooked vegetables over it. After placing cooked food on the platter the long stick was fixed to one of the beams of the roof in such a way that it was visible to the birds hovering in the sky. Then my father, in order to call them out, began singing a song in Kashmiri with the purpose of inviting these migratory ravens to have their favourite dish spread out for them on the cross which now looked like a gnat plane.

“Oh, you crow, the Brahmin crow,

Crow that enjoys the medley,

Both of you, the male and the female,

Take a bath in the sacred Gangabal Lake,

Put a Tilak of clay on thy forehead,

And come to the house, newly built by us,

To partake rice and vegetables cooked in oil”

All of us stood watching the father. We also joined him in singing the song aloud. Instantly dozens of black ravens appeared from nowhere and flew over the platter on which was placed the cooked rice. They hovered over it, sometimes darted straight on it and fought amongst each other many a time.  Each of them wanted to replace the other in order to consume the food himself. It was really a treat to watch them and every one of us cherished it.

Time marched on and winter was about to come to an end. In the middle of March, when Shivratri, the cherished festival of Kashmiri Pandits, was around the corner, the cold was almost over and the spring was beginning to set in the valley of Kashmir. Daffodils and Narcissi had bloomed everywhere. Even willow inflorescences could be seen. But no ravens were seen anywhere. They had returned to their icy abodes covering thousands of kilometres yet again. I often thought to myself, "Nature has played very cruelly on them. They have to travel such long distances every year in search of food and survival. Why do they not stay at a place like other crows? Has migration become their destiny?" I pitied them and perhaps our ancestors too had shown empathy towards these black little creatures, so they had started this custom of feeding them once every year on this particular day.

When Kailash Pandit finished his story, the grandson asked him a question, “Grandpa, why don't human beings also change their residence like these ravens to escape extremes of heat or cold?”

“Human beings are homeothermic. Warm-blooded animals usually maintain their body temperatures slightly above the environment, so they need not shift places with the change of seasons. However, due to lack of fur, they take help of other things like warm clothing or heating appliances.”

“Then why do politicians, bureaucrats and the rich shift to Jammu in winters and return to Kashmir in summers?” The grandson poked the question.

“These are aristocratic idiosyncrasies. The British and the Indian Rulers had developed places like Kashmir, Shimla, Mussoorie, Nainital and Darjeeling for their pleasure and enjoyment in the hills. They shifted to these places to save themselves from the heat of the plains and returned to their homes in winter. The poor couldn't afford such luxury, so had to remain contented with a single place all the year-round.”

“It means human beings need not migrate from one place to another?” Sunny asked with an air of innocence and curiosity in his tone.

“That’s not the case, my son. He too is compelled to change places for filling his stomach, earn his livelihood, the safety of himself and his family, fear of belonging to a particular race, religion or caste and many more such things. It is in his blood. Thousands of people shift residences and flock to cities and metros from their villages in order to earn a living. A large number of poor farmers are seasonal migrants, who go to cities to work, and return to their farms only during the seasons of sowing and harvesting. Natural calamities like floods, earthquakes, droughts and wars also compel people to move out from their places of residence temporarily or permanently. Many a time they settle down at their new places and do not return. Armed conflicts, intrigues, desire to take control of enemy territories, religious extremism and greed for natural resources also become a cause for the displacement of people from one place to another. At times some people engage themselves in criminal activities never thought of before and those who get affected run away to safety.”

“My dear, twenty-five years ago, we too had to leave our home and hearth in Kashmir because some religious fanatics created an atmosphere of hatred and insecurity for us. Many members of our community were killed in cold blood. Since we were a minuscule minority and unable to face the brunt of the onslaught so we had no choice but to seek refuge outside the valley in safer areas. In a matter of days almost the total population of Kashmiri Pandits comprising some three to four lakh souls, who were dispersed in the valley, ran away and settled in plains wherever they could find shelter to lay their heads down. It was totally a new world for us. No cold winters here, no snow-clad mountains, no mighty chinars and no flocks of ravens to feed on the ‘raven’s full moon’. But we kept our traditions alive. Like other festivals, we continued with this festival here too by spreading out cooked rice topped with vegetables in quarter plates on the roofs of our houses.” 

In a moment Kailash Pandit plunged deeply into the reminiscences of his past and remained immersed in a fit of emotion for long. Subsequently, he recovered and continued to deliver his speech.

“I believe firmly that even now those ravens may be coming flying to the Valley during winters with hope and expectation. They may be perching on the roofs of our abandoned houses looking for their hosts. I feel they might be hopping from house to house in search of those traditionally prepared crosses with platters embellished with cooked rice and vegetables and looking like gnat planes on housetops. Who would inform them that we too keep waiting and looking for them with hearts full of emotions and eyes full of tears, especially on this ‘Raven’s Full Moon’ day, not there but here far away from the valley in our new dwellings? Who knows if those little birds still visit the valley with the same anticipation and enthusiasm or not? 

Kailash Pandit overwhelmed with emotion, filled his eyes with tears of desperation, and Sunny, his grandson, looking at him, slowly slipped out of the room knowing well that his grandfather didn’t like anybody’s presence on such occasions and it was always preferable to leave him alone.

For the last few years, Kailash Pandit and his family regularly visited Kashmir for a couple of weeks during summer to have a respite from the scorching heat of Delhi exactly like those ravens who in order to escape the chilling cold of the North Pole visited Kashmir. While in Srinagar, the local people at the airport, Tourist Reception Centre, Dal Lake, different Hotels and other tourist spots received them warmly and showered their affection and love without any hesitation. Sometimes they came across some elderly people who reminisced about their past when Kailash Pandit was a part and parcel of their cultural heritage. On both sides, eyes welled up with emotions and tears and said a lot in the language of silence about the days of peace that prevailed in Kashmir before the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits.

Last year, Kailash Pandit, surprisingly, insisted on visiting his ancestral house where he had spent a major part of his life before moving out of Kashmir. Perhaps the thought that his days were numbered now teased him and he wanted to have a look at his ancestral house where he was born and had spent almost his whole life before his final journey. It was here he had heard lullabies of his mother in childhood, played Gilli-danda and cricket with his friends in youth and cycled the distance from home to office and vice versa after marriage but destiny played its part and he was forced to live his last days in exile far away from his land of birth. 

On reaching there he found his house had changed its look altogether though structurally it remained the same. For him, the time had frozen from the moment he had left his house in the early nineties. Possibly he did not remember that time does not wait for anyone and such was the case with his old dwelling too. Twenty-five years ago he had left with the hope of an early return to his home but the conditions showed no improvement thereafter. Time passed by, days turned into months and months into years and he lost the count. The house passed into the hands of his neighbor who had made some additions and alterations to suit his requirement.

The new owner welcomed him and his family. After sitting for a while and exchanging pleasantries he got up and examined each and every corner of the house that had buried in it the fond memories of his childhood and youth. The time machine once again seemed to travel back for him and his recollections came alive for a while.

“It was here in this room I studied during school and college days. Sometimes I used to look out the window and sing my favourite film songs. Instantly, across the lane in the window opposite that mine, Roopa would show her serene moon-like face and respond with a smile. God knows where she may be now! Nobody knows about the other! Our kitchen was exactly under this room. The sound of striking of pots and pans came alive early in the morning and soon there used to be a call for morning tea–the salt tea with baker's flatbread.

Our parent’s room was exactly above that room on the other side. The winter days would pass celebrating festivals one after the other. In the month of Magha by the Hindu calendar, we used to celebrate 'Raven’s Full Moon' by welcoming the migratory ravens and used to feed them boiled rice and cooked vegetables. We observed fast for them and called them by singing a song after keeping food on the thatched roof.”

Suddenly Kailash Pandit woke up from his daydream and desired to see that part of the roof where his father used to fix the cross made out of two sticks bound together with straw which took the shape of a platter. He used to put boiled rice with cooked vegetables on it to feed those black ravens. Soon Kailash Pandit realized his mistake and began to laugh at his foolery.

The owner thought that Kailash Pandit was looking for something precious which he now wanted to find. So after a while, the owner asked him politely what was he searching for? Kailash Pandit replied immediately, “I’m searching for my childhood. I lost it here in these four walls. But I am aware that I can’t find it now.” He had a good feigned laugh after saying these words and his eyes continued to be reeking. 

After a while, he tried to get up from his seat but could not until his grandson held his hand and helped him to stand and walk up to the car which was parked outside the house.

*****

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.

***