BAHADUR HAD A BRIDE

'Ho! Ho! Ho! Bahadur Ho! Ho!'

As the azan of Jama Masjid echoed across the gallis of Old Delhi, it was time for little Ali Hassan to direct Bahadur back to his shed.

Bahadur- the pride of Hassan family, the talk of the mohallah, Ali’s partner in crime and not to mention, Chand Khaala’s true source of income. After all Rs 4000 that Salim Hassan earned wasn’t enough to support a family of four kids, one begum and his Abba. So as the winters sent across the chills in the city, Bahadur’s yearly woolen fur offering added to the income in a big way. That’s the way the Hassan family survived, progressed and saw some happy sumptuous Eids.

Bahadur was munching his fresh green diet in the evening when a thought crossed Chand Khaala’s head and formulated a strange calculation. She was thinking about a family. A sheep family and the income it would generate from the wooly kids. Yes, she finally decided. Bahadur needs a bride. The family discussed and debated. And little Ali proclaimed himself as the Bride finder. The search started.

It was a Sunday when the sweet smell of Jalebis, pulled Ali and his clan to Ramcharan’s kadhai which he carefully halted by the roadside everyday. Ramcharan’s jalebis, although overtly glazed with cheap ghee, did tempt quite a few peddlers. As the jalebis were served in leafy bowls, Ali took the first bite and burned his tongue. Then came the scream and finally a splash of water. In between all the chaos, Ali’s little ears caught a bleat. She stood there. Eyeing Ali, not directly though. She was demure, shy and playful. Yes, she was perfect. And whenever she moved, the little tinker bell around her neck created soundful music. She was Lajjo, Ramcharan’s sheep, a female sheep. And Ali was already hearing the shehnaai.

The matter was discussed. It was going to be a grand marriage. A marriage that went beyond the walls of caste. The sturdy male Bahadur was marrying the tender female Lajjo. Two weeks later. Ali was laughing and hugging Lajjo. He had another pet in the family now. Bahadur would have his companion now. It was a joyous event for both the families.A week passed. Things progressed slowly. Free Jalebis made way to Hassan’s family. Greetings were exchanged. The names of the next off springs were decided. The trade would happen on a 60- 40 basis from what the next generation would bring through. Ali found a new friend in Ramcharan’s daughter Radha.

All seemed well, till the night of Thursday.Trouble came from a neighbouring city. The Babri Masjid was demolished and fire broke out in the city of hearts.

The mohallah decided to stay unaware and unaffected, but the flame had already made way through the once colorful gallis. They became cautious. Then they started bitching. Then petty fights came in. Finally, one struck the other. And after two days of hatred, revenge and bloodshed, Ram’s devotee Ramcharan decided to break ties with Rahim’s followers.

Bad news spreads faster. The call off became the talk of the Mohallah. And it brought home shame to Hassan’s little shack. Chand khaala cursed Ramcharan’s family. Hassan’s silence spelt anger. And swore revenge.

The days passed. Bahadur was not allowed to get out of his shed anymore. It was unsafe to allow such a money churning machine to roam in free. Atleast that’s what Ali felt. After all hadn’t he found the tinker bell lying in Abba’s wallet one day when he was trying to rob some money for a few ice candies? And hadn’t Lajjo gone missing three days after the marriage was called off?

Finally came a day when Bahadur was found dead. There was a little blood oozing out of his mouth.And while they were taking him to the burial ground,amidst his tear, Ali saw a glazed fragment of orange sweet near Bahadur’s grass.

And life went on in the Mohallah, without Bahadur and Lajjo.

THE LEAF OF LOVE

She looked through the bars with her peering eyes. Long, unkempt hair, faded colour but a glint of sparkle in her eyes.
Everyday the bell rang at 11.30 am. Then, till 4.00 pm they were allowed outside. At 4.00 they retired to their rooms again till the next day. Her fragile brain had memorized this timetable now.
And even more their meeting everyday. Girls and boys had been put into different rooms. They could socialize only in that span of 4 ½ hours. There were so many around. But he was different. Or may be more like her. He always carried a fresh leaf as a token of love and a celebration of their meeting. Flowers were not available in that vicinity. But she loved it and everyday hugged him and shook hands in return. Then they sat on the swings and spoke about everything under the sun that was known to them. Like the fat matron's croaking voice, the obnoxious odour the bathrooms carried, the inedible food served. Everything was full of bliss and yet so playful in that short span of 4 ½ hours. But once the parting bell rang, the scene changed. An environment of innocence and cheer became tense and traumatic with the matrons pulling them away from each other. Once, she delivered a sharp bite, as her token of anger on the matron's palm.
He had been there for 2 years, while she for 1. In that stale routine, they were the only ray of light to each other. He loved those 3 days in the year when they were allowed to be together from early dawn to the wee hours in the evening. On these three days they were made to pray, sing & eat a sumptuous meal. But the most important and beautiful part was being in each other's company and giggle together. This was perfection. Or so she thought.
The only times she hated were when two unknown people came to meet her every month. They would look at her from a distance and try to converse. She never allowed them to come close. She hated strangers. But they would still come and cry. She was increasingly growing tired of them.
Then one day everything changed.
That morning she got up with a terrible pain at the back of her head. She felt dizzy and then all of a sudden she remembered it all. Everything flew back to memory. And then she knew who she was. Who they were. She remembered him, whom she belonged to. And at last she thought about that innocent, strange, yet her only sole support which, she had encountered in that mental asylum, where patients suffering from multiple neurotic disorder thrived.
A thousand scenes floated in front of her eyes. Her marriage, her career as a teacher, her mom and dad who came to see her every month she now realized, and finally her new acquaintance. The clock struck 11.30.The bars opened again. She studied the environment and the people. It seemed more like a kindergarten school, with the kids being a bit oversized. And then she saw him waiting at one corner.
He was approaching her. A leaf in his hand and a sparkle in his eye. Every thing the way it used to be. Only she had changed.
Now she had to decide. Life had once again placed its puzzle and she had to find a way out. Security on one hand and innocence on the other. On one side her husband who had not bothered to meet her once, throughout the year and on the other side a stranger, she could not help feeling drawn to.
He gave her the leaf. She wanted to smile, shake hands and hug him. But she knew it wasn't meant to be. Not because she was selfish. But because love was adverse and it had cheated her. Strange can be the ways of love.
She took the leaf and tore it off. He looked at her in disbelief. He yelled, fought and then finally cried aloud. She wept her tears silently.
The same evening her parents came to free her from that prison or maybe a place where she was leaving a precious part of her life; whose worth only two people had known so far. And no one would ever know now.
She was standing at the gate. From a distance she saw her husband, who had now come to take her and then she looked back .She wanted to promise herself and the love she had now come in terms with, that she would come back for a visit every month. But when one cannot trust the purity of a feeling, the knowing of a new affection; how to come in terms with a promise. And she left, alone.