Dyalo tried to calm herself, but failed. She broke into fresh wails. This annoyed bebe all the more. Pushing Dyalo’s shoulder rudely, and adjusting her shawl, she said, ‘May your face be disfigured, oye, you, the ill-omened one! Nee, you have killed me, although I’m still alive. I’m still breathing… Once Melu has immersed my ashes at Haridwar, you may wail and scream as much as you want to…’

  And talking in this manner, when she made for the door, Dyalo became restless and stood up. She ran across, gripped her arm, and asked in a tearful voice, ‘Now, where are you off to, bebe?’

  ‘I’m going to jump into the well…or into the pond.’ Speaking harshly, bebe pulled her arm free and then going towards the door, and mumbling to herself, said, ‘Their children are crying out of hunger there, and here, she wants to know, where I’m going. One must know what time of the day it is, and not just call out, unnecessarily. Who knows when this old bull may begin to act wise! This bloody emaciated, old pest!’ Still annoyed with Dyalo, she came out muttering, and proceeded to Finnah’s house.

  Dyalo was completely limp. Of course, her bebe was very much in the habit of babbling like this, and even walking out of the house at all odd hours. But she had never spoken in such a harsh and demeaning tone. Previously, whenever Dyalo had held her arm to drag her back into the house, she would simply say things like, ‘Where could I go?’ or ‘Where will I go?’ and then come back without any fuss, lie down on the manji, and start blabbering, but not go out again. Today, she had left as though she had no intention of ever coming back.

  Her face covered with a chunni, Dyalo continued to stand in the doorway for some time. Then she shut the door, and came away. On reaching the door of the kothri, she suddenly thought of the she-calf. Dragging her feet, she went towards the cowshed. The she-calf was sitting, with its head down. The torn gunny sack, with which it had been covered, now lay under its rear feet. When she tried to pull the gunny sack from under it in a bid to cover it again, the animal made such a mournful sound that it almost pierced her ears. The moment Dyalo thought of its injured leg, she felt disheartened again. For a long time, sitting next to her, she scratched it beneath its ears and over its two-inch-long horns. With its head now resting at Dyalo’s feet, it was as though the she-calf felt somewhat calmer than before. With its soft breath blowing over her feet, Dyalo felt warmth surging up inside, but then again, for no particular reason, her eyes turned moist and she felt restless. Pulling her feet away from the she-calf’s face, she got up and walked in.

  The lantern was still burning. She looked at Shinda lying with his eyes shut. Going over to bebe’s manji, as she slowly lay down, the legs of the manji made a strange, creaking sound.

  Reclining on the manji, Shinda raised his head and asked, ‘Nee bhaine! Where is bebe?’

  Dyalo could not think of an answer. Shinda asked again, ‘Has bapu also gone with Labhu, sister?’

  Out of sheer nervousness, she started chastising Shinda, ‘Why must you bother? Why can’t you go back to sleep?’ She turned her face away, and stuffing one end of her chunni into her mouth, sank her teeth into it.

  With fear lurking in his eyes, Shinda kept staring at the roof for a long time. Then turning to the wall, he heaved a sigh and lay down. He closed his eyes. After a while, his eyes opened. Turning over and reliving Dyalo’s first act of chastisement, he said, ‘Nee, bhaine! Is the she-calf really in pain?’ Seeing that Dyalo had not moved at all, he asked, again, ‘Bhaine, shall I go and see how it is? Henh?’

  When Dyalo didn’t speak, he got up, staring in her direction, and then padding across the room, let himself out. Dyalo continued to lie still, ramrod straight, staring at the roof’s wooden rafters.

  After some time, Shinda came back, limping and winced as he said, ‘Hai nee bhaine! My leg is really aching very badly… and the she-calf is also bleating bitterly…’

  Dyalo got up hurriedly, and then scowling at him, nearly screamed, ‘Who asked you to go out, you fool? Come and lie down on the manji…be sensible.’

  Shinda actually got scared. Holding his breath, he came and lay down on the manji, pulling the quilt right over his head.

  Dyalo was as breathless as though she had come running from the wilderness. Turning her back on Shinda, first she went towards the lantern and lowered its wick; she made it so low that different shapes inside the kothri began to dissolve into each other. Then wrapping the chunni around herself somewhat tightly, she went out into the courtyard.

  The sky was overcast with stars, all shining luminously. The light of the moon still shone, though it was surrounded on all sides by rolling, grey and white clouds. The clouds looked rather like the thick layers of mud-lime on the walls. Beneath the clouds, a long row of houses lay steeped in dense fog, as though it had penetrated every nook and cranny of the village. It appeared as though the families, living along a row of trees on the margins of the village, were now lost to the world. She was standing in the rear courtyard, facing Finnah’s house from where she could hear some muffled voices, as dim as the dying flame of the lantern. The voice of Finnah’s bebe rose above this hum, distinct and separate from all other voices.

  Suddenly, there came the sound of two people squabbling from behind Finnah’s house. Engaged in a heated argument, they were walking towards the dharamshala. Moving closer to the door, when she looked in that direction, she saw standing there, with a huge earthen bowl on his head, Kalu, telling the panch in his characteristic monotone, ‘Then, how will we survive? How can we think of giving up this ritualistic practice we have been observing since the time of our forefathers?’

  ‘If there is no eclipse for another two years, then what will you survive on?’ The panch was trying to hold his ground and his voice was harsh, ‘It’s because you aren’t willing to give up such ritualistic practices that you have been dragging on like this since the times of your forefathers.’

  ‘But this is God’s will; what right do we have to change it? And if this ritual exists, we will have to perform it…no?’

  ‘To hell with these worldly rituals!’ It was the first time Dyalo had heard such talk from the panch. ‘When I’m telling you to be the son of a man and go back home…or do I give you your share of “alms in the name of a blind horse” here itself?’

  Kalu was completely thrown off-balance. Looking furtively towards the lathi that the panch stood holding, barring his way, he spoke as he retreated, ‘If you are so annoyed with me, bhai, then I’ll go back. Why do you talk unnecessarily? Henh, bhai?’

  Kalu went back home. The panch proceeded towards the dharamshala, and on seeing two persons standing there, started telling them in an unusually loud voice, ‘Go, and announce it in the entire vehra that, today, no one is going into the village to ask for grain.’

  Both the persons disappeared into the vehra, close on Kalu’s heels. The panch walked away towards the village.

  While stepping away from the door, Dyalo looked up at the moon shining overhead; one part of it, almost a fourth, had turned black. And as she stood watching, a pale cloud came swirling and swallowed up the moon. With this, the dense fog floating over the terraces of the village houses became all the more dark and inky. And an eerie silence lay all around.

  That very moment, tearing into this silence like a piece of cloth being rent, a shrill scream was heard from the west end of the village.

  ‘Alms in the name of the blind horse…bhai, oye…’

  ‘Alms in the name of the blind horse…eh…eh.’

  This was the voice of Giddhu, the one-eyed one, who lived in the fields of the sarpanch. His voice was as much of a bad omen as was his face. Seeing his misshapen body, dark-skinned face, torn clothes, and single eye, the children would often feel scared. It had been years since he had come into the vehra. From the sarpanch’s house to his fields and back to his house—this was what the purpose of his entire life appeared to have become.

  Dyalo felt as though Giddhu’s voice sent tremors through her. A cold numbness rose from her feet, travelling up. But she didn’t enter the kothri, feeling as though a dark fear had besieged her heart. The open door of the kothri appeared to her as gruesome as Giddhu’s dark face, its jaw always hanging low; she feared that if she walked in, it would devour her alive. And the sky overhead appeared to be no less portentous. It looked somewhat like a mud wall, plastered with soggy dung-cakes, washed over by winter rains.

  ‘Nee bhaine! Nee bhaine!’ Shinda came limping from inside, trembling with fear. Throwing his arms around her waist, he said, ‘There is a shadow of a witch, right behind our trunk.’

  And then, screaming, he almost fell unconscious. Holding him in her arms, and bending over him, she shook him repeatedly, but he didn’t move. With his arm around her shoulder, she brought him in and placed him on the manji. Raising the wick of the lantern, she first looked towards the trunk, and then at Shinda. Dark shadows were still etched on his face. Seated on the arm of the manji, she started staring at his face as though she, too, was on the verge of losing her consciousness, oblivious to what she could possibly do in this situation.

  Suddenly, she felt as though dust motes were irritating her eyes. She let out a sigh, and even called out to him, ‘Weh, veera!’ in a bid to bring him back to his senses. Then, placing her head on his shrunken chest, she started sobbing.

  After a while, Shinda suddenly woke up, as if from a deep slumber, and was now caressing her head with both his hands, like a wise old man, ‘Bhaine, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?… Henh? You crazy one!… Stop crying now. What are you crying for? Is everything fine?… Henh? I’ll kill that witch!’

  When Dyalo lifted her head from his chest and looked at Shinda’s face, he was smiling. But his smile struck terror in her heart. Wiping her eyes, she asked, ‘What happened, veer? Did you feel scared?’

  ‘When?’ Shinda got up and spoke in a confident voice, ‘What kind of fear, bhaine?’

  ‘All right, sleep now.’

  ‘No, you go to sleep. I’ll stay awake and wait till bebe and bapu return. All right?… Look, why don’t you sleep here? I’ll go and check on the she-calf…that crazy one may have thrown off the gunny sack once again.’

  And talking in this wise manner, he went out to the courtyard.

  Sitting there, Dyalo kept looking towards the door. She felt a sense of calm descend on her temporarily, but then, the same fears began to haunt her all over again. She came out hastily. Shinda was settling the gunny sack over the back of the she-calf. The sky still appeared to be the same—dark and inky. And the voice of Giddhu, the one-eyed one, was still screeching over the terraces, like a blunt sickle, and appeared to be whistling and screaming around the village, like a swirling dust storm.

  ‘Alms in the name of the blind horse…bhai, oye…’

  ‘Alms in the name of the blind horse…eh…eh…’

 

 

  Singh, Gurdial, Alms in the Name of a Blind Horse

 

 

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