Awesome Blossoms: Horn OK Please (15 page)

He had got what he had wanted to hear. His eyes gleamed with pride.  He had set a new aim for himself. Joining the army and proving himself was a small achievement for him. His aim now was to have an unwavering attitude towards his passion for the country in spite of having innumerable other disturbing incidents in his life. He could easily co-relate the blaze in the dream to his distractions from his goal which led to the bullet in his chest, thus bringing him down to the ground. He picked up the army landline and dialed Kiara’s number. She answered the phone “Hello!”

He said, “You need not be afraid. That was not the last time you saw me. Hope to see you soon!”

***

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

By Mridulika Verma

***

The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven not man's.

― Mark Twain

Memoirs of Sultan

“
U
ntil one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains
unawakened.” - Anatole France.

31st December 1992.

Rudrapur
is a small, beautiful town about 60 kilometers away from the hill station of
Nainital
in India. It’s not that scenic, but it is beautiful because of its inhabitants. They’re beautiful people. I have spent the best days of my childhood there, known the most loving people, made best friends, assimilated amazing school memories, played all kinds of games and lived with a clear conscience.

“What is it?” I must have asked this question for the fifth time while
my maternal uncle was engaged in a conversation with my mom. It was late in the afternoon and like any other winter day; we were trying to squeeze in a little sunshine.

“Why don’t you put your hand inside and find out?”
my uncle replied, gesturing at a narrow, yet a long cloth bag hung from the handle of his bike. My uncle was everybody’s uncle. I never knew his name. In small towns of India, it is common practice to befriend strangers and give the relationship a name. They could be complete strangers and yet sometimes, these relationships survive a lifetime.

I was reluctant to put my hand inside his bag. Just the other day,
my friends Shikhar and Shanky had stopped by at our house for a chat. Shikhar and his brother Shanky were my best friends and yes, we could be real naughty at times. Sensing our hesitation, my uncle put his hand inside the bag and pulled out a small black fur ball.

“Ho
w’s this?” he placed the thing in front of my nose. Yuck! It was gross. It was some kind of a little black creature. I stepped back in horror. Laughing, my uncle placed the fur ball in the patio of our house, had a little chat with my mother and then he left. That black thing lay there, basking in the sun. It didn’t move an inch. But there were things moving on its body! Oh my god! Were they ticks?

“Ma, what is it?” I clutched my mother’s
apron while Shikhar and Shanky examined the specimen.

“You shall see. Step aside. Manu, go fill that bucket with water and bring your shampoo and your old towel,” ordered
Mom. The obedient child that I was, I ran to my best friends and passed on the orders to them. In a minute or two, we were ready with the things mom had told us to get.

“1..2..3..” my mother put
the  first mug of water on the creature and it squeaked. I guess it was more of a whine. I could see tiny legs, four of them. I could see two eyes that were still closed, a pretty, pink nose and a small tail.

“A tail!” I shouted with excitement. “Ma, it’s a dog. It’s a dog, isn’t it?” Mum joined me in the laughter. “Yes! Now that you know it, ask your sister to get some milk from the kitchen. And make sure it’s warm. Get some cotton with it.”  This time I ran inside, determined to do it myself.

After it was cleaned and fed some milk, it looked relaxed. Mom told us that my uncle had found two puppies abandoned at his family farm in the village. He had thought of bringing them to the town and see if anyone would adopt them. Mom had agreed and so had our old landlords who hated pets.

But wait a minute! We couldn’t have called it a dog all its life. It had to have a name. While
we thought of innumerable names, including those of some of our favorite Bollywood heroes, we could not arrive at a consensus. In between, my brother Amit came running towards our house. “Manu, look! It’s my new pet.” He knelt down with excitement and I saw a little pup in his lap. Cute!

“I have mine too
, Amit, take a look.” And I held it for the first time. It was jet black, soft, lustrous and squishy. And warm, in case I fell short of adjectives to describe the fur ball. I loved the way it slowly opened its eyes and closed them. I experienced my first ‘Aww’ moment perhaps.

“Lovely. Do you know that these two are brothers? But I doubt. Look at my pet, he is
off-white and yours is jet black! What did you name your pet, by the way?” Amit asked. I was blank. I looked at my Mom.

“I have an idea. Why don’t we name them
Tipu Sultan
? Amit can keep
Tipu
and we can call him
Sultan
.” Mom looked at us questioningly.

Sultan had come into our home and of course our hearts.

Within a week, Sultan was running, fighting, scratching, hiding, chewing and nudging. In fact, at nights, we had to place him in a cardboard box. I would place a stuffed toy with him so that he would not feel lonely in the cold nights.

Months
passed and I now had a housemate who competed with me in vying for my parents’ attention. Sultan had become everyone’s darling. Shikhar and Shanky would spend their afternoons at our place, each one of us taking turns to hold Sultan. He would then jump on the couch, find some space between my mom and I and after making himself comfortable, he would doze off. No matter how much I tried to squat as close to her as possible, he knew the trick to slip in between.

A few more months
passed and Sultan was the King of everything that was in the house. He owned the beds, the chairs, the dining table, the kitchen – you name it – it belonged to him. All dogs have a birthright; that of being terribly naughty and yet manage an innocent look and melt hearts in a jiffy.

Sultan
was always scampering around the house and wanted to explore more. We had to keep an eye on him always. The metal gates that led Sultan to the world outside had to be kept latched always. And then one fine day, in a hurry of getting to the playground at the earliest, I had left the gates open.

I was away for a
lmost two hours. It was close to evening when I came back home to see ‘the look’ on my sister’s face. “Sultan is gone”, she sputtered furiously. I was aghast.

Sitting on the pillion of Amit
’s old
Vespa
scooter, we almost searched the whole neighborhood and beyond. We found nothing. I was in tears. It was my fault. We had lost him. It was more disheartening to think of the things that could have happened to him. Big dogs, pits, cars and dogcatchers got me really scared. Finally, we reached home at around eight. My parents and sister had been searching too. I hugged Ma and screamed out loud. I told her that I was really sorry and felt bad for Sultan. She tried to assure me that things would be all right.

Some m
ore time passed and my brother bade goodbye saying I could visit Tipu anytime and play with him. But, no! I wanted Sultan. I would place him in the box and never let him go. Oh my god! The box! I just remembered something and ran to my parents’ bedroom. I looked beneath their bed and two eyes looked back at me. I was literally jumping with joy as I called out my family.

My father
pulled out the box to find Sultan all curled up inside and looking at us without any interest. While we were looking around for him, he was here, asleep but safe. My father tried to feed him some bread and a few other things. He would not eat at all. Lastly, when my father tried to insert some grapes into his mouth, he bit him on the finger.

Sultan was not well. He had his first fever.

April 1993.

Then came a time when my father took a transfer to
Aurangabad, Maharashtra
. I was heartbroken to leave the town of
Rudrapur
. I knew so many people here who loved me and are still my friends. It was a horrible feeling. And on top of that, Sultan had to be left at my grandmother’s place.

I refused to eat, play or smile
. Sultan had become an integral part of our family and I just could not imagine a life without him. I just couldn’t stop crying. After all, he was my friend. In fact, he was my best friend.

My parents finally relented and it was decided that
Sultan would accompany us to
Aurangabad
. We just couldn’t leave him behind.

It took time for me to get used to a new place. Everything was new for me. The school, the people, the city, everything
in the new surroundings.

We were told to socialize. After all, it was my father’s edict and nobody ever went against that.
Well, almost all of us except for the audacious Sultan. He did not like people. Or if I may, he was very choosy in deciding who he wanted as his friend.

We were left with no choice but to put him on a leash or lock him up if we had visitors in the house. Neither could Sultan accept humans as his friends nor could he accept new canine friends. He couldn’t even stand his own blood brother – Tipu.
Both of them were very different. Tipu was cute, friendly and playful while Sultan, on the other hand was belligerent, nasty and rebellious.

Sultan had great taste in
Indian classical music though. Our landlord would play an Indian instrument called the
harmonium
(it is quite similar to the keyboard) and would practice his vocals. As soon as the crooner would start a note, Sultan would start howling along with him. The duet never seemed to bother our landlord and I must admit, Sultan was a far better crooner than our landlord anytime.

When we moved into an independent house, Sultan was more than ecstatic.
He had a lot of freedom now for we didn’t have to worry about a cramped neighborhood anymore. There was no need to put Sultan on a leash when he was in the house. It had a distinct impact on his behavior.

He
turned friendly towards humans and canines alike. Even the vegetable vendor was a recipient of Sultan’s affection. Sultan could recognize his voice from afar and would start howling and drooling. In return, the vendor would respect his love by giving him tomatoes – Sultan’s favorite vegetable. It was quite strange that my Mom had to actually buy vegetables for Sultan.

It was nice to watch
Sultan play with the vegetable vendor. Some relations don’t need definitions. Perhaps this was one of them.

Sultan was a complete foodie
. Spare potatoes, onions and green peppers, he could eat and drink almost anything.

My father
, no matter what, always had something to offer to Sultan, be it biscuits or chocolates. Sultan was the happiest soul on earth when my sister took to baking. He would sit, wait patiently and guard the cake until it was warm enough to eat.

There was once a time when Sultan even
finished off a box of pastries placed on the dining table, licking off the extra cream off his face. I somehow saw a smirk on his face every time he busted our mission to keep things away from him. A day later, we were at his vet, buying medicines for him. Sultan was very un-canine that way, he was almost human – a vegetarian to boot.

Though
my father was his favorite, he was extremely attached to mom. There was no barking, no eating, no moving away from bed when she was ill. When I look back at those moments, I feel that may be he just sat there, praying. The innocence on his face, the silent eyes, checking up on mom again and again to ensure if she was okay - one could actually believe his faith. He would be extremely jealous and angry when mom would place some child in her lap.

Sometimes, the moody Sultan
would need some cajoling, an overdose of love and a sprinkling of food just to become playful again.

Sultan had his dear diary moments
too. It was on a fateful day when Sultan fell off the parapet down on a heap of stones. It would have hurt him pretty bad. We took him to the local vet and the doctor declared that he would never be able to walk again.

After that, things changed for us. My father and I would take care of Sultan, put up with his tantrums and do things just to cheer him up. It must have been quite difficult for him to be immobile. Yes, at times, he would turn really cranky and start biting. He gave me a scar that I love the most.

Then came a time when my sister got married and left the house. I got into college and left Sultan behind. I didn’t have much time for Sultan anymore. He must have felt really lonely. He was growing old and feeble. The injury seemed to have made him age faster.

Soon the inevitable happened.

It was the time for my final exams and I had fallen sick. I had returned home to be with my parents. Sultan was not home. He was unwell too and had been sent to the veterinary hospital. I couldn’t get to go to the hospital and had to rush back to college to take my exams. I called up home once I reached the hostel and asked my parents to visit me and bring Sultan along.

She agreed and my parents came to visit me in my hostel the week after. Sultan wasn’t with them. When I asked my Mom why they didn’t get Sultan along, she was silent.

She took my hand in hers. As she hugged me close, she told me that Sultan was long gone even before I was home.

I
cried for many hours that day. I wished I could find him in a box again and hug him. But he was gone this time. Forever.

***

Years have passed since then. Even today, I think of him every day. He was with us for close to fifteen years. He was family. He knew all my secrets, my worries, my inhibitions, my dreams - he knew more than my parents ever would. He left a void that is impossible to fill.