When men with indomitable courage leave this mortal world, many questions rear their heads
THE old lion was lying static on his bed. His eyes were closed. Except for occasional gasping no limb of his moved. A lad in his early teens was sitting on a wooden stool near his bed. His eyes were fixed on the old lion. He appeared worried and perturbed. Not knowing what to do next he extended his hand, and ran fingers through old lion’s grey hair. The old lion half-opened his eyes, and looked at the lad. With a faint smile on his wrinkled face the old lion spoke in a weak voice, and said, “You ought to have been in your bed, young lion!”
“How could I?” The lad leaned over the old lion, kissed his forehead, and asked, “How do you feel, old lion?”
The old lion smiled, and said, “It is time for me to embark upon my journey.”
Surprised, the lad asked, “What journey?”
“A journey that requires no ticket, no passport, no visa.” With a vanishing grin on his wrinkled face the old lion said, “All men are preordained to undertake such a journey someday.”
The old lion, whose given name was Sher Mohammed, closed his eyes. The lad wondered how brave his grandfather would be when at a young age he had earned the nickname of lion, and after growing old his friends called him old lion! For him his grandfather was a legendary character from a book of fairy tales about the men bestowed with indomitable courage. Such men grapple with embodied evil forces, and leave behind stories of velour that are told and retold through the ages. He had an remained active worker in the Quit India movement against the British. He was then a student at the Bombay University. He also organized demonstrations in towns and villages urging upon youth not to get recruited in the British Army, and fight on their behalf in the Second World War. For him it was an unpardonable sin. During the demonstrations he very often had to fight fierce street battles with the police. One day Sher alias lion was arrested, and was tried for treason, and was sentenced to life imprisonment. This was a brief biography of the old lion that the lad had collected from his friends.
What always perplexed the lad was that his father, son of the old lion was not appreciative of the old lion’s past. One day, when pestered by the lad his bureaucrat father said, “He was a rebel, and he instigated people against a legitimate government, and was punished. He is an ex-convict.”
The old lion, who in the estimate of his own son was an ex-convict, was on the verge of leaving this world. The only person by his side was his grandson, the young lion.
The young lion rose from the wooden stool, and casually walked up to the window, and watched the world from the 12th floor of the high-rise building. Outside it was dark, and partially shadowy as usual. Everything appeared unaffected to him. The traffic was as unruly, and as erratic as ever. The trees taller than the streetlights swung in the sea breeze like demons. Across the street he caught sight of Fida Wajdani, the lone surviving friend of the old lion, his grandfather. He was sitting under a streetlight. He had rested his head against a rusted pole. Half of his face was lit up in the bright fluorescent light emanating from a departmental store at his back.
After listening from the young lion that the old lion was in precarious condition he was sitting there since afternoon hoping against the hope that he would be allowed to see the old lion, his friend. Raza Ahmed, the well-connected bureaucrat son of the old lion had banished entry of Fida Wajdani into his house. He was averse to his casual mannerism, and untidy clothes. It had not taken lad long to realize that his grandfather was a prisoner of his bureaucrat son who rubbed shoulders in the corridors of power.
Without making a conscious effort the young lion analyzed the contrasting behavioural patterns of his father and the grandfather, the old lion. The father in his view shrunk, and became small and insignificant. Without realizing he distanced himself from the father and drew closer to the grandfather. The relationship blossomed into great friendship between grandson, the young lion, and the grandfather, the old lion.
The young lion turned around, and went back to the bed where lay the ailing old lion. He was breathing through his mouth. His lips were dry and parched. The lad moistened his lips, and dropped a few drops of water in his mouth. The old lion partially opened his eyes, and looked at his grandson affectionately. The lad leaned over him, hugged him, and said, “Your friend Fida Wajdani is sitting under a lamppost.”
The old lion spoke almost in an inaudible voice, and said, “I know, he has come.”
The lad looked bewildered.
The old lion said, “He has come to bid me farewell.”
It was beyond the comprehension of the lad.
“He won’t be there after I leave.” The old lion closed his eyes. He no more gasped. His frail chest did not quiver.
The young lion felt like crying, but he did not. Once his grandfather had said, “Lions do not shed tears.”
The lad went to the window, and looked at the lamppost. Fida Wajdani was not there.
