IDOLATOR JAINS OF PUNJAB AND HARYANA

            

             The very fact that the ‘Dhoondhaka’ sect of the Jains came into existence as a reaction to idolatry proves that the Jains, by and large, were idol-worshippers till 16^th century. However, the crusade against idolatory, spearheaded by Lonka Shah, met with great success and the iconoclasm-tide almost swayed the Jain masses, particularly in the North. It were the followers of Lonka Shah who ultimately organized themselves into a sect known as Sthanakvasis. 

                The history of undivided Punjab is helpless in providing any proof regarding the prevalence of idolatory here till the second half of the 19^th century. But in a period spanning over just seven years the course of history was changed by the efforts of the most zealous propagator of idol-worshipping Acharya Srimad Vijyananda Suri, popularly known as Muni Atma nanda, and idolatory, despite strong opposition from the Poojyas, established its might in a number of towns in Punjab.

                Muni Atma Nanda was originally initiated into the Sthanakvasi order but he soon snapped ties with it and got converted into moortipujak Swetambora order where he was elevated to the most coveted position of Acharya. It was his dream to establish Jain temples in Punjab, his home state, and to see Jain masses everywhere worshipping the idols of the 24 Trithankars. With this goal in mind, when the Acharya came to Punjab in 1889, he found that unprecedented enthusiasm of his devout followers was awaiting him.

                With the Acharya as the only moving spirit behind the spurt of socio-religious activity, the devouts completed the construction of jain temples at Ludhiana and Malerkotla in 1890 and came to be known as the forerunners. The idols of 23^rd Trithankara Parsvanatha were installed in these two temples with great pomp and show. In the Makerkotla temple, another idol of the 10^th Trithankara Sheetalnatha was also added.

Three more temples emerged in other three towns of Punjab in 1891. These were Amritsar, Zira and Hoshiarpur. The Amritsar temple was built by Panna Lal where idols of Trithankara Sheetalnatha and the 18^th Trithankara Arenatha were instituted by Gokul Bhai of Baroda who was specially invited to perform the installation ceremony. The year was marked by the completion of another temple at Zira, the birth-place of the Acharya. Radha Bai, a devotee of the Acharya had vowed to build the temple and had donated all her belongings for the purpose. The job of construction was entrusted to Lalu Ram, her mukhtar, who got the temple erected in three years time. Constructed by Mistri Sher Singh and his fellow workmen, the Zira temple has no match in architecture, designing and wood-carvings. It was again Gokul Bhai of Baroda who was invited to perform the exalted duty to install the idol of Trithankara Parsvanatha here.

The fateful year of 1891 witnessed the emergence of yet another temple at Hoshiarpur. The Hoshiarpur temple owes its existence to the munificence of Gujjar Mall, who for eight long years had brooded over his resolve of building a temple with golden dome on the pattern of Darbar Sahib. His dream was fulfilled in 1891 when Jethamal, a special invitee from Ahmedabad, performed the installation of the idols of Trithankaras Parsvanatha Vasupoojya and Vimalnatha in the 90 feet high temple of Hoshiarpur.

The Jain temples at Ambala, presently in Haryana, with the idol of Trithankara Parsvanatha installed, was thrown open to the devouts in 1895.

The year 1896 was marked with the construction of Jain temples in three more towns namely Sankhatra, Hem Nagar and Narowal are now in Pakistan and the temples which were built here with profound devotion and dedication have been reduced to debris with the rare idols helplessly watching the mighty wheel of the time trampling the age-old civilization in that part of the land. The fading migrated generation of the Jain idolators from these towns even today cherish the memories of the days when they had joined the various ceremonies held in connection with the installation of idols in these temples.

The temple built in Sankhatra had the distinction of witnessing the installation of the largest number of idols and had thus stolen a place of pride amongst the Jain temples of Punjab. Next to this was the Narowal temple with seven idols whereas the Hem Nagar temple could have only two.

Although the later generation of the rich Moortipoojak Jain community have added quite a few more temples to the lineage, the old grandeur, enthusiasm and fervor are no more to be found.

AN EPOCH-MAKER FROM PUNJAB

           

           Despite tumultuous advocacy of Punjabiat during the past few decades, the painful fact remains that Punjab has never seriously endeavored to recognise, highlight or even acknowledge the selfless service of its own sons who dedicated their lives to spreading the message of peace and co-existence in this land of five rivers. This inexcusable negligence has allowed quite a few social reformers, poets, musicians, artists and spiritual leaders to walk into oblivion. One wished Punjab could only take pride in being the motherland of great personalities like the venerable Acharya Vijayananda Suri who alone attracted scores of Punjab Jains towards the forsaken idol-worship.

During the second half of the 19^th century, the writ of the Poojyas prevailed in Punjab, who were deadly opposed to idol-worship. Acharya Vijayananda challenged their might and successfully inspired his followers to build Jain temples. The resistant Poojyas issued open letters forbidding the Punjabi Jains from giving food or shelter to the Acharya. Undeterred by the designs of the Poojyas, the zealous Acharya initiated a large number of Jains into his fold. As a result, in a short span of seven years, temples were constructed in nine of the Punjab cities and the installation ceremonies performed with unprecedented fervor.

            The original name of the Acharya was Atma Ram. He was born at Leha, a village in Zira tehsil of the Ferozepur district in the year 1835. His father, Ganesh Chand Kapur, died an untimely death which forced his mother Roopvati Devi to send his child to Zira in the hope that Atma Ram would have his schooling under the kind patronage of Seth Jodh Mall.

            It was at zira that the young Atma Ram came close to the Sthanakvasi sadhus and was so greatly influenced by their holiness that in 1853 he got himself initiated into their fold and himself became a Sthanakvasi sadhu. This provided him an easy access to the Jain scriptures, which he studied with keen contemplation. His own interpretations of the scriptures favouring idol-worship brought him into sharp disagreement with his fellow sadhus who considered idol-worship a sin.

Bearing with the stubborn Sthanakvasis for over two decades, Atma Ram exhausted his patience and there came the breaking point. In 1875, he abandoned the sect and became a disciple of the renowned Moortipoojak saint Buddhi Vijayk under whose guidance he studied scriptures afresh and gained spiritual heights. In recognition of his rare scholarship and powerful exposition of the scriptures, he was elevated to the most coveted position of the Acharya by the four-fold congregation, held at Palitana in the year 1886.

            Acharya Vijayananda strongly believed that education alone could ensure the uplift of Indian Jain community. With this goal in mind, he inspired the devout to establish a number of educational institutions in different parts of the country. Many a S.A.Jain school and college, which came into being during his life time or afterwards owe their existence to the Acharya’s love and concern for education.

Another significant contribution of the Acharya was that he made wonderful arrangements for the resurrection and preservation of a large number of manuscripts stored haphazardly in the temples of Gujarat and Rajasthan.

            The Acharya’s superb knowledge of Jain philosophy and his powerful oratory earned him wide acclaim. In 1892, he was invited to the World Conference of Religions held at Chicago. He himself could not attend this conference owing to religious compulsions but sent Mr.Veer Chand Raghavji Gandhi as his representative. Mr.Gandhi, equipped with a well-prepared question-answer type booklet, written by the Acharya, was at ease in the conference in quelling each and every query of the delegates.

            Apart from spearheading the socio-religious activity, Acharya Vijayananda authored 15 books and composed spiritual poetry of considerable merit. His books provide a logical treatise of the Jain philosophy and forcefully advocate the finer human values. The prolific writer in the Acharya explained at length to the common believers the ways of worship and armed them with a detailed code of conduct. His poetry, in simple spoken Hindi, aimed at inviting the readers to the realms of spiritual bliss and impressed upon them the need to build a healthy society by discovering and inculcating the divine virtues.

This great son of Punjab left for his heavenly abode in 1896through Santhara i.e. willful fasting unto death, leaving behind very many devout to prostrate at his Samadhi at Gujranwala (now in Pakistan) and just a few to be the torch-bearers in the furtherance of his mission. 

ग़ज़ल

करायेंगे हमें मुन्सिफ़ प्रतीक्षा कब तक।
हमारे धैर्य की होगी परीक्षा कब तक।

किसी को दण्ड मिले लोकहित हनन के लिए,
हरेक जुर्म की लम्बी समीक्षा कब तक।

बयानबाज़ी बहुत हो ली अब ये बतलाओ,
पड़ेगी सीता को देनी परीक्षा कब तक।

बिना किताब पढ़े ही लिखेगा आलोचक,
मगर बता दे छपेगी समीक्षा कब तक।

हमारी साधना कमज़ोर है न जाने 'नरेश',
टलेगी और अभी अपनी दीक्षा कब तक।

Shakhsiyat with Dr. Naresh - RSTV

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljmyjsV7BJA

तकल्लुफ़ बरतरफ़

आओ दो इक लम्हे मेरे साथ गुज़ारो
मैं भी तुम जैसा ही बेबस बेचारा हूँ
मेरे दिल में भी यादों का धुआँ भरा है
मेरे दिल में भी हसरत की चिता
न जाने कब से
अब तक सुलग रही है
लेकिन मैं अपने ग़म को
अपने अन्दर ही दफ़न किए हूँ
तुम पर क्या
मैंने अपने पर भी
अपना ग़म ज़ाहिर होने नहीं दिया है।

मैं हँसता हूँ
पहले कोशिश से हस्ता था
अब हँसने की आदत सी है

आओ तुम्हारे दर्द भरे लम्हों को
अपनी इस आदत की तेज़ हवा में
उड़ा-उड़ा कर दूर भगा दूँ

हो सकता है फिर तुम भी
अपने ग़म को अपने सीने में दफ़्नाकर
मेरी तरह हसने लग जाओ। 

ग़ज़ल

दिल-सी नायाब चीज़ खो बैठे।
कैसी दौलत से हाथ धो बैठे।

अह्दे-माज़ी का ज़िक्र क्या हमदम,
अह्दे-माज़ी को कबके रो बैठे।

हमको अब ग़म नहीं जुदाई का,
अश्के-ग़म जाम में समो बैठे।

वअज़ करने को आए थे वाइज़,
मै से दामन मगर भिगो बैठे।

क्या सबब है 'नरेश' जी आख़िर,
क्यों जुदा आप सब से हो बैठे।

(नायब - दुर्लभ; अह्दे-माज़ी - अतीत; हमदम - मित्र; अश्के-ग़म - ग़म के आँसू; वअज़ - नसीहत; वाइज़ - उपदेशक)                      

दो और दो चार

मैं मरना चाहता था 

लेकिन 

कल मैं इसलिए नहीं मर सका 

कि मेरे माँ-बाप ये सदमा कैसे बर्दाश्त करेंगे। 

आज मैं इसलिए नहीं मरता हूँ 

कि मेरे मरने के बाद 

मेरे बच्चों का क्या होगा 

और 

कल मैं इसलिए नहीं मारूँगा 

क्योंकि मैं जीना चाहूँगा 

लेकिन 

जब मौत चाहने पर मौत नहीं मिली 

तो ज़िन्दगी चाहने पर 

ज़िन्दगी कौन देगा?  

सदा

बादलों के झुरमुट से
किसने दी सदा मुझको
और उफ़ुक़ पे कौन ऐ दोस्त
मेरा नाम लेता है?

मैं हर एक रिश्ते को
यास का कफ़न देकर
मुद्दतें हुईं जबकि
दूर जंगलों में कहीं
दफ़्न कर चुका हूँ
अब
किसने दी सदा मुझको?
किसने दी सदा मुझको?

THE OPEN HAND

After a lapse of 30 years, her sudden informal visit to my home made me feel thrilled and nonplussed. The thrill was due to the lingering memories of the distant past that still haunted my heart. I was wonder-struck as the expectancy of this visit had been lost a long time ago in the whirlwind of the futile desolate wait. When she entered my home, the wafture of the past fragrant moments filled every corner of my heart. I introduced her to my wife and children.

                “Listen, she is Pushpa.”

                But when she became intimate with them within no time, my children started showing to her their drawings. Now they were talking to their new auntie about their school and complaining against their daddy. My wife beaconed me to the kitchen and asked:

                “Who is she?”

                “She is my distant relation.”

                “What is the relationship?”

                “Relationship….. It is very remote….. If you like it, it is a relationship otherwise the relation is insignificant.”

                “But still…..”

                “My uncle, who hailed from Kanpur….. Her mother was a distant cousin of his. Whenever my uncle visited us, he would call on her as she was married in our town. Since then mutual visits to our homes were a casual affair. I have known her since her childhood.”

                “What a relationship…..”

                “I have already told you, you may or may not acknowledge such a relation.”

She mystiquely smiled and got busy with her household chores and I returned to the drawing-room where she was searching my childhood on the faces of my children.

For a moment I thought that I had betrayed my wife. But it was not possible to share every feeling surging in my heart and the thoughts prevailing in my mind. I myself was not conscious if the waves rising every moment were to spray their water far and wide on the shores or were to flow with the current and lose their existence. How could I tell my wife that the same girl whom I loved like a mad man 30 years ago had revisited my home as a middle-aged woman? How could I tell her that my heart used to yearn to kiss her eyes in the days of my adolescence? Every physical contact was susceptible to send amorous currents in my body. I used to roam around her school in the scorching sun to steal a glimpse of her face, to chat with her by encountering her on way back home. If I tell her all that, what will she think? She may misconstrue or she may not. I will divulge if I were sure that the past memories were still alive and vibrant with her.

After dinner, my wife went on to the housetop with the children. But before going there, as usual, she set the tea kettle on the gas stove and formally asked her if she would like to have a cup of tea.

“Tea? At this time? Anyway, never mind.”

I could make nothing out of this casual acceptance of the offer. She was busy with looking at the photographs in the heaps of albums lying at her knees. I could not make out if she was interested more in having a look at the albums or enjoying my company. After offering us cups of tea, my wife went upstairs to relax.

After a lapse of a few moments of futile silence, I asked:

“Pushpa, time flies at a great speed. Do you remember when did we meet last time? Thirty years ago. Thirty years imply half of the average life-span of a human being.”

She closed the albums and bowed her elbows on them and looked up towards my face.

“Do you remember once you brought for me a ‘bhutta’ concealed in your schoolbag and you had vowed before mother Kali to distribute ‘batashe’ worth five paisa if I met you?”

She just smiled. Her smile, it was quite evident, was artificial and dull. But her smile was so winsome for me that I did not care for the artificiality and the dullness.

“And one day when you were sitting on my bicycle, your dupatta was reduced to rags while it was caught in the wheels. You entered your house stealthily and before your mother could detect, you had hidden the torn dupatta under the wooden almirah and covered yourself with a new one.”

I was confident that this time her artificial smile would evaporate and she would laugh heartily. But she became sober and her face was covered with a pall of gloom. Raising her heavy eyelids, she said:

“Do you wish to know the truth, Chetan I do not remember anything. All that I am conscious is of the prolonged illness of my husband, studies of my children and problems of my job. The rest vanished from my world of experience long time ago.”

My past memories, which were surging out rapidly, started seething fast into quietitude. All the romantic episodes of childhood days went helter-skelter like a crowd at the slightest police firing. Finding me silent, she opened the album again and, fixing her gaze over the photograph of my son, asked:

“isn’t he Vaibhav?”

“………………………..”

“You were just like that in your childhood.”

“I wished to tell her that she had forgotten all her past memories, but I shifted the thought and watched her face in silence. She was also watching me stealthily while looking at the album but there was no conversation between us. Folding the last page of the last album, she collected all the albums and put them in the almirah.

“Let us go to sleep. It is getting very late.”

My wife had spread five instead of four cots on the housetop. At the far end, my wife was sleeping and my children were lost in slumber in the middle. At this end the two adjoining cots were for us. She covered herself from feet to neck with a sheet. I, leaning towards her side, was curiously watching her. She had closed her eyes. I saw her in the infiltrating shade of the streetlight. Her small thick lips, narrow black eyes and unattractive features appeared to be vehemently unromantic. I pondered over the flash thought – what was it that made me restless to see this face? I yearned to have a stealing glance at her face.

I closed my eyes in bewilderness. Lo! Once again the colourful mist of the past memories filled her face with enigmatic charm. Her eyes were deep like a lake and her lips were sensually inviting for the divine nectar. I thought that I was hallucinated for a moment. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was staring at my face with a fixed gaze. The moment I opened my eyes, she closed her eyelids. This time she must have blushed but I could not detect the same in the dim light.

Both of us spent the night on our different cots, facing each other. Before clearing the web of distrust, I closed my eyes again. A single thought was disturbingly raising its head in my head and I wished to give it a practical shape. I leaned further towards her and laid my right hand on one of the arms of her cot. She continued in the same position. After some time, I stretched my hand to her pillow. She did not move. Then I started fondling her hair with my fingers. My eyes opened with the creaking of the cot. She had a stoical glance at me and slipped to the other side. I, too, changed the side out of confusion and covered my face with the sheet of cloth which was already stretched upto neck. I felt as if the light was infiltrating through the wall gratings was getting transformed into pitch dark. A deep pall of gloom must have appeared on my face at that moment.

Now I was facing the direction in which my wife and children were asleep. For a long time I was diving the ocean and riding the surf of memories in the struggle for existence till mother sleep lured me within her fold.

When I woke up in the morning, everybody was still asleep. It was the early hour of dawn. The mild sound of my wife’s snoring was audible. Perhaps she had not changed her side during the whole night. She was still facing the wall in her slumber. The children, as usual, were in deep sleep. I wished to look at Pushpa by leaning towards her. With the slightest movement in changing my side, my ears touched her delicate fingers. She was facing me and her hand was on my pillow. An open hand….. I could not make out the symbolism of her stretched hand. What were its expectations? Was it expecting that I should also forget the past or should I give her a chance to relive the past which I had so delicately preserved?

My lips wished to plant a kiss on her hand but she quickly withdrew the hand and stretched it in the manner as if she was oscillating. Perhaps she had become conscious of my being awake, and, may be, she couldn’t have even a wink of sleep the whole night. 

रैन-बसेरा

बाबा ने पुछा
ये घर किसका है बेटा?
मैंने कहा
मेरा है बाबा।
कहने लगा यही कहते थे तेरे अब्बा तेरे दादा
तेरे दादा के अब्बा उनके अब्बा के अब्बा
तेरे बेटे पोते भी तो यही कहेंगे
लेकिन तुझसे पहले जिनकी मिल्कीयत थी
वो अब मिल्कीयत का दाअवा क्यों नहीं करते?
लब उनके ख़ामोश हैं क्योंकर?
घर जब उनका था तो उनके हक़े-सुकूनत
किसी क़ब्र की किसी लहद तक क्यों सिमटा है?
बाबा कह कर चला गया तो
मैंने घर के दरवाज़े पर लिक्खा
रैन-बसेरा।
लेकिन कालेज से आते ही
मेरे बेटे ने रूमाल से
मेरा लिक्खा साफ़ कर दिया।        

मन ही रिपु मन ही सखा जो मन वश में होय।

फिर सारे संसार में मीत न शत्रु कोय।।  

वो एक रूप समाया रहा जो आँखों में,
वो एक फाँस जो अटकी रही कलेजे में।
वो इक सवाल कि जिसका जवाब नामालूम,
उसी सवाल से उलझी रही मेरी आँखें।    

तेरी ज़ुल्फों की घटा तेरी नज़र का जादू ,
तेरी साँसों की महक तेरे बदन की ख़ुशबू।
आज जोबन पे है कल जाने रहे या न रहे,
या की फिर मेरी रगों ही में न जम जाए लहू।  

विभाजन

यह माना की तुमने धरा बाँट ली है,
मगर क्या कभी बाँट लोगे पवन भी?
कभी चाँदनी का विभाजन करोगे?
यह माना कि तुम बाँट लोगे गगन भी।

मुहल्ले शहर गाँव बाज़ार कूचे,
गगन चूमते पर्वतों की शिखाएँ।
यह माना कि तुम बाँटने पर जो आए,
तो बँट जाएँगी मक़बरों की शिलाएँ।
मगर क्या कभी धुप भी बँट सकेगी?
यह माना कि तुम बाँट लोगे अरुण भी।

पके खेत खलिहान भण्डार धन के ,
मचलती हुई खेतियाँ बाँट लोगे।
यह माना कि तुम बाँटने पर जो आए,
तो धरती की सब बेटियाँ बाँट लोगे।
मगर क्या कभी मौत भी बँट सकेगी?
यह माना कि तुम बाँट लोगे कफ़न भी।

बसें गाड़ियाँ दफ़्तरों के मुलाज़िम,
क़िले खाइयाँ खण्डहर बाँट लोगे,
यह माना कि तुम बाँटने पर जो आए,
तो पूजा इबादत के घर बाँट लोगे।
मगर क्या सुगन्धि कभी बँट सकेगी?
यह माना कि तुम बाँट लोगे चमन भी।

विभाजन कठिन तो नहीं दोस्तो, पर,
कभी काश सोचो ज़रा ध्यान देकर।
कि इक बार धागा अगर टूट जाए,
तो जुड़ता है, लेकिन नयी गाँठ लेकर।
यह माना कि खुशियाँ बटाँ लोगे फिर भी,
कभी काश तुम बाँट पाओ चुभन भी।

दिल जिगर पेश करूँ दौलते-जाँ पेश करूँ।
आरती पेश करूँ या कि अज़ाँ पेश करूँ।
मेरे मालिक मैं हूँ बस तेरी रज़ा का बन्दा,
मेरे बस में हो तो मैं सारा जहाँ पेश करूँ।    

कोई ये काश बता दे तुझे कि तेरे लिए,
तमाम रात निगाहें किसी की भटकेंगी।
कि आहटों पे कोई चौंक-चौंक उट्ठेगा,
कि हसरतें किसी सीने में आँच भी देंगी।    

उलझन

मैं जब ख़ुदा के घर से चला था
तो उसने मुझे एक पैग़ाम दिया था
वो पैग़ाम तुम्ही लोगों के लिए दिया था
लेकिन तुमने
बिना सुने ही
मुझ पर पत्थर फेंकना शुरू कर दिया
तुम इतना चीख़े-चिल्लाए बिला-सबब कि
मैं कुछ कहता भी तो तुम क्या सुन सकते थे।

अब मैं सोच रहा हूँ
वापस जाऊँ तो कौन-सा मुहँ लेकर जाऊँ
ख़ुदा कहेगा
मेरा पैग़ाम दिया क्यों नहीं।  

ग़ज़ल

कर दिया ख़ुद से भी जुदा कैसा।
जिस्म दीवार बन गया कैसा।

मुंजमिद होंठ आँख पत्थर-सी,
कल हुआ था विसाल-सा कैसा।

जाने क्या लफ़्ज़े-अलविदा में था,
जाते-जाते वो रुक गया कैसा।

मर रहा हूँ तलाशे-हस्ती में,
हो रहा है ये हादिसा कैसा।

भीड़ में बात हो गई उनसे,
शोर भी काम आ गया कैसा।

नोंच कर पर 'नरेश' तुम खुश थे,
फिर भी देखो वो उड़ गया कैसा।

 (मुंजमिद - जमे हुए; विसाल - मिलन; तलाशे-हस्ती - जीवन की तलाश; पर - पंख)

COMMON ANGUISH

            It was not that busy but I did not feel like doing anything either. I tried to clear the files lying on my table but each file seemed too heavy to be dealt with. I called in the stenographer and after dictating a few lines, I found myself lacking proper words. I attempted to read a book but it appeared as if the different words in the book had got jumbled up together and made strange shapes.

            It was not possible for me to reason out as to why it was happening like that. It does happen with me once in two months when I find myself blank. It was perhaps a similar day today.

            When the peon brought a chit from a visitor and placed it on my table, I told him to ask the visitor to come on the following day. The peon hesitated a little and said, “Sir, the poor lady is very sad. She has been coming to meet you for the last three days. Since you were very busy, I have been sending her away. Please, just listen to her.”

            “Who is she?”

            “Sir, she works in the copying section of the directorate.”

            “Okay, send her in.”

            The peon made for the door and soon a thinly built lady entered. While on the door, she wished me with folded hands and slowly walked towards my table.

“Sit down.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She took the chair in front of my table.

I looked at her intently. She was not that beautiful but could be said to be fairly tolerable. She must have been around forty, of medium height, a wheatish complexion and with curly black hair.

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“Sir, I am Gita. I work in the copying branch of your directorate.”

Putting aside the file which I had before me, I looked upwards and looked at her, this meant a signal for her to proceed.

“Sir, I am deeply perturbed. My husband also works along with me in the copying branch. He has left home and is living separately for the last four months. I had gone to Delhi to enquire about my ailing father. In my absence he took away all the household goods, locked the house and gave the key to the landlord.”

“ I was simply stunned when I came back. Nobody knew his whereabuts. You can very well imagine, Sir, how I spent that terrible night. The next morning, when I came to the office, he refused to recognise me as if we were absolute strangers to each other.”

“When I  asked  him as to why he had left home, he said that it was not possible for us to live together and if I liked I could  divorce him.”

“I asked him as to where I was at fault. His curt reply was, ask yourself. Saying so, he made for his seat . I kept on gazing at his face, trying to read it but I could not. After the office hours, I started following him and with great dificulty, I  could persuade him to accompany me to the coffee house. Even there he repeated the earlier sentence and remained frozen in silence.”

“Sir I have been trying hard for the last four months to know his mind, but I failed. What should I do?”

“Have you come to me for this?”

“Sir, you are Commissioner, I have a request to make……….. On his request, our directorate has transferred him to Jalandhar. My humble prayer is that his transfer be cancelled.”

“But the directorate must have transferred him after some consideration.”

“No Sir, the officers of the directorate only heard his version and must have believed him when he said that I was a vagabond and also a characterless woman. They arrived at the conclusion that if we both continue working in the same office, it would have far-reaching repurcussions in  the functioning of the office. I told them the whole thing in detail, but they would hold me responsible and have transferred him.”

“But when for the last four months you have not been even talking to each other, how does it matter for you whether he lives here or at Jalandhar!”

“It matters a lot, Sir. Out of sight is out of mind.  He will live there, free from all worries and relax. And I ------ I shall remain here sad, forlorn, frustrated, ignored, and burning with fire of revenge,”

For a moment , I thought that the woman was taking too much liberty with me. How could an ordinary functionary of the office dare waste so much time of the Commissioner?”

She should have come to me through the proper channel. But on second thoughts, I felt it would be  rather inhuman on my part to reprimand the hapless soul.

I could empathise with her inner conflict. Somewhere within me, a desire to help her out, brewed within me.

I asked her if she wanted to seek divorce. She was vehement. “No Sir, not at all. I married him after five years of courtship. But within three years of our marriage, he has left home for the third time. On all the previous occasions, after suffering the pangs of separation, I would bring him round and smoothen out things.”

“But this time my conscience does not permit me to humour him. I feel even this time, if I try to persuade him, he will come back to me. But Sir, now I  am totally broken. How long can I tolerate all this? I am simply sick of it. The woman in me is revolting. It is an insult to my womanhood.”

“Why must I keep on bowing before him everytime, particularly, when I am not at all at fault? This time Sir, I have resolved not to persuade him to return.”

I was still not able to fathom why she wanted the cancellation of his transfer when she had already decided not to play second fiddle. But she kept on grumbling:

“Sir,  this time, if he wants to come back to me, he must do so on his own. He must realize his fault. And if he is not  to come back, he must also suffer anguish like me. Just the way I have been suffering anguish and agony for the last four months.”

“On being away from this atmosphere, he will be totally free from anguish and I shall suffer all by  myself. I beg of you, Sir, to do justice.”

“Are you prepared  to reconcile with him?”

“Sir, I have not thought about this. I only want him to suffer from the fire of  anguish which he has lit himself.”

“Look, if you can once again set up home with him, I will ask the director to keep his transfer in abeyance. If you are adamant, then why don’t you let him go?”

“Sir, when there is no water around even an attempt to quench thirst would become meaningless. The director is trying to stop even the source of water in the absence of which even the feeling of being thirsty will be of no consequence.”

“But my point is that when he calls you a vagabond and characterless, how can you reconcile with him?”

“I told you Sir, I have not yet thought about the reconciliation. Time will tell as to who is a vagabond and characterless – he or me.”

“During my courtship with him for five years, I tried to know him deeply. I knew his character but I thought that when a wayward ox is tied to a tether, he does not look elsewhere for food and shelter.

“My calculations, however were proved wrong. As his girlfriend, perhaps I could tolerate his being free with other girls. But Sir, as his wife, how could I? I couldn’t simply digest it.

“Probably that is the reason why he wants to live away from me. I wish I could tell him that a woman can tolerate everything except the thought that when at night her husband is not with her, he is sleeping elsewhere in the arms of another woman.”

As she was peeling off her story, I was trying to understand. Suddenly, I felt that the father within me had come alive. With affection I said:

“Gita, I have all the sympathies for you. If you wish, I can call him and set him right.”

“Thank you Sir, I am grateful to you for all this. But I don’t want any third person between us. When we became friends, there was no third person between us. When we decided to get married, it was a joint decision. So, even now, I don’t want the fire of anguish which is burning us should affect any third person. But why must I burn alone? It would be utter injustice if he is spared like that. Kindly see to it Sir, that his transfer is cancelled.”

I had assured her that the transfer of her husband would be cancelled. I had also agreed with her that he should not be absolved of the flames of the fire of anguish.

After she had gone, I felt I was engulfed in the fire, the flames of which she had left behind – in my room.