Man without a past

My fondness for him goes back to my childhood days when he came with my mother to her married home. He was to stay with us for the next 18 years, almost as a family member. He expressed his irritation with my father and mother whenever they quarrelled, or punished my sisters and me whenever we engaged in pranks of which he did not approve. A hard-working man of thirty or so, with a full, heavy, black-bearded face, he was our friend as children, although he had reduced us to complete submission.

Shiv Singh told us that he owned land but it remained a mystery until the end. The last time I met him he had boasted that he was 82 years old. I would never have known it. Until the very end he had dyed his beard and defied the years.

I actually came close to him when he once accompanied me to Shimla and took care of me for several months. Often we sat over dinner reminiscing about our common village and making plans to visit Hyat Nagar some day. That time never came. Last winter, Shiv Singh died in his sleep. Our dream of visiting our village together never came about.