Part of the family

He had, evidently, met with an accident. I was touched that he had thought of me at his moment of distress. I took him to a government hospital where the doctors attended to his wounds. It was 1 am by then and Sultan was in bad shape. Clearly, my house was the only place where he could be brought to.

Only one thing worried me. I wondered how my mother, who had her own views on socio-religious matters, would react to it. She had nothing against Muslims, of course, and even used to light a diya at our village well in the name of Khawaja Khizar, whom she regarded as the God of water. But she was averse to a Musalman sharing our utensils.

Sultan was brought home and made to lie down on a bed in one of the rooms. The dilemma began now. My mother had to be informed about it lest she embarrass us in the morning. I went to my mother’s room and told her that Sultan had met with a serious accident and was lying in the adjoining room.

‘‘But he is a Musalman,’’ she cried out. This made me angry and I asked her roughly whether we should throw him out on the roadside. ‘‘No, no, my son, let me think of a way to get out of this dharamsankat,’’ she replied. After a pause, her face cleared up. She told me to set aside a thali, two katoris, a glass and a spoon for her to take her meals. ‘‘You share your meals and utensils with Sultan,’’ she told me. We were both relieved.

In the morning my mother went to Sultan’s bedside, waving her hands over his body while invoking the names of various gods and goddesses — not forgetting Khawaja Khizar, of course. She then blessed him and told him that he would be all right soon.

Once in the other room, I asked my mother that if she had so much affection for Sultan, why then did she make this fuss over the utensils. She replied, ‘‘I am not a free person. I am bound by the sanskar given to me by my elders. I just cannot shake myself out of these chains at this age, but I am happy that you are a free person.’’

Later, Sultan became a rakhi brother to my daughter and always visited her every rakhi. When she got married, Sultan was introduced as my daughter’s eldest brother and at his daughter’s marriage, my son was introduced as the ‘chacha jaan’ of the bride. When Sultan died, therefore, it was as if a member of the family had passed away.