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Journalism of Courage
How do you do?quot; was a routine courtesy from my friend. quot;I am fine, at least tolerably finequot; I replied, looking at my left hand, quot;and as of today but8230;quot; quot;But?quot; the friend stopped. quot;But what?quot; He was on his daily stroll-cum-home duty trip to Mother Dairy8217;s fruit and vegetable shop as I stood waiting for the school bus to see little Nipun off. Noting my gaze on my hand, he asked: quot;What8217;s wrong? quot;I am not sure of the dog,quot; I replied. The friend was visibly perplexed. quot;Dog? What dog? What are you talking about?quot; quot;Oh, forget it,quot; I tried a brush it aside. But instinctively my eyes turned again to my hand. That made him insist on knowing what I was evidently trying to conceal.
quot;Well, yesterday evening a dog took an unexpected fancy to my hand,quot; I narrated. quot;I was looking for a gentleman8217;s house in Old Rajendra Nagar. In the first house I tried, there was a dog sitting in a doorway, a kind and resigned look on his face. If anything there was a slight movement of his tail. Thus encouraged I reached for the call-bell and pressed it. No, that was not where my gentleman lived. The adjacent house had a similar gate and a similar looking dog. But he appeared dead set to prove how deceptive apparent similarities can be. He broke into a loud bark. The fool that I was, I extended my hand and made caressing sounds in the hope of calming him down. All of a sudden the brute jumped up and bit my extended hand.quot;
It was the third day when I trudged to the same place, half fearing the possibility of the rogue being loose and waiting for a chance to leap at me. Yes, he was still there. Luckily, his mistress was within conversing distance. The matronly lady did not resent my visit, nor did she question my charge. The real consolation, however, was her statement that he had been given anti-rabies treatment but I quot;should still take an ATSquot;.
A week passed. While I was inclined to forget the episode, my wife wouldn8217;t let me. quot;Why don8217;t you see a doctor?quot; she remonstrated, quot;maybe some injection is needed still!quot; I had to consult Dr Ved Gupta, in-charge of the medical centre in the Parliament Annexe. quot;How is the dog?quot; was her impromptu response. quot;I don8217;t know the latest, but8230;quot; quot;You better find out.quot;
The next morning I went again, virtually praying for the rascal8217;s health. He was not on his seat. I pressed the call-bell. No response. Has the worst happened? But the owner8217;s family8230; Where has it gone even if feeling bereaved? It couldn8217;t possibly be8230; Maybe somebody attends the bell at the back. At the back I find a handwritten note. quot;Shifted to number so and so,quot; with a hand-drawn guide-map to help. I locate the house which is undergoing construction. quot;No family has moved in,quot; the immediate neighbour says, none with a dog in any case. I ask a property dealer nearby. It turns out that it is the first floor people who have shifted. The ground floor tenants are still there along with their ferocious dog. But they are obviously out. I get their business address. I make a telephone call, which is reassuring. quot;The dog is in, it is by my side here!quot;
That was music for my ears, as if my silent prayer had been answered. Did the saints have this in mind when they preached quot;pray for your enemiesquot;?
