Rough Rider

Equus caballus, or horse. First prehistoric relative detected by the remains of his teeth. The 8216;8216;Swift Runner8217;8217; of the Rig Veda8212;the beast that was 8216;8216;praised, killed and lamented8217;8217;. And Kanthaka who died at the moment of separation from his master Prince Siddhartha, the one who conquered death and rebirth.

Among the old stables at Delhi8217;s Turkman Gate lives another faithful team: Raju the horse and his keeper Munnu. But I have come to meet Kale Khan, the horse-owner. According to those in the know, he makes the best tongas in the business. They have been tangewalas for more than 300 years, says Kale. So no one in the stable believes me when I tell them that I, a greenhorn at best, intend to temporarily adopt the profession.

8216;8216;Shauq se chalaiye Drive by all means,8217;8217; snickers the proud owner. I can8217;t tell if he actually likes the horses, but there8217;s only an hour or so of sunshine left and I need to get the show on the road. 8216;8216;I want the reins in my hand for at least an hour,8217;8217; I propose. 8216;8216;If we don8217;t get a customer, you8217;ll pay for the time,8217;8217; says Kale. I take it.

8216;8216;Munnu, go get the horse,8217;8217; Kale orders. I follow the 50-year-old along a row of more than 40 broken stables. These days the nameless horses that occupy this rickety shelter next to a busy road pull cargo to justify their existence. Most of them have never been harnessed to a tonga; there8217;s hardly any demand for such transport anymore.

Munnu stops at a white horse facing the wall, resting on a grass bed. Raju8217;s back is at about my eye-level; as the old keeper strokes him, the animal suddenly does an about-turn. I freeze, the horse8217;s head is directly above my right shoulder, his muzzle blow-drying my temple. 8216;8216;Take him away,8217;8217; I tell Munnu. He only nods, 8216;8216;He8217;s my good son, I take care of him.8217;8217; I decide it would be easier to move myself.

Raju is brought out and harnessed. I climb up from the front of the tonga, and Kale gets in next to me. Asaf Ali Marg8217;s broad, four-lane roads stretch out between Turkman Gate and Delhi Gate. I tug the reins lightly and the horse quietly gets in motion. Another slow pull, and Raju halts. That was the dry run, now we8217;re set.

Blinkers in place, Raju moves with steady confidence. But as his amble climbs to a trot and trot to a jog, I look away. I turn in quiet desperation to Munnu8212;he8217;s clapping in encouragement from a widening distance. 8216;8216;Hey, isn8217;t he moving too fast?8217;8217; I yell, but Kale reassures me. Raju, apparently, has plenty of horse sense about this road. Then Raju does the unimaginable8212;he gallops.

His uninhibited tail is in the tonga and covers my feet. We go past Delite Cinema and the deserted Delhi Stock Exchange in quick succession. I slowly raise myself into a standing position, reins in hand. But I make a frightening landing and have a quick flashback as a bus overtakes us.

The ground runs black underneath8212;with the urgency of a dedicated friend flying through the night to rescue his prince. 8216;8216;Hey,8217;8217; says Kale, as Raju starts to turn. I quit the comparative daydream and cling to the reins. After an 11-minute run we reach the Delhi Gate crossing, the other end of Asaf Ali Marg. I8217;m still not sure how much I had to do with it but Raju takes us back to the stables. He stops near an ecstatic Munnu. 8216;8216;Shabbash, shabbash Well done,8217;8217; he says, stroking his proteacute;geacute;.

Back on solid ground, I run my hand under Raju8217;s neck. The coat is warm and moist as if it8217;s just been ironed. 8216;8216;The horse is sweating,8217;8217; I tell Munnu. 8216;8216;I have brought him up since he was little. He8217;s 11 now,8217;8217; says the 50-something keeper. I look at Kale. 8216;8216;Munnu8217;s deaf,8217;8217; Kale clarifies. 8216;8216;I live in the stable. I8217;ll die here,8217;8217; Munnu says quietly. There8217;ll be no separation here, and no rebirth either.