He would nudge me awake every morning at five, telling me it was time for our morning walk. While I got ready, he would fetch my shoes. This necessitated two excited trips, one for each shoe. And he would wait in anticipation, for he knew that I would take him with me. There was an alarm-clock precision to his routine. He would wake up at precisely the same hour every morning and would brook no delay at meal-times. He had to be served dead on schedule. He loved to share my breakfast - bits of papaya and biscuits which he would take from my hand. The jingle of the car keys as I took them off the key-holder was a constant source of excitement. He always knew he could look forward to a ride. Often, I would give him the keys and he would be thrilled, carrying them in his mouth all the way from the first floor and right up to the garage, where he would wait for me to open the door. He was like a maharaja. He had total freedom, and was assured that every place belonged to him. He made himself comfortable all over the house, be it the living room sofa, the TV room, or the low bed of my teenaged son. And he did it with a certain assurance. For a four-month-old Labrador, he bore the unexpected stamp of majesty - in his body, his legs, gait and stature, in his very bone structure. He behaved like Rustom-e-Hind, so he was Rustom of the Rao household. In fact, according to the Kennel Club papers for ownership, he was christened `Rao Saheb Rustom Singh Ji', in keeping with his champion lineage. He had become so much a part of my life that he would insist on going into the loo and the bathroom with me. He loved the water in the bath, and would splash around while I took a shower. My days will be the same no more. Now, there is an eerie silence all over the house. Everything is in order. There is no one to do mischief, nibble at things, pick up shoes, pens, pencils and newspapers and make them vanish. He is gone, gone without any warning, leaving us all pining. He is no longer there to greet me in the morning when I rise, or when I return from work, showing his enormous pleasure in having me around. I feel miserable, not knowing where he is, how he is and whether anyone is feeding him, or whether he has a place to sleep in comfort.Pangs of guilt haunt me for that one lapse, when I allowed the CPWD men who were working in my house to leave the front door ajar. Perhaps the curiosity of a four-month-old got the better of him, and he wandered off to explore the world outside, never to return, leaving everyone heartbroken.Now, my days are forlorn without my Rustom. I somehow feel that it is some retribution meted out by the Almighty, separating him from me. The FIR I filed with the police was perhaps only for my own consolation, reassuring myself that I had gone through the appropriate motions. The void that Rustom left behind in my life can never be filled. I am given to understand that there is a racket in pets in Delhi, and pups are regularly stolen and sold. It appears that I have now fallen victim to this racket, and am paying dearly for my momentary negligence. The first morning after his departure, I had only one prayer: "God, please bring my Rustom back to me. If you cannot, please take care of him and look after him, wherever he may be." He had endeared himself to the neighbours and it was touching when the lady next door performed a special puja the next evening for bringing him back. Even today, months after he disappeared, I leave the front door wide open, for I have a gnawing feeling - or perhaps a forlorn hope - that he may still find his way back to us one day.
