Skip to main content

A DACOIT’S TALE

Watercolour, Watercolor, Art, Painting

The stranger stared at the bearded man in amazement.

“Aren’t you the fearsome Durjan Singh?” he whispered in awe, and then started shivering in fright as he realized he was indeed the notorious dacoit.

Sitting in solitude under a tree in the remote village, Durjan looked more like a Swamiji than the merciless killer he was reputed to be.

“Fear not, you will come to no harm,” said Durjan, “And you need not whisper. All of them know,” he said, pointing to the village.

As he spoke, a boy of about nine came up to him, in a wheel chair. Durjan’s expression softened and he reached out to the lad with unbelievable gentleness.

 Seeing the puzzled look on the stranger’s face, Durjan sighed, realizing that it was story time again.

“May I, papa?” asked the lad sweetly.

Durjan smiled and said, “Go ahead, Dilshan dear.”

***
“Two years ago, papa rode to our village to plunder, along with three others. Most of the villagers were terrified and ran off…”

“Thank you, Dilshan,” said Durjan and continued, “All ran off except this courageous kid and his bed ridden mom. Dilshan , who wasn’t lame then, stood boldly and challenged me. He was only seven!”

“As I stood there admiring this lad, my three accomplices lost patience, shot the mother and injured this gallant lad.”

“Thereupon, I fired only three more bullets.

Ever since, I am the guardian of this village- and Dilshan is my son.”


                                  

Popular posts from this blog

THE LOCKED ROOM

Govindan was facing the problem of plenty.
A very large ancestral house.
Relations of all hues- in dozens-living as a disjointed joint family, of which he was supposedly the head.
Huge quantity of valuables, including cash and jewellery-which he found hard to safe guard from the greedy cockroaches calling themselves his relatives. Try as he might, he could not dislodge a single one among these detested people for fear of offending either a brother, a sister, mother or his wife.
He tried hiding the stash at different places in his ancient thirty-two roomed bungalow and changing places every few days… but was shit scared that someone or other would find out.
Thus, among plenty of other things, he had plenty of angst also.
One day, Govindan got a flashy idea after watching a Malayalam movie about a haunted room in a large house like his.

(UN)GAINFUL RAIN

Ah! It’s started to beautifully rain, So it’s time for me to feign, An infection, cold or any pain, A day off, with sympathy to gain.
But alas! spousey says, ‘Off to work! You lazy, cunning little jerk, Calling in sick to watch buxom ladies twerk, Watching your lusty channels, with a daylong smirk.’
But when she says, ‘If you still be insisting, I will rope you in for housekeeping,' I look out, sigh, ‘The rain, it seems, has stopped, My leave plan for today is hence dropped.’





THE PAINTED VASE

Returning home from work that day, the first thing that grabbed my attention was the painted vase sitting prettily on a side table in the hall.
“Mynah!” shouted I, addressing my eleven year old daughter, “How did this come here?”
“Som bought it for me,” said she, quite simply, leaving me dumbfounded.
“Som!”
“But you hate him!” I said, referring to my new boyfriend whom she detested.
Som had come into my life recently, two years after Mynah’s dad died in a freak accident. He was only 40 then- I was 38.
Mynah shrugged and said, “But he likes me, it appears. That’s why he got it when I told him you refused to get it for me.”
I was left still wondering at the turn of events as her tantrums on seeing him were still fresh in my memory.
Two days later, Som came home during the weekend. He too merely shrugged when I complimented him on winning over Mynah. “Girls like things. You can keep them happy by indulging in these simple things.”
I really hope it stays that way, I thought, hoping to marry Som …