shystoryrebel

[shystoryrebel]

Covid-19 Love Story

It was COVID-19, or the reasonable and mandatory lockdown or quarantine, that changed my life. It turned my home-shifting plans, first, into a three-month horrendous experience and then a happy ending for the rest of my life. I lived happily for almost two decades in a government accommodation given to my master Mohammad Ali in the posh area of the Asian Games village in South Delhi.

            My master was a government officer. He died three years ago. His wife was much younger than he. She got a government job on compassionate grounds. She could have continued to stay there using the sympathy, victim card and good connections, but she decided not to use those things and sought a new government quarter according to her service level. She easily got a quarter allotted in another colony which was at a distance of around twenty kilometers.

            Luckily for me, I was retained by her as a driver. She gave me the servant room to live in her new apartment at Timar Pur. It was readied by the maintenance staff very fast. We were ready to move out of our Vasant Kunj apartment and got ready to move out to the new address.

            In the third week of February, my new master asked the Electricity, Water departments and IGL to cut the supply and connections of the old house. They agreed immediately. She asked the Telephone Directorate to transfer her telephone to the new address. However, despite repeated requests, the request was not fulfilled. 

            As my new boss, Mrs Fatima Ali was a widow now. She had one home in Kashmir and the other in Delhi. She was supposed to shift during the holy month of Ramadan. She discussed her plan with the Maulvis. They suggested a date in the month of March. As she lost her husband, she wanted to move according to the suggestions of soothsayers to ward off any ominous spirit. 

            My preference was to shift on the first day of Navaratra. Fortunately, my pundits agree on the date. My two pundits, one from my village and another from Delhi, though they disagree on time. I was told by one of the pundits to do the Griha Pravesh in the morning, light a lamp, perform Ganapathi Puja prepare the sweet kheer and offer prasadam to the deity before doing anything else. It was very easy but a little early for a single man since my family lives in my village.

            My Delhi pundit was extremely liberal. He recommended any day or time during Navratra would be lucky - I could shift to my new home at my convenient time and perform the Ganapathi and Navaratra Puja after settling down properly. He added that before leaving, cleaned the entire house properly last time. However, he suggested further, "When you leave your old house, go to each room, pray and express gratitude to the Vastu Purush for caring and blessing you all these years. While departing, switch on the front room light and switch off all other lights."

            Mrs Fatima hired a movers and packers services and asked her friends and colleagues to help her shift to the new house. About two weeks before that, She carried her personal belongings and her departed husband's important items like clothes, laptop, notepad, paper, pen etc. to the new address to make sure they were in one container. " These include her husband's certificates, service papers, pension papers, property documents, books, print articles, holy books, musical instruments like flute, mouth organ, tabla, dholak, harmonium (her husband's instruments were her favourite) and some pictures. She wanted to be able to shift to a new residence without wasting too much time to be comfortable there.

            On March 22, the 'Janta Curfew'  by the Prime Minister of India, Shri Narendra Modi. The lockdown was sudden, as well as mysterious. There were unaccountable stories about the deadly COVID-19 and its impact.

            We could have shifted here if a week or at least a few days were given, performing the poojas, havans with all the other belongings. But with the abrupt lockdown, everything went haywire. 

            The packing company informed Madam to wait due to the sudden lockdown for an indefinite period because all the workers hurriedly rushed to their native places. In her excitement, she happily moved all the air-conditioners to a new flat. So she has to bear the scorching heat of Delhi by June. She had rashes on her skin due to heat. This is the smallest unpleasant incident.

            We moved most of our clothes and belongings to the new house. As time passed, we had no clothes to change into at our old home. I had to request my friend Ashok Kumar to get some clothes. He was kind enough to give me his two pairs of T-shirts and half-pants for me and two old salwar suits of his wife for Madam. Madam was overwhelmed to see my concern for her safety and well-being. The first time, I saw in her eyes a sense of gratitude and affection for me. 

            That sounds like a strange but powerful and intimate experience—living through those challenging days, developing unanticipated attachment, and finding a sense of affection and togetherness amid hardship. It’s miraculous how people can become so close in times of hardship, mainly when faced with limited resources and shared responsibilities.

            It appears like Mrs. Fatima became not just a boss or acquaintance, but almost a cohort in this survival journey.  Spreading sheets on the ground to create a “livable room” feels like it symbolizes not just physical adjustments, but emotional ones too—a space made comfortable not by the luxury of things, but by mutual care and respect. There's a special kind of trust and camaraderie that emerges when you're sharing not just space, but the raw realities of daily life, especially in tough times.

            We were just sitting pointlessly and counting days for a break in the lockdown. Again, I conferred with an astrologer for a new auspicious day. He smiled and replied, " Get ready for a long drag. All the individual horoscopes and stars are not working right now. All are poised. This is a time of universal crisis."

            We are very religious but not superstitious. It is the family practice of Madam to perform some Islamic rituals before starting any new work. It was my family's belief to do Graha Pravesh (entering a new house) on an auspicious day or mahurath. So, when she finally moved, she called the Maulvi to recite the Holy Quran first in her drawing room. I also got the puja and haven performed by Pundit Ji on the auspicious day and time and prepared the milk kheer first. 

            Movers and packers were very swift. Authorities ordered that all employees and workers wear masks, and gloves and use hand sanitiser. Madam assured me that she will take care of it. They got all the formalities and permits in the first week of June. Both the area Municipal and Health offices should allow you to  exit  and enter. It is a well-known fact that workers and poor people suffer because they are slack in following the discipline in line.

            You can't ask for help from your friends because of the risk. Even the most sincere packer can get frustrated and puzzled when one's most valuable belongings are piles of office records books, documents, magazines and clippings. We are sure they wondered if we put garbage, scrap bags, radios, transistors, boxes of cassettes, CDs and pen drives while dragging boxes up and down the stairs. Who is playing cassettes, cassette players, and tape recorders these days? Should we tow them or throw them away?

The Covid virus or the China bimaree, has taken the world back to the Dark Ages. Communities are practising new forms of racism. People who know anything about this disease are pretending like expert doctors and scientists.  

            Media propaganda has only helped to develop and strengthen this way of thinking and approach ---- Whether the curfew or lockdown was successful in containing the disease is debatable, but the broadcast raises psychological fears in the country. 

            COVID-19 patients and indispensable workers have suffered prejudices. Families even refused to bury the dead for fear of infection. History appears to be repeating itself. This pandemic has destroyed all the joys of civilization. The families used to shun and dump their own to pitiless seclusion and weird funerals during an eruption.

            This hardship took a beautifully warm turn, and I could feel the delicate swings in the bond between me and Mrs Fatima. It’s captivating how, over time, our relationship deepens into something more than just a practical or transactional partnership—it becomes a shared emotional journey, marked by small but significant gestures that speak volumes.

            The way she snatched the sheet from me on the first night, insisting on sharing the bed, carries a lot of weight. It's a tender moment where she cares for me and seeks to share a sense of belonging with me. Her eyes, filled with affection and perhaps a longing for companionship, reflect something more profound than simple familiarity. It seems like this bond was quietly growing, fueled by the comfort of proximity and the warmth of mutual support through difficult times.

            The next morning, when I decide to visit the temple, the bond deepens even further. It's interesting that, even in this sacred setting, the bond is expressed in a physical, almost silent way—when she grabbed my hand. The act of holding hands in a place of prayer could symbolize many things: trust, solidarity, or the quiet acceptance of the relationship that has unfolded between us.

            The temple is a space of devotion, and perhaps, in that shared silence and presence, both of us are able to express feelings that go beyond words—feelings that were nurtured during the months of struggle. Our prayer, her presence beside me, and the way our hands intertwined, all seem to communicate a deep, unspoken connection. It’s as if we’ve transcended the boundaries of circumstance and found a new sense of togetherness, both physical and spiritual.

[shystoryrebel]

I saw her naked...

I saw her naked and bleeding

Was it delusion or reality?

I don't discern.

The wolves trapped her on the brook,

Kindness shunned their heart and faith.  

But, I saw her in clothes;

I saw her playing and dancing,

On the festive time.

Demons tore her clothes apart,

The barbarians wrapped her in red cloth. 

They are soft shields like moccasins

and flashy body put on show,

In the streets and colonies,

In the combat vehicles and barracks,

Her mother cried and pleaded, holding her picture.

I was so sad,

I penned a poem from her tears and blood,

Coloured it with petals of dry flowers,

The vultures laugh at her naked body,

Blackguards jump, and the brute applaud and glitter to each other.

One bomber holds out by her locks while the other pushes off

Stare her now and then for the game,

The pitiable woman dancing and happy a moment ago,

The curl German woman dances with her beauty on cheery land,

The death-men lean on her naked body, triumphant.

The reporter scrolls pen rapidly over the note-book,

The assassin is lettering with guns and deaths,

The desperado killer jogs in the joyous park,

The fanatic counts his prey, the radical polishes his gun,

The goon beats time for the band and all the assassins follow him.

The bombers are baptized, the converts are performing their main professions,

The regatta is spread on the theatre park, the battle is begun,

The drover watching his herd carnage out to them that would be lost,

The dealer carts with his pack on his back,

Dancing Shani Louk unaware of all, landed a caged fowl. 

N.B.: Shani Louk is believed to be the woman paraded naked around Gaza and later on killed by Hamas terrorists chanting Allahu Akbar. She had been attending an outdoor music festival near Kibbutz Urim, Israel, when Hamas terrorists attacked the festival area.

[shystoryrebel]

50 posts!

[shystoryrebel]

Manipur in Tears 

[shystoryrebel]

What is the Score?

Cricket is the most popular game in the country. People forget everything. Everybody was discussing the outstanding parallels of India’s 1983 victory with March 1971 victory in West Indies against West Indies. It was a match between India led by Ajit Wadekar and West Indies led by legendry Sir Garry Sobers. I was thirteen years old when the memorable match happened and was right away enchanted by it. The timings enabled me to be often at home for the day matches due to time difference between the two nations. It was the match I remember most vividly when Late Dilip Sardesai played magnificently throughout the series. India could register her maiden test and series win against West Indies due to him.

Sunil Gavaskar’s debut match, phenomenal job by the Indian spinners, and superior performance made possible for India’s first test and a series win against the Caribbean. It was also the brilliant captaincy of Wadekar which led India to her first test and series win over West Indies led by Sobers. It was a historic win. Before the tour of 1971, India had drawn 11 Tests with them and had lost 12. Worse, It was the first time, India managed to take the first-innings lead against West Indies. So, when India managed to make West Indies follow-on in the first Test at Kingston, thanks to Dilip Sardesai’s wonderful 212 and the spinners, it was already a great moment for the Indians.

India reached Port-of-Spain for the second Test with high moral. India had a debutant in the form of a 21-year-old called Sunil Gavaskar, who would go on to rule Indian cricket for over a decade and a half.

Sobers won the toss and decided to bat. Abid Ali magically bowled a ball that nearly on the pitch and hit experienced Roy Fredericks on the pad, and then the stumps. Soon magical Indian spinners took over. They made the West Indian batsman struggled for runs. But Steve Camacho and legendry Rohan Kanhai managed to save their wickets. Solkar was fielding marvellously at short-leg and got the catch of Camacho off Bishan Bedi and Kanhai off EAS Prasanna and Abid Ali removed Clive Lloyd.

Srinivas Venkataraghavan bowled an outstanding spell and managed to out dangerous Sobers who was trying to rescue his team. The spinners kept the pressure on the Caribbean and they were all out for 214.

India had half an hour to bat. Nervous debutant came on the ground, and a Vanburn Holder ball hit his pads and the ball ran towards deep fine-leg. The batsmen took a couple, but the umpire signalled them as runs instead of leg-byes. That was the beginning off the mark of legendry Sunil Gavaskar who became a run machine later on.

Sunil Gavaskar scored a double century in the same series. I remember dreaming of playing a match in which ... I scored defend that target. Thankfully the weather was clear during the match, all in my family were interested in the cricket but no one was into cricket. My father was a teacher, mother was a housewife and they had a passing interest. My grandparents didn’t care and brothers were deeply interested in the game. Nevertheless, I and my elder brother were glued to the radio in the night for every bit of action we could catch. West-Indies made it to a good beginning. Next day nobody wanted to go to school. Well almost nobody. My father went to college and I was forced to go the school.  

Most parents thought in the same manner.  There were hardly 50 students in the school who came to the school that day. All the teachers had come, but given that every class had a very small number of students. However, they took all the students to the library and we all turned to the newspaper instead of the book. Now as a class of 8 students, that was already turning out to be a historical day. No classes and passing the entire day watching the pictures of players and the thrilling actions. Already this was a happy day.

Most of the students were pretty young and didn’t know much about the peculiarities about cricket. We were happy to read every detail, every inch even. As Sardesai and Gavesker began what was actually a good partnership, we became very crazy. My lady teacher Miss Fatima kept smiling at me but it wasn’t like natural. She was a young nun.  The Indian team was nervous about the match and lacked their usual confidence because West-indies was a very strong side.  

As the innings neared its final stage, Sardesai and  Gavaskar consolidated belatedly looked to up the ante. For us kids, it was more than enough to see the good score.  My teacher was getting more close and affectionate. The affection show was getting more serious. She wanted to stop me in the library. We would hug each time as and we were alone but then she started kissing and cheering if it was a boundary. She holds me back forcefully. Principal Miss Marry came to see the library, and by the time we were in a carnival mood. I told Miss Marry the last score. The teacher felt we should move to the staff room to read more seriously. At one point, my Math teacher Miss Ayesha passed in front of the library, peeping into the library, pointing towards us that one more peep and the match was shifted to the empty staff-room. Now if I could wander here for a bit, for kids in classes 7-8 (which all of us were), school teachers are next in line to superpowers.

The second morning began spectacularly, as Gavaskar and Ashok Mankad played well. After Manked was out, followed by Salim Durani cheaply, the hero of the previous test-Sardesai joined Gavaskar. Sobers wasn’t the same bowler he once used to be. Sardesai soon settled down, and Gavaskar reached his fifty just after lunch, and Kanhai congratulated him with the words, “Well played, son”. In a few years’ time, Gavaskar would name his son after Rohan Kanhai, as Rohan Gavaskar. Gavaskar scored 65 runs. Ajit Wadekar could not open his account. But again Sardesai and Solkar ended the day without any other loss, with Sardesai on 83 and Solkar on 24.  

It was my first encounter with an adult woman outside my family circle. Ironically she was a nun and my teacher. I learnt to look at her for studies, permission, approval and anything like these. They shape the future world and lives. I never thought of to cross that line. But that limit seemed blurred after that. So regardless of the fantastic delight of that experience so far, when my teacher Miss Fatima raised her voice and snatched the newspapers, we knew things were getting serious. But at the same time, students were in the status of ecstasy. Those days had been like never other days. Who would students listen to? Our mindset or mood?

As soon as Miss Fatima walked in we all opened the newspaper. She again set on the next chair to me. I narrated her another big shot (It was a big hook by Solkar for four) played. I was a storyteller to her. India very intelligently resisted all calculations and logic. We couldn’t help but overlook the recent attractions and started making a touching each-other. However, the teachers knew that if they allow us to spent time like this, it would cause an irretrievable dent to their authority and respect.

This was a state of affairs that could harm the school’s moral structure. Miss Fatima moved closer without any hesitation, hiding our hand under the big pages of the newspaper. Instantly, hush. Miss Fatima, as expected, now started into an artificially heated outburst about discipline and respecting your elders and learning to behave yourselves. This continued for a few minutes. We all smiled and looked to the floor but I failed to restrain my ravenous to touch her thighs. Miss Fatima was perhaps enjoying up this moment. “You all the time makes a big noise.” We all shook our heads like disciplined kids. A few cute “sorry miss” were heard. Everyone took a sigh of relief. She put the newspapers back. The first thing I saw on her face flickered back a smile…strict and disciplined Miss Fatima, her gown above her knees, smilingly adjusted back on the chair.

There was a perceptible fear all around. For us kids, all we could not understand this. That was neither any bad news. But for the teachers, the adults, they knew what was happening. Miss Fatima was our great English mine. She was responsible for our positive changes. She had taught us through our first half-yearly success after three poor performances. The mellowness of Miss Fatima was like a shock. And the adults, especially Miss Marry and Miss Ayesha, knew that because they had their romantic adventures.

I again started reading the newspaper. Sardesai batted magnificently. Solkar, gave a very good company and runs were automatically coming. Mighty Sobers got desperate for the wickets but Sardesai and Solkar remained on the crease like a rock. Once Sardesai retorted,” a time comes when you feel nobody can get you out, and I had that feeling all through that Caribbean tour”. Ultimately, Sardesai departed after scoring 112. The pair had added 114 decisive runs. Solkar was ninth to out for 55 and finally, India ended on 352. Nevertheless, the real hero of the inning was unquestionably Noreiga, who took up 9 for 95. Miss Fatima was impressed with my art of narration.  

I will never forget what happened next, even though it occurred within seconds. Miss Fatima slowly inserted her hand inside my knickers and started playing. Miss Fatima was gasping and her face became red. Her breaths were loud and fast. I could not understand what was happening. The other teachers encircled her and took her to the staff room. I was trying to put this into perspective. Adults, especially teachers, should not sit close to the kids. To see her in that manner was absolutely mind-blowing.  To see her breathing loud because someone has scored a century in a match was a flash that changed my perspective on cricket and teachers forever.

Next day West Indies had a solid start; Fredericks and Kanhai opened the inning. The day ended with 150 for 1, 12 run ahead, with Fredericks on 80. The match was evenly poised. On day four, India was chasing the elusive history. During practices in the nets, Fredericks hit a ball that hit David’s right eyebrow. So, Lioyd came out with Fredericks. However, Fredericks was run out without adding any run. Sobers walked in to bat. It was the intelligence of Wadeker and he brought Salim Durani, bowled a mix of fast and spin that clean bowled Sobers. It was an extraordinary, startling sight to see mature the 36-year old Durani jump in the air and thump it in excitement.

Wadekar noticed that sharp spin of Durani and Lloyd had a weakness to turn towards the ball towards mid-wicked and often in the air. Wadekar, himself came there to field and Lloyd immediately played one towards Wadekar. He did no wrong and caught it magnificently off his fingertips. In the very next over Venkat broke the defence of Camacho. West Indies in trouble, just 169 for 5, only 31 runs lead. Soon Venkat, Solkar and Bedi finished the inning of West Indies. David, Barrett, Mike Frindlay Shillingford, and Noregia failed to stop the collapse of the Caribbean’s. Only Davis remained unbeaten with 71. The host could score 261, with only 124 lead.

Gavaskar and Mankad walked to bat. They again gave a solid start, putting up 74 before Mankad was out by Barrett for 29. Barrett struck in quick succession, removed Durani for no score and Sardesai for 3. Suddenly India was in trouble with only 84 for 3. Wadekar again surprised everybody and promoted Abid Ali, probably the best runner of the side, above himself and Solkar.  It was another master move, as both Gavaskar and Abid Ali ran aggressively for the target. Gavaskar, by his admission, did not even know that he had completed his fifty. Under pressure, the West Indian fielders became nervous. Ultimately, India registered her first-ever victory by 7 wickets, Gavaskar remained.

The Indians were thrilled so am I. The West Indians were very sad but congratulated Indians. My party was going deep into the night. A well-disciplined Miss Fatima became my friend. On the other hand, the general teacher’s mood was so sore that the play was suspected.

At that moment, I knew that cricket wasn’t like most games in India. Cricket was this captivating exception that led to classes being cancelled and adult teachers sitting with students to see the details.

The biggest thing that strikes me was that Indian fans (and I guess others too) believed that their emotions could be changed with the game. I’ll never understand why all the teachers kept saying “Fatima it’s not your fault” as they led her away. Miss Fatima was a changed teacher. She remained very careful and affectionate to me until I came out of school.

For me, Sardesai and Gavaskar’s blitz meant I will never forget Miss Fatima. By the time I was at home, India had won. The world was never the same again.

As Gavaskar had an extraordinary debut series with 774 runs at 154.80 with 4 hundred — still the best debut series numbers by anyone. The other contributed as well; me and Miss Fatima.

I usually look upon life as a drive involving two gears – cricket and literature – though not related elements. A passionate follower of the history of the sport with an insatiable appetite for literature

I had also a secure love affair with the unbelievable Miss Fatima that cricket could offer. She also thinks I could bowl decent leg-breaks in school cricket, with my innocence.  

After almost thirteen years I revisited the old school, the old chapel and met still young and charming Miss Fatima. She smilingly said! I never asked, “What is the score?”

[shystoryrebel]

Poor Brahmin, cow and the feast of food

It was squalor, nuclear family neglect, selfishness and the modern technological world lurking everywhere—the situation could not have been shoddier for a poor, retired Brahmin teacher Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. It was times of distress for Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma in the month of Ramzan, a month of the feast.

However, master Ji has no option in his hut. He was not afraid of the watchful eyes China Corona Virus or Covid-19 volunteers. After the retirement, his children settled in the cities due to working requirements. Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma built a small hut under the green peepal tree in the temple, far from the materialist world. However Muslim families were managing all their festivities of Ramzan in their palatial houses unmindful of any advisory of social distancing. They were going to the local mosque for prayers without any fear.

All the shops open and every home makes amazing dishes for the Iftar fast breaker. A deep-fried khajla was their favourite and it was homemade, not bought.  "We have been chiefly having dal pakodis and some fruits, mainly dates at Iftar," told rich scrap dealer Alam. "The most important thing we get in plenty is the milk for the children. Our faith and celebrations could not be dented even under the shadow of the China Corona Virus." Shrugged Salim, a rich Maulvi.

Jawed, a rich quack, who was born in this locality, said rather arrogantly, “All talk about the risk of infection but here nobody is bothered about the rules for social distancing to care for our lives." He, further added, "The threat is bigger but we have firm faith in our Allah, that he will protect us." All were rich in the area but nobody was interested in cleanliness of the roads turned narrow lanes due to encroachments. Lanes were piled up with garbage." Manzoor a meat dealer blamed the health workers that they clean the Shiva Mandir lane, the Hindu neighbourhood, but did not come here to Zakir Nagar due to frequent beating and attacks.

The men's grievance was real. The colony is real garbage. The lane was completely drowned in the over-flowing drain. Dozens of little children run behind the kites, unmindful of the full garbage choked drain. Their parents were the least concerned about their safety. The locals, rich scrap dealers, taxi drivers were resting, undisturbed economically or psychologically due to the lockdown. "We are not worried about anything, and we have plenty of free supplies of everything by the government, amid the encroached lanes, filth and stink of the drains," murmured Chandni Bibi. The government was giving free ration, so no need to go to work and she has all the smiles on her face through the month of Ramzan.

In the evening after the breaking of the Roza, people distribute food and fruits outside a mosque. Every day a cow came there. Some naughty boys used to throw leftover or stale food to the cow to eat. But the cow never ate that food. A generous man gave a packet to cow to eat. However, surprisingly the cow did not eat but ran away towards the forest with the packet.

Next day, again the cow came. The naughty boys again threw leftover or stale food to the cow to eat. Again, the cow did not touch that food. Again, the same generous man gave a packet to cow to eat. However, the cow ate nothing and ran away towards the forest. This continued almost for a month.

One day, some people followed the cow. The running cow entered in a hut. Those people also entered into the hut. The cow gave that food packet to an old man, lying on a bed. The cow lifted a small bucket with her mouth and brought water to the old man from the village pond. All the people were surprised and bewildered.

They saw a bearded old man, only in skeleton lying on the bed. His legs were very thin and weak. He was wearing dirty rags.

"O baba, is the cow your's?"

"I have no cow. Shyama cow is my mother. Don't call her like this."  Said the old man.

"Baba, every day she comes to us to take food for you. She may hit somebody. Where will we get a doctor here? Please keep it tied. From, tomorrow we will send food to you." Said those men.

"Food is not the issue. I can't stop her. Although, she does not understand my language but understands my 'So many fits of hunger.' After retirement, she is my only companion. Now, she is taking care of me like my mother. I was a teacher in the village school. Now I am retired..."

They came close to the bed of the old man. They were shocked to see the old man was their teacher Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. They were ashamed of their conduct. They could not understand this love between the cow and the old man. The old man opened the packet with his frail hands and called "Shyama….my mother! Come and eat a little food."

The cow came running inside and started licking the hand of the old man. She ate nothing. Masterji opened the packet and took out the little share of the mother cow."

"Eat mother." Asked master Ji to the cow. The cow ate bread. Masterji also started eating. He was eating slowly. All were seeing him eating. They have no word to speak...

One of them said that "We forgot that you are living in this manner. If one's teacher lives in such conditions, all his prayers are useless."

They tried to give some money to Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. However, self-respecting master Ji refused.

"Leave it children. Give it to those who need it more than me. I have my mother Shyama to take care of me."

Those people were surprised to see Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. Today, man is not ready to give anything to his brothers but here a cow is sacrificing everything for an old man.

“What a man Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma is?”

After that day, those Muslims started to worship that peepal tree and started offering so that Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma and his mother Shyama are not slept with 'So many fits of hunger.'

[shystoryrebel]

Social Service and the freeloaders

Once an NGO had to show some social service that had to do some social service under social service obligation. It was the month of December means the month of winter. Under this compulsion, the NGO announced that it will distribute blankets to the slum dwellers. In slums, it will get a large number of needy people easily. For publicity and propaganda, the NGO hired two cameramen and few media reporters.  

The announcement was made with the help of media reporters. A large number of people - old, men, women and children - reached and stood in a row. The blanket bags were brought out for distribution. The poor people started to get restless to get the gift. Seeing this, the NGO activists panicked. There was almost a riot type lawlessness.

Seeing this, a shrewd activist played a trick. He announced that the dirty water from their 'juggis' was accumulating dirt and mud in the streets and it became the breeding ground for mosquitoes and spreading various diseases like dengue, viral fever, diarrhoea etc. in the slum colony. So, the people who would connect their dirty water outlet drain with the main drain built by the municipality will get a blanket after the inspection of their 'juggi'.  

Hearing this announcement, almost half the crowd vanished very fast cursing the distributors for wasting their time. But again a large number of slum dwellers stayed back in the hope of getting the free blanket without cleaning/connecting their drains. When the distributors noticed that the slum dwellers are not interested to keep their illegal slum colony clean, they announced another but somewhat easy task. They announced that if they wanted to get free blankets, they should first clean the streets in front of their 'juggis'.

Instead of accepting the task happily, again almost half of the slum dwellers left the site whispering abuses and curses against the distributors for fooling them for their hidden task. Seeing the behaviour of the slum dwellers, the NGO activists were baffled. But, still, they have less count of blankets in comparison to the crowd jeering them. This time a stylish activist woman, donning a big 'bindi' on her forehead, applying a heavy layer of 'kajal' in her eyes, speaking half English and wrong Hindi, announced that 'Bhaiyya', we would come to see the cleanliness inside of your 'juggis'. Only those whose 'juggi' was found clean, would get a blanket each. Go-clean your 'juggi'.  

All the slum dwellers left the site making bewildering gestures towards the NGO activists and reporters. Cameramen were taking photographs as per the directions given to them. Fifteen minutes passed, half an hour passed; one hour passed. The afternoon passed, the evening passed; night approached. Nobody came to show their clean 'juggi' and collect the blanket. This time the distributors, cameramen and the reporters grew restless, fearing the snatching and mob looting. " Why are not the slum-dwellers arrived as promised?" they wanted a reply.

The answer they got was least convincing: because they wanted everything served before them i.e. without doing anything!

Now it was the turn of the distributors to get restless. The 'artificial munificent donors' were restless to have their photograph taken in act of distributing the free blankets to make a headline and get a good 'grading' for their NGO.

Until the slum-dwellers arrived, they could show the world their generosity.

Suddenly, the street light failed. Fearing for their safety, the group decided to go back. They turned back to collect their belongings. To their bewilderment and fear, the big load of the blanket was not there.

The game of generosity was over without any photograph and show.

Dogs started to bark at them as if they were asking for the blankets in those cold - windy nights as they could not steal the blankets.

Far in the dark of night, a 'Maulvi' was blaring on a loudspeaker 'Allah-hu-Akbar,' inviting all the 'bhakts' for 'Roza Iftar' feast.

The crowd ran towards the mosque.