Robin Hood of Kashmir

"Miaow! Miaow!" she heard the soft, repeated cry of the cat. Half awake, she discerned it was not the usual sound of the cat that disturbed her light sleep every night. A different cat had come into the house. Never before did another cat trespass there. How could it be?

She sat up in her bed, her bedclothes strewn about her. Alone, all alone in the house, she felt, afraid some how. What was that? A soft step on the floor that creaked slightly. Her heartbeat fast, faster than ever. Could it be a thief, who had blundered into this house of poverty?

Yes, a dark form crossed her.

"Thief! Thief! Help!" she tried to shout but her words died within her. Her throat suddenly grew parched. For her life she could not pronounce the words. What use would that be?

Her neighbours would not hear her. They were so distant, across the alleyway. Collecting herself, as best as she could, she blurted out, timorously, weakly, "Who are you, there?"

"It is I, Mahadev", the shadow replied. "Calm yourself, I shall do you no harm. But tell me where is Shridar Bhat?"

So that was it, she thought rapidly. Mahadev, the famous thief, who is good to the poor and who fleeces the rich, had traced Shridar Bhat, her distant uncle, who lived with them whenever he came from the village to transact business in Srinagar. Mahadev was after that rich miser's hoarded wealth. She had heard that Mahadev was noble and virtuous.

She replied, "Shridar Bhat went to the village yesterday. I guess he must have reached there". Composing herself, she added, "Mahadevji, now leave this house. I am alone here".

"But why are you alone?" he demanded with hurt innocence.

"My mother has gone to a neighbour's house where a marriage is to be celebrated tomorrow. She went there to lead the chorus songs. She is good at that. They will pay her something, I suppose. She must be coming back any moment."

"Is there no one else in the house?" asked the sympathetic voice of the thief, whose dark, lean form noiselessly settled on the old mat.

"I am an orphan, the only child" -a sigh escaped her-"besides, my mother is mad after marrying me off-" Her words trailed off. She found it difficult to proceed.

"My daughter", said the encouraging voice, "tell me all about that. I shall help you."

But excess of emotion choked her, as it were. Tears ran down her invisible cheeks. She tried to suppress her cries. It was of no avail. He repeated his words, ever so gently. The helpless orphan was touched deeply by this paternal show of affection.

"My mother is old. She is bent on having my betrothal performed with an old man, who has already lost his teeth and his three wives. He is rich. He will pay her one thousand rupees for me and he will arrange the wedding on our side. It is too bad.

"I tell my mother, 'Kungmali, think a little'. She only retorts, 'Tars, it is none of your business. Forget all about Anand, that poor boy, whose great grandfather was a tailor. You must be married in a big family. You will have servants'. She goes on with that sermon. She is after the one thousand rupees which would give her security for the rest of her years. Shridar Bhat is our rich relative but he only throws a rupee or so at us after an interval of months. What can we do...?"

Mahadev stopped her,saving," I understand all. Tell me when is your betrothal due?"

"In about three months"

The words hardly left her when she found that the dark form vanished like a ghost. Somewhere, from the street, after a few dazed moments, she heard "Miaow!" several times.

Was it a dream, she wondered?

+++++++++++++++++++++

In right royal oriental style, the Dogra Maharaja of Kashmir held his court in his Jhelum view palace. The Wazirs squatted on the raised dais on either side of him. Behind him stood, like statues, two bodyguards holding the gorgeous gold-laced umbrella over crown, poised a little above his heavy, fluffy turban, in comparison with which the crown appeared a small inconspicuous thing. The Maharaja was inclined to be humorous. The Dogra and Kashmiri courtiers, reflecting his moods took the cue and talked among themselves a little louder than usual. Several liveried servants, crouching on their knees, kept up the flame of the chilum of the hooka. The Maharaja smoked idly through the long rubber pipe, the latest western novelty shown off in the durbar.

"Who is this Mahadev that our Wazirs talk much about?" said the Maharaja, pointing Dewan Danpat Ram-the Dogra police chief of the City of Srinagar, who maintained the best traditions of the Dogras in his administration-with the stem of his pipe, for an answer.

There was a momentary pause as the Maharaja for the first time talked openly about a popular subject. A hush fell upon the durbar.

What would the newly-appointed inspector general of police say, thought every courtier? They envied his quick rise to the coveted post. But they all knew all about his incorruptible uprightness and unexampled integrity which went ill with the department that he was bossing.

"Sire," replied Dewan Danpat Ram, standing up from his seat, and bowing, " many rumours have reached me for the last year about a reported thief, Mahadev. It is said that he acts the cat while he steals. When his motions of house-breaking make the least sound in the night, he imitates the cry of a cat and says, 'Miaow! Miaow!' (suppressed laughter from the courtiers, who were encouraged to laugh more, as trey expertly read a humorous twinkle in the opium-filled royal eyes) and that lulls the people in the house to sleep. This, I am told, he does perfectly. But never so far has any one caught him at it in the night. He is a well-known and respectable Kashmiri Pandit in the City." Again, there was laughter, this time starting from the Maharaja himself, who was unusually amused

"Let me admit, Sire, I have seen Mahadev", looking inspector general of police, "He is a small wiry man, with catlike, eyes" (guffaws from the court)- "hollow-cheeked and very modest in his demeanour. He wears several holy rosaries round his neck and paints a saffron caste mark on his forehead. His flowing pheran is spotlessly clean."

"Well, well, Dewan," interrupted the Maharaja, "We’re not interested in those nice details," (malicious laughter from the courtiers), "we want to know why you have not so far brought to book such a criminal?"

Not allowing the Dewan to reply, a Wazir put in, "Sire, only yesterday my friend, Pandit Prakash Kaul, lost five hundred rupees from his safe. The gate-keepers and he himself heard 'Miaow' cries in the night. Surely, Sire, it was Mahadev. He is a wizard and sends people to sleep with his cat calls".

But another Wazir corrected him, as he always did, and said, bowing profoundly, "Sire, I know from reliable sources that Mahadev the Cat, as he is called, is a very religious man. He is even a great philanthropist. He supports many orphans and widows. He finances an Ashram in Sad-i-Malun, whereto he goes every month on the eighth day of the lunar fortnight. I can prove all this, with definite evidence".

One of the Wazirs added, "Sire, allow me to add that I have seen with my own eyes, Mahadev performing sacred havana ceremony at the foot of Hari Parbat.

"Sheikh Karim, the Imam of Mokdum Sahib's mosque, which flanks a side of the hillock, came to meet him there and Mahadev donated him a big sum for the repair of the mosque, in my presence. Who has not heard of the Ashrams in the woods that are run by him, Your Highness?"

These revelations mystified the courtiers and made the Maharaja - one of the most religious of Dogra rulers of Kashmir - think a little. The contradicted Wazir bit his lip and looked away from the court. The Maharaja pointed the Dewan for his answer.

He made courteous reply, "Sire, I have to say publicly and before your benign presence that the law of the land does not empower me to start arresting otherwise respectable citizens on the merest suspicion. I must have tangible proofs against a reported thief so that I may start the machinery of law against him."

The Maharaja, a pious and God-fearing man that he was, nodded at this. Thus heartened, the police chief went on, 'Sire, for one full year, ever since I took charge of the City Police Lines, I have laboured to find proof against Mahadev. Mere panicky news of his 'Miaow, Miaow' tactics do not compel me to take him in my custody".

The Maharaja mused for some time. The court was instantly silent. He broke the silence with "Dewan, could we see this Mahadev?"

"Sooner said than done, Sire. Mahadev lives near the palace and spends the day in a Sadhus' Ashram, beside the Raghunath Temple."

Dewan Danpat Ram left, bowing.

Excited conversation, all about Mahadev the Cat, prevailed in the Court.

The usher came in, bowing three times and addressed the Maharaja, "Your Highness, Dewan Danpat Ram has come back with a Pandit and seeks admittance to the royal presence".

"Let them in", allowed the Maharaja, in the conventional way.

Dewan Danpat Ram entered, bowing, followed by a Kashmiri Pandit, dressed in a spotless Kashmir, pheran, over which he wore a chocolate-coloured Kashmiri shawl, a small man, quite ordinary looking, with brilliant cat eyes.

"Is he Mahadev the thief?" said the Maharaja, a tinge of sarcasm obvious in his tone.

"Yes, Sire", said the Dewan, and other courtiers, almost in a chorus.

They had hardly finished when, Mahadev fixing his stern eyes on the Maharaja said, "Sire, Your Highness is our father and mother. Father and mother do not give their children names unless the erring youngsters deserve them. Your Highness has called me a thief; unless Your Highness is sure that I am one, Your Highness a our father and mother may not call me one."

The polite rejoinder was firmly spoken, between set teeth. For the first time, the Maharaja was openly contradicted by a commoner. The courtiers held their breath in suspense, but the good Maharaja did not lose his temper. He secretly liked the boldness of the reply, though he did not show it.

Over a puff he said to Mahadev, "Yes, but we have heard that you are a thief".

"Idle tell-tales, Your Highness, can float any rumour. They should believe what they see with their own eyes."

The enemies of Mahadev,and there were many such in the court - took it that he was doomed, now that he had gone thus far. But, to their chagrin, the brow of His Highness showed no clouding frown. He only dropped his hooka pipe stem impatiently and said, slowly, calculatingly, "Mahadev, you're very clever."

"Sire", replied Mahadev, "Your Highness cannot cut off my head for my being clever. Perhaps I am. I may evenn take off a man’s pyjamas and if he can’t catch me taking it away from his legs, he can’t catch me and have me punished for it."

"Is it? Try that with us and we'll know that you are not bragging before the royal presence."

"What if I do, Your Highness?" The courtiers were now shocked. The Maharaja was getting too indulgent, they all whispered to one another. But even a Maharaja has his whims.

"We will reward you ten thousand rupees."

"Your Highness, I shall do so this night."

"And, if you don't succeed?"

"Sire, tomorrow I shall be present in Your Highness' court. If I succeed, reward me! If I fail, hang me in this very durbar hall."

There was a great commotion, as, taking his leave, Mahadev the Cat left the hall.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Mahadev brother, admonished his sister, Gauri. "It is impossible to do what you intend to. Consider a while".

Mahadev looked vacantly at his confidante. No one else knew of his daring ventures in advance. She was intelligent and she gave him wise counsel.

Years back when he needed money badly for his charity, and he planned to visit, the house of Khwaja Ghulam Rasool - the city contractor who paid a coolie at the rate of two pice a day - it was she who had suggested that he must know the name of his personal servant and acquaint himself with his voice. That had actually helped. When the Khwaja, half asleep, had asked, " Who are you there?" Mahadev had at once said, "It is Qadira, sir. I am filling your kangri with charcoal."

Yes, the Khwaja had suspected nothing. Everything had been all right. But this time she, his sagacious sister, was baffled. He was thinking hard and he hit upon an idea.

"I have it, sister Gauri! The Palace gutter that opens out near the palace ghat is wide enough to admit me. Then to luck!"

After a brief pause, when he mentally passed through many moments of the coming fateful night, he said, "Now it is my Puja time. I must be off".

His Puja room was unconventional. There were no pictures of gods and goddesses in it. Nor were there any miniature images of stone gods pressed ramshackle in a private Puja temple. There was but one Siva idol, smooth and beautiful, over a graceful tripod. He concentrated on the idol.

No, it was not easy to focus his scattered thoughts. The day had been ominous. The Maharaja had called him "Mahadev Thief." Was he a thief?

The general rule was that the rich robbed the poor openly and exploited them by all possible means. He was doing the contrary. He emptied the haves of their surplus, ill-gotten gains and gave that to the poor in the city and in the jungle Ashrams. The memory of the favourite Sad-i-Malun Ashram and its simple associates tormented him. How could he go back there unless he settled his affairs in the city for good? At the moment he was somewhat out of means. He wanted one thousand rupees for Tara's mother, and especially to sane Tara. She simply must not be married to that rich dotard.

Middle age was fast developing into old age. He must give up his trade not because it was bad because his body was the less supple now. The other night when he climbed the third storey of Pandit Prakash Kaul’s house over the structure raised over a well, his body was almost broken when he scaled the dizzy top and jumped therefrom to the verandah. The coming night would decide his life. If he succeeded with the Maharaja his honour would be upheld. And he would get the big reward.

The calculation relieved the tension of his brain. By habit he concentrated on the stone god. He was lost in contemplation and heard not the chirping of myna sand sparrows on the nearby mulberry tree. In the blissful state, he somehow realised that all would be
Coming to, his fears persisted. But he soon gained control of himself as he went to the living room to have scantly meal.

After the evening meal, served by his house-keeper sister-for he was bachelor of the Sanyasi type - he rested for hours. Finalising his plan over his hooka, he felt better. Tara's sad image popped up before his mind's eye. He had hardly seen her in the night. He did not know how, but he could picture ,plaintive form. He massaged his spare limbs with Kashmiri oil. Then he put on a special shirt and belted salwar, falling to the knees, soiled with oil and dirtied with use. The belt carried several things. Over it he donned his round puggree and pheran.

He looked at the palace from a doss the slow-moving bosom of the Jhelum. It was about midnight. The dark river flowed noiselessly. Boatmen were asleep in their Doonga boats. Near the ghat, Mahadev took off his pheran and turban and placed them behind a flower vase. Softly he waded down the steps and swam across the river. He swam as nearly straight across the river as it was possible for an expert swimmer to do. Near the Palace ghat he did not at once come out of the water. He knew that the Maharaja had taken the challenge seriously and that a king does not like to be outwitted. There must be extra armed guard round the Palace. He swam down with the current to a point where the Palace gutter opened out into the river. It was wide enough to-admit his wiry body, he had calculated, and it contained water only when the courtyard of the Inner Palace, to which it was connected underground, was watered.

Creeping through it like a cat, Mahadev groped his way into the inner courtyard. He knew where the Maharaja slept that night. To allow the summer breeze in, the window of the chamber was open. Walking about on all fours -for a sentry stood guard a few yards away - Mahadev noiselessly drew his rope-ladder from his belt and threw it up. The sentry did not see the dark form ascending to the chamber.

Stealing a look into the royal sleeping room, Mahadev did not at once step in. He saw in the dim candle light that the Maharaja was sound asleep. He heard the sentry pacing outside in the verandah.

Taking his sure chance, he leaped in without making any sound, and he hid himself under the 1xdstcad of the Maharaja. There, he pulled out a reed from his belt. He had hollowed it and had corked it with flour paste, after filling hundreds of live ants in it. Uncorking the reed at both ends, he blew it at one end several times, directing the other end under the raised quilt of the Maharaja so that the ants poured on this legs. Mahadev ducked in under the bedstead to await results!

The Maharaja grew restless as Mahadev could well discern from under the bedstead. From the movements above him, Mahadev under stood that the Maharaja was ungirdling his pyjamas. He made sure that the Maharaja was doing so in sleep. Snatching his opportunity, he came out from his ignoble ambush to deftly take out the pyjamas from the Maharaja's legs. Again, he ducked in under the bedstead where he fastened the precious pyjamas in his belt. He let the emptied reed remain under the bed in lice of the booty' His rope-ladder awaited him. The sentry hardly noticed him nor did he seem to "Miaow" which was, as usual, perfectly natural.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Three months passed away.

The Dewankhana of Pander Suraj Kak Mattoo was gaily peopled with Brahmins, poor relations and other hangers-on, on a Sunday afternoon. The morning meal was being served in silver-worked Kashmiri high-edged plates. Each diner had several brass cups round his plate. They drank water from tumblers of the best silver-work designs.

According to Kashmiri custom, they squatted round a stretched woollen piece on which the plates were laid by the careful though ill-dressed and dirty-looking servants. Pundit Suraj Kak Mattoo, the well-known philanthropist and social reformer and the biggest Kashmiri Pandit Rais, sat at the head. Leisurely talk went on.

Addressing Mahadev, his old friend, Pandit Mattoo said, "What will you have, Mahadevji? You're such a frugal eater."

"Thank you, sir", replied Mahadev courteously, for he was an adept at dinner manners. "I am contented. The dinner is escellent."

It was a replica of the kings's court. The Dewankhana might we a have been a palace chamber for all its exquisite frescoes, the Moghul papier mache patterns on the ceiling, the soft Persian carpets, the ancient woodwork of the almirah, the life-size family portraits and an old and impressive painting of Sultan Zain-ul-Abidin "the Badshah." Courtly etiquette did prevail here too and Pandit Mattoo used the royal 'we' in his speech.

Seeing that Pandit Sahib was interested in Mahadev, an old Brahmin said, "Pandit Mattoo Sahib, Mahadevji does not act the cat only. He plays the singer and dancer as well. So he eats less to keep light."

"How is that, we never heard of that stunt?" said Pandit Suraj Kak, in between asking other guests what they wanted and making them have more Roganjosh, and mutton curry.

"Sir, the other day Mahadev, disguised as a singing eunuch, led chorus songs at a wedding", the Brahmin informed, gulping down a big Roganjosh piece. He sang and danced so well that all the members of the house, including the cooks, crowded round him. At the climax of their interest, he boldly and slyly added, to the refrain of the song.

"Cat, say Miaow, 
Mahadev, cry, Miaow"

"That was the agreed hint to his assistant, who broke open the chest of the Pandit Sahib, stealing several thousand rupees."

"Is it, Mahadevji? We did not hear of it earlier, as we were out on our Frontier tour. Did it happen before or after the Maharaja rewarded you ten thousand rupees for doing away with his pyjamas?"

"Sir", replied Mahadev, meekly, "It took place just a day after, when the whole city was astir with the big news. The money came in good time as I had to save Tara, the widow's daughter I talked to you about, from the clutches of the senile Pandit. It was a great pleasure to me to see her married to a young man, namely, Anand, whom I have settled in life as a clerk of an English friend of mine, who is a carpet dealer here. And then two temples had to be repaired and some other work had to be done."

A hanger-on, eating the last sweet dish, put in, "Sir, Mahadevji is shy. He has fixed lifelong sums upon the widows and the orphans he was supporting and he has created trusts for the jungle Ashrams. Keeping a sufficient sum for himself, he has now given up the cat trade."

There was a merry twinkle in the eyes of the host, as he said, "Wc arc glad to hear all that. Really Mahadevji has carried on our social reform activities while we were away on tour. We will soon be retired from the several state offices that we are holding. Then we will devote ourselves wholly to the social reform of our community."

"I do not deserve all this praise, sir."

"We admire your philanthropic activities. We would ourselves finance some of your Ashrams but you know, lately we have been a little out of pocket."

"Yes, sir, I know, in your yonder safe" Mahadev said, pointing out the safe in the wall, "there are seven thousand three hundred rupees, five thousand rupees, in a cup in the middle shelf and the rest in a gilded box".

The shocked guests looked askance at Mahadev. Pandit Suraj Kak eyed him humorously but surprise was writ large on every Line of his aristocratic face.

"Mahadev, how do you know? We have heard that you have given up your nigh trade, though even then we were not angry with you. But we are your friends. How did you?..:" Suraj Kak could not complete the sentence. His culture forbade him to use the obvious, unpleasant words.

Mahadev thought awhile and replied dramatically, "Suraj Kak Sahib, you are and always will be my friend. I have surely given up my profession. But yesternight I grew restless and went out for a stroll in the night.

"The open window of your Dewankhana attracted my attention. I thought it was an idea to jump up and to test your guards. This would be the last 'house-breaking' as I am going to live permanently in my jungle Ashram of Sad-i-Malun. Well, I found. that two men slept in this room. None awoke as I used my master key on your safe. One heard my 'Miaow' and, in his sleep, cried, 'Go away, cat!' Of course, I did not break my word. I only counted ....".

A roar of applause from the guests drowned the rest of his words.