The Confession

My knapsack appeared to have grown heavier as I laboured on over the endless fields.

"The village Kral is just there, beyond that field," gesticulated every peasant whom I asked the way. I crossed many a field and yet I never seemed to have traversed the "one field's distance" There was no sign of the elusive village.

The tattered rags worn by the peasants contrasted pathetically with the perfect beauty of the lush fields stretching far towards the wooded mountains of Kashmir, with snow glistening on their smooth shouldery tops. The red pherans of peasant women, comely belles... Oh, hang it! Kral Kral, when would I reach there? I passed the orchard of Kauls, as the sign-board indicated. The roughly polite keeper directed me, while I admired his enormous build. Another field still, after so many, and, thank goodness, Kral was in sight.

My old acquaintance greeted me pompously. He perhaps saw the vegetable stems jutting out of my bag. He showed me to the single living-room of the cottage, which obviously endeavoured to look a proper house. The bag contained presents, half a seer of meat, city cakes, a paw of sugar, etc., over and above the vegetables, which I had calculated to pay my way as a 'P.G.'

"These are luxuries!" said Amar Chand, and he greedily conducted them to his dingy kitchenette.

The boy-servant came and started making tea, sugar tea, for I had brought sugar- a rare luxury in a mountain village. Later, I knew that the boy was one of forest watches under Amar Chard, who did odd jobs for him.

Easing my tired limbs, I sat near the window. The green hill was beautifully near.

"Why not go there over the promontory and have tea there?" I suggested.

"Yes, sure," mumbled Amar Chard, anxious to please me. I knew that he knew that I had influence in the City and that I attended the Durbar of His Highness!

Sooner said than done. The raised plateau commanded a most beautiful view of a tributary valley of Kashmir: willows, mulberries, Chinars sprinkled among the fields, waving in a typical summer breeze. Rows of young fruit trees in the orchards reminded me of Kauls' keeper, and I said to my companion, after we were seated on velvety turf under an ancient Chinar, "The keeper of Kauls' orchard was the last man to show me my way. He is a hefty shepherd of a keeper."

"Oh, he! beet chod that he is. I once beat him almost to death." Tea came. The 'servant' poured the hot refreshing liquid from the samovar.
As we adjusted cups over our handkerchief I said to Amar Chand," Why did you beat him?" Of course, I knew that beating of poor villagers was something of an accepted right of a forest guard. Still, let me hear the details.

"It was like this," began Amar Chard over a hot sip. "One day I was having my usual noonday round in the forest where, well everybody knows, I am the master of all I survey. No one can cut a blade of grass or pick up a faggot or a dung-cake there without my express permission."

He coughed violently and grew more reminiscent. I thought of the many floggings and extortion of poor villagers by these parasitic, corrupt guards that I had witnessed from time to time. The picture of dense forests of Tosmarg flitted before my mind's eye when I; dressed in Khaki, galloping, on a mountain pony, frightened away a bevy of mountaineer girls who mistook me for a forest guard! The scared lovely birds did not even look back at me as I reined in, amused and yet pensive. The fond memory was disturbed as Amar Chand wiping his mustachios, whose fierce points must have been a terror to the poachers, went on:

"One of my watches was with me. We sat down to rest in a close glen. I said to him, rather pompously, 'Say, Salaams brother, does any bastard come over here to poach now? They know our anger and they're terrified.' Salaams agreed saying, 'Sir, they are all afraid of you as they are of Izrahil (angel of Death)'. That flattered me. I was proud of my power. In a village, one who has ever so little of it, easily gets vain. Just then what happened?"

Amar Chard had an attack of cough as he grew excited. He spat and he drank off hastily, the last cold sips of the tea, and, throwing away the cup towards the watch, continued, "We heard a sound. We were alert at once. I thought a leopard was prowling on us and I
calculated the distance that I would have to traverse to the nearest tree for safety. We waited, cautious and still more alert. Yet another rustle. My heart beat fast. The colour left Salaama's cheeks. What was my surprise when from a corner of the glen, Isawaman, trying to conceal himself behind a bush."

Here, I interrupted, for I wanted yet another cup of tea from the steaming samovar. The watch poured it. I thanked him in the usual formal words. Amar Chard looked at me as if I had stung him. His eyes seemed to say, "Don't degrade yourself to thank a mere chaprasi."
Aloud he said, "Shall I go on?" My curiosity was thoroughly aroused now. Tea was aiding me to like his tale! At the same time, I enjoyed the panoramic sunset casting a weird spell over the western sky and bathing the eastern snow-capped peaks in the last golden rays that
would play for some glorious time over hill and dale and then be gone for ever, gone for ever. But a thing of beauty is a joy for ever. After a few dreamy moments, I said to the anxious narrator, "Pandit Sahib, pray go on. Was it a poacher?"

"Oh sure ! None else but a poacher. My blood boiled to see that a villager had taken it in his head to defy and flout me. I rushed towards my prey. He ran but he tremblingly fell down on the ground. I was over him in a moment, with Salaams at my heels. At once I started beating the fellow, his face downwards. It was belabouring, downright torture. Salaams helped me with a prickly stick which he cut out of a conifer and I set to flog the unfortunate fellow. He whimpered, groaned, wept dry tears. In my fury I recognised it was Mahmdoo, Kauls' orchard-keeper and though I knew Kauls and they, you know, tip me and feast me whenever they come to their orchard, I wasn't moved by Mahmdoo's appeals for mercy. He deserved it, he must have it. My hands were tired. So I used my legs then my hands again.
The stick was broken. Salaams, knowing that I would need another, had already fetched it. I thrashed Mahmdoo so long as I could.

"He lay there, half conscious, hardly groaning. The small bundle of faggots he had collected was by his side. I scattered them in indignation. Then Salaams mid, 'Pandit Sahib, you are panting now. Your cough will attack you. Let the fellow go to hell. So it did. I coughed violently as we left him there and proceeded towards the village. I said to Salaama, 'Mahmdoo must have been trying the usual Kashmiri peasant's feint'. He agreed."

Amar Chand heaved a sigh. Why? Did a forest guard, calls and hardened, still retain a soft heart? Wasn't his conscience, still small voice within, utterly trodden out by his way of life corruption, rape of defenceless women whom-he must have caught poaching, his inhuman cruelty in punishing the poor folk……..?

Kites returned to their high lofts over the Chinar. The sunset flame vanished.

Regaining his poise, he continued sheepishly, "Well, I am a Pandit after all though my profession has made me rather hard. Going down the forest path, I brooded. What had I done? I reproached myself. May be, Mahmdoo is dying there. No, I must know that he is not. Impulsively, I said to Salaama, 'Go to Mahmdoo. Fetch him to this place and let me know. 'Salaams went back, surprised and reluctant.

"Well, you should know, I left Salaams at the risk of my life. I was passing by a thick forest slope where leopards, panthers and bears came down to the brook to drink water. I prayed to God for myself, and, believe me, for Mahmdoo too.

"Late in the evening, Salaams came to me with a report of his work. Mahmdoo had fainted for a long time. He was in bed, shivering with fever. There were no faggots to light the fire with. I sent Salaams back to Mahmdods hut with the instructions, Take faggot for his hearth fire. Make tea for him, as you say, that his wife is away. But don't you tell him that I sent you.' You see I had to keep my izzat that way.

"Mahmdoo was confined to bed for a week. Believe me, that one week was full of agony for me. My hardened heart did soften after all. All my past cruelties came to my mind. I had been unlike a non-violent Kashmiri Pandit who does not even harm a fly or an ant. I must give up all this and I did. But Mahmdoo's condition, of which I had hourly reports, concerned me. I was a morbid kind of fellow, I reproached myself. His groans and his cries of pain resounded in my ears, giving me no mental rest. I slept but little. It is strange how a small incident can bring about such a change in a man's life. At any rate, this one changed the course of my life, Believe me from that day, I don't even whip my pony even when the poor thing grows stubborn."

He stopped for breath. The effort of unburdening his heart to a confidant eased him, but it perspired his forehead and beads of sweat hung about his nose. He did not wipe them. He raced ahead, "Mahmdoo did recover but not I. What I had done to him weighed heavily on my mind. I must make amends. I must repent. And, in a strange way, God ordained it that I made amends. Know you, so far, I have not told anyone all this.

"It was winter. Snow had mantled the wood and the village. We could hardly stir out. Birds clung to the freezing boughs and even so, we closeted ourselves. My Pandit watch, who gave us tea just now, told me that there was no firewood in the kitchen. My kangri was already cold. Something had to be done about it. I asked Salaams to follow me and we waded over the yielding, soft snow, one foot deep, towards the forest. Reaching its fringe, we found the snow deeper there. It would be a folly to go up to the forest for fire-wood. So we retreated along a longer path, counting that dried-up mulberry trees would fall in the way.

"We came upon Kauls' orchard where Mahmdoo was the keeper. Why not fell a young apple tree? That would be easy enough. I beckoned one to Salaams and ordered him, 'Proceed with your axe.' He protested, 'Mahmdoo may come. He is a strict keeper.' Derisively I replied, 'What then?'

'The tree was cut down. As Salaams was about to carry it on his shoulder, we saw a form, dearly outlined over smooth snow, approaching towards us from the keeper's hut. Could it be Mahmdoo? We at once retreated towards a wide rut serving as fence on one side of the orchard. There we hid ourselves. I covered my face with my muffler and Salaams covered his with his cheddar. But it was no use.

"Mahmdoo shouted, 'I have caught you, you badmashes,' as he neared us. He greeted us with his heavy fists and heavier kicks. I muffled my face closer silently receiving heavy blows. He recognised Salaams and Salaams begged his pardon. He was moved and stopped beating us.

"Who is this other thief?' asked Mahmdoo.

"'Oh! He is Amar Chand's relative from his native village; quickly replied Salaams.

"'Is he? Tell Amar Chard I've forgiven his thieving relative and that I'm not taking him to the police.' "

Amar Chand was visibly moved when he recounted this noble remark of Mahmdoo.

As we rose up to go to his residence, the confessor added, "You see, it was just good luck that he didn't recognise me. Nor does he know yet, thanks to Salaama. But he has taught me the lesson of my life."