by Jeff Tikari
would like a game of tennis.
“Sure! We’ll take you boys on.” Parveen challenged.
Harish smiled; this was going to be a cinch. Here was a chance to bring Parveen down a few pegs. He wasn’t going to pussyfoot around. He would blast them off the court.
He bounced the ball a few times (as he had seen the big boys do) and served. Minakshi fumbled and managed a high return just over the net. Harish smashed it for a winner: 15 love! His serve to Parveen was quicker. The return left him flat footed and groping. His confident smile lost a few teeth. He sportingly acknowledged an obvious fluke shot, “good one!” he conceded.
The girls played hard and gave no quarters. In the end both teams were sweating freely and had enjoyed a good workout.
“There is this dance at the club tonight. Would you girls like to join us?”
“Yeah! Okay.” accepted the girls.
Parveen and Minakshi were the cynosure of all eyes at the club. Boys were lining up to dance with them and they were kept on their feet for most of the evening. Both girls loved dancing and swung into the enjoyment of it.
“This wasn’t a good move, yaar,” confided Harish to Upinder,” these two know all the latest dances and are making us look like country bumpkins.”
“You should know all the latest, yar; you keep going abroad so often,” said Upinder.
“Yeah,” conceded Harish, “but who needs to learn dancing when you have a chick sitting on each lap?”
“Well, then suffer.” sniggered Upinder.
When the two girls came off the floor, Harish suggested they go for a drive: “This place is getting to be a bore, yar!”
“You guys go,” suggested Parveen, “we’ll stay here a bit more.” She wasn’t going to let him dictate the evening. Anyway, she was enjoying herself and if Harish couldn’t dance, that was too sad!
On the way home, Harish drove atrociously scowling and hunched.
“If you’ve forgotten how to drive, you can let us girls out here, Harish. We have no intensions of being involved in an accident of your making,” Parveen was annoyed.
Suleiman stayed another two days. The youngsters made their programmes of hiking, riding and swimming. By the end of the stay a little romance was pulling at their heartstrings. They exchanged touching farewells.
“Well?” asked Pratish, “should I send a marriage proposal to uncle Sulaiman?”
“Like you and uncle Sulaiman made a pact when you both were in college, Upinder and I also made a pact that we would get married together on the same day and place,” said Harish.
“That’s fine with me,” said his father, “I’ll invite the families over. But would Upinder want to marry Minakshi, They hardly know each other. I see Parveen taking more interest in him than Minakshi does. Or has he someone else in mind?”
Harish looked pensive. Sure, he liked the girls, but Parveen was so exasperating and strong willed. She was beautiful caring and full of life, but she would also be a difficult person to subdue. He liked the challenge of taming her.
“That’s because Parveen can’t bully me and picks on Upinder. We have spoken about this and Upinder wants to keep his pledge and get married on the same day. Minakshi is a super gal, Dad. It is rare to come across someone like her.”
“Well, as long as you boys have made up your minds,” said his father, Pratish. “If you are not sure about marrying Parveen, I will understand, I promise I won’t take to bed with a sulk.
“It will be okay, Dad.”
“Sulaiman is very agreeable to this proposal. Now I shall have to contact Minakshi’s and Upinder’s parents to set the ball rolling. You, my dear son, will have to formally propose to Parveen and, let’s pray to God, she will accept you.” Pratish’s eye had a glint in them. “I haven’t spoken to your friend at all; I shall leave that to you, as you two have made that private pledge.”
Soon a large marriage shamiana was erected. To keep with the wishes of the families, the arrangements embraced the persuasions of both religions: Pundits and Kazis were in attendance.
The girls appeared in heavily draped and very similar brocade and silk ensembles, their loveliness concealed in ghungats that completely obscured their faces. The two grooms too had their faces covered with all concealing flower strings that hid their handsomeness.
“We want a short ceremony, Dad,” Harish said, “after which we will take off to our honeymoon destination and you and your friends can party for as long as you like.”
EPILOGUE
HONEYMOON – The Metro Plaza Hotel.
“Hey! Wake up, bugger. You still asleep?” Harish’s voice on the phone was full of light sarcasm. “Minakshi is an early riser and has kicked me out of bed.”
“Well, Parveen is sleeping like a baby,” said Upinder, yawing and stretching. “I can see easy days ahead, mate.”
Shikar
During the days of the "British Raj" when hunting was considered a noble sport, an alerting call was given out to indicate to the beaters that a tiger had been wounded and had retreated. The warning was delivered by whistles and shouts to warn the beaters who were then required to scale up the nearest tree and wait. The hunters - who were ensconced on machans - were then honour bound to descend to the forest floor and follow the blood spoor of the wounded beast and finish it off. Ladies and children were spared this dreadful ordeal and were expected to remain in the treetop platform with their biscuits and coffee until the hunt was properly concluded. My father being the host took it upon himself to lead the search party.
In those days, the hills and forests of Hazaribagh and adjoining Gaya district were reputed to contain a number of tigers. Their deep bellowing roars could often be heard echoing in the wooded hills. Later, at night the penetrating, ponk, ponk of alert deer combined with the piaw, piaw of alarmed jackals would warn the denizens of the forest that a tiger was on the prowl. Villagers would huddle closer in their mud huts to hear the often-repeated stories of "man-eaters" which took on an impending reality at night. On some moonlit nights a tiger could be observed crossing a sandy stretch and wading across a shallow stream. Game, however, was a plenty and the tiger mostly found its food from the herds of chital, sambar, pigs, etc. It was when the tiger started picking up easier prey from amongst the grazing village cattle that it became a menace and if wounded posed a real danger of becoming a "man-eater."
Father was an experienced and keen shikari. An ex army officer, he was fit for his 40 years and knew the forest better than most. His close knowledge of the area and detailed intimacy with the characteristics of each animal species gave him an insight into their behaviour under stressful conditions. This was certainly the prime reason for his success in tracking down and locating wounded prey. On occasion he would surprise all by completely abandoning the obvious spoor trail and heading, by way of a detour, to where he thought the animal was headed and to wait for it to get there. More often than not, he was correct. This method also gave him the advantage of lying in wait for the animal instead of being ambushed by one.
Father did not want to unnecessarily expose his guests to the very dangerous work of following up a wounded tiger, especially one that, apparently, was hit in mid belly by one of the guests. He elected to follow the beast alone, along with his trusted gun bearer carrying a second loaded rifle. All conscientious objections, hesitatingly put forward by the guests, where stilled when father pointed out that he had done this kind of work many times before; he knew the forest and a less experienced hunter with him would only distract him and put them both in danger. Father rechecked his .476 Rigby's rifle and stepped forward purposefully.
The forest floor was dry and strewn with the late November leaf fall from deciduous trees. The air was fresh and crisp and still smelt of the morning forest mist. There was a chatter of jungle babblers off on the right, which could indicate that the tiger had retreated that way. The beaters up in the trees guided Father as best they could, warning him of large bushes in his direction further ahead where a wounded tig
er could lie up. They kept up a continuous flow of information, informing him of anything they thought may be of help.
Suddenly, Father sensed rather than saw a movement in a bush. Experience told him he would not have time for a second look so he hastily stepped to his right, putting a thin tall tree between himself and the tiger. The tiger simultaneously broke cover and charged with a great roar. Father took support of the tree, aimed carefully and fired. The bullet hit the tiger in the centre of the forehead and it must have died immediately. The momentum of the charge, however, carried it a few feet to hit the tree with a great resounding thud! The tree shook vigorously and it appeared a body fell out of the tree to land on top of the tiger and, apparently, bounce right back up again.
In the jubilation and merrymaking on the slaying of a dreaded cattle lifter everyone, momentarily, forgot the beater who had fallen off the tree on to the tiger and shot right back up again. Father looked up and saw him still clutching on to a branch with a petrified look on his face. He told the men to bring him down and bring him to the house for medication.
Celebrations continued that evening for a cunning marauder had been exterminated. The beater who had fallen off the tree was brought on a cot. He showed symptoms of a nervous fright spasm, for his body shook every now and then and his