A ride to remember and forget

Lal Singh

DURING my schooldays, most of my summer vacations were spent at my nankey (home of maternal grandparents) at Khaparkheri village in Amritsar. I would take along my books and complete my homework before returning home. A visit in the early 1950s remains etched in my diminishing memory. In the village, a neighbour, uncle Shah, owned several domestic animals and horses. At times, I would be allowed to ride a young stallion, Daboo, aptly named for white patches on its brown body. In time, I mastered riding and would ride solo to the outskirts of the village.

As the years rolled by, I was selected to join an engineering course in Bombay, so I decided to visit the village before leaving. I was elated to see Daboo and requested uncle to permit me one last ride. After he obliged, I decided to take a somewhat longer ride, which took me to the outskirts of a nearby village. I was enjoying my ride — Daboo was trotting and feeling quite accommodative in following my commands. After we rode for a few miles, there was a loud hail from another horse-rider coming from the opposite direction, some distance away. I could not catch clearly what he was hollering. But as he drew nearer, I saw him carrying a big covered basket on his thighs and shouting to me to back away with my stallion as he was on a mare. I could not comprehend why he was insisting that I turn back, but the urgency in his voice prompted me to acquiesce. I coaxed Daboo to take an about-turn, but he seemed to ignore my command, and instead, started neighing and snorting, and then, sauntered and galloped towards the mare.

The next thing I knew, the basket was on the ground, its contents all over the field. Somehow I managed to calm down the horse and returned to my village. On reaching my grandfather’s home, I narrated the incident to uncle Shah, who assured me that here was nothing to worry, but I knew it was not the end of the matter. Specially prepared laddoos meant for shagun had been ruined. Sure enough, an hour later, the person who had lost the precious laddoos came along, accompanied by a few others. They explained that they were not merely ‘shaguna de laddoos’ sent by the parents of a bride; the damage to the laddoos was considered an ill omen. So it was not just about the material loss. With the intervention of wise elders and the panchayat, the matter was resolved amicably.

Of course, it was the result of the realisation that the youngster riding the stallion was ignorant about why the horse was out of his control and paid no heed to commands. The demurrage was borne by the benevolent uncle, who graciously accepted the onus, and I was cautioned with stern advice.

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