The Gift at Dusk.

“Öm Namah Swaha …Thora sa ghee daliye...” . Heat and smoke bellowed out while the flames grew brighter and longer. The fiery fire had me transfixed, as if I was transcending through time. The orange glow slowly gave shape to the silhouette of a green sari clad figure with a bundle in her hand. The city beyond was burning. Dusk was setting in and I was in a hurry to put the fruit caskets inside and close the shop before the curfew set in again. “Bhaya ji  meri bacchii ko bachalo, bhayaji..” her fear grasped eyes pleaded. Some more chaotic noises arose in the background with shouts and slogans in the praise of the almighty. My fellow brethrens were rumbling down the street mad as the hatter brandishing the ugly cloak of human religion.  I found myself being violently nudged by this skin & bones figure now. Dumbfounded I frantically took the bundle and hid it among my fruit baskets.

 She vanished in the growing darkness with the mob cheering behind never to be heard of or seen again. There were many tragic series of news that followed in the local newspaper headlines for some days. But my world was filled with the crying of a new-born, a sudden rainbow of joy in our solitary world. My begum named her “Sarina” meaning "Princess" in Hebrew. A game of Hide and Seek prevailed for the angels safety but the tense days passed soon. I too shifted base from Aligarh to the “Dilwalo ki Delhi” for better business. We easily folded into the capitals fast paced cultural potpourri. Sarina grew up, her little family made of Ammi , Abba, some friends and her favourite Gods Allah & Krishna. The Joyous festivities of Eid , Holi, Diwali or Christmas touched us in equal fervours. I realised time flies by fast when I see her doning the black cape and leaving for practise to fight for the blind law. Where was the law I wonder when I was being nudged 25 years back.

 The nudging suddenly grows stronger now as the burning flames scorch me afresh.  The chanting of mantras and melody of Shehanai was gradually coming closer. I can hear the voice again, now clearer. “Abba ghee dalo hawan mein” Sarina's face now glows in the orange halo, the freshly smeared sindur sparkling brightly on her forehead. My princess had given me all the joys of fatherhood . “Kanyadaan” they say is the most pious act of all, a milestone towards salvation. I smiled, being her abba has been the best gift . I could feel that river of joy flowing.