From the horse’s mouth

DC Sharma

EVEN now when I see someone riding a horse as a groom, my own youthful days flash across my mind. I have had this privilege twice — once when my wife’s brothers came to see me and the second time, when I actually got married. My father-in-law had died of a sudden illness, leaving behind his youngest daughter unmarried. Her brothers were even more careful to find the right match for her.

I was teaching English at DAV College, Jalandhar. Considering there was no college at Kangra, the DAV College Managing Committee, New Delhi, planned to start a college there in 1976. Principal BS Bahl called me in his office and ordered me to pack and leave for Kangra. The college was then being run from a rented building.

Principal RC Jeewan, who later retired from DAV College, Chandigarh, was my boss there. Being hard-working himself, he would not only run the college administration and take chemistry lessons, but also would not mind working with labourers in his spare time. He wanted the girls’ hostel to be operational before the start of the academic session.

I was living in a rented room near the college where the construction of the hostel was on. One Sunday morning, my colleague and I were going for breakfast at some dhaba. Seeing the  Principal lift containers filled with concrete along with the labourers, we forgot our breakfast and joined hands with him. It was hot and I was perspiring. I developed blisters on both my palms. The Principal pitied me, asked me to stop, and go to the riverbed as the sand and gravel-wallah had not turned up.

A labourer was sent with me. He showed me the path to the riverbed. I saw the river from a distance. The suppliers were collecting material. The khachar-wallah cooperated with me and loaded his animals with the material and started back to the college. Seeing me perspiring, he asked me to ride his horse lest I get more tired. ‘Uncle, is this a horse?’ ‘Yes, son, in these parts we call gadhas and khachars our ghodas. They serve us better than even a well-decorated horse,’ he said.

As I was riding, I saw the labourer who had directed me to the riverbed return with four smart young men. They had come from Punjab to see me. My Principal had sent them there. Finding me in those circumstances, the girl’s brothers didn’t believe that I was a Professor. Neither my Principal nor others could convince them.

That incident sparks a lesson. It confirmed my belief in God’s will. The tall, beautiful sister of the four brothers was mine by divine right. Otherwise why should Principal Bahl tell them that I was earlier teaching English at his college?