BY PROF. N. S. PHADKE, M.A.

I wonder if it would be too wicked to confess that I was inwardly a little thankful to find my native town in the clutches of an epidemic of influenza when I returned from England as a licensed medical practitioner after five years’ study. I did not make money. It would have been inhuman to aim at it when fever was taking a heavy toll all around me. But the epidemic gave me a rare chance of proving my medical skill and winning peoples’ confidence. It put me all right on the map as the best young doctor in the town.

My sister would always poke fun at me, remarking, "They call you a Flu-doctor."

"Let them," was all I could say in reply with a smile. She was, after all, right.

Apart from the scare caused by the epidemic, I found my native town exactly as I had left it five years ago. The main road had been a little widened. But all the other streets were narrow and full of ditches. There was a new electric power-house now, but the town was still in darkness at night. Houses and shops were still uneven, shabby, uninviting. Ugly conveyances drawn by lean ponies rattled down the lanes. Huge dung-hills at the street corners, streams of filthy waste-water across the roads, cattle pacing the thoroughfares, beggars crying for alms at all hours, naked children playing marbles or flying kites in the streets, the fly-covered sweets in the shops near the temple, the fakirs in front of the mosque, the dirt and noise in the market square, indolence, foolishness, business slump, unemployment, helplessness, and a secret discontent–everything was just as it had been. It was all so disheartening. I could not help asking myself repeatedly: Was the country doomed to an endless swoon?……

The ignorance and stink which I noticed everywhere often made me repent having returned from England. It would be far better, I began to feel, to go away to Europe again than to watch with utter helplessness this seemingly incurable state of my countrymen. Perhaps all who return after a long stay abroad find a similar feeling creeping into their hearts. I would really have left India again, had this feeling grown. But presently the epidemic broke out, and I had no free time left to think of myself. Influenza spread like a wild fire. Death ravaged the workers’ tenements like a hungry wolf, as though it had benevolently decided to put an end to their living agony. Whole families were swept away in half a day. We set up a small free hospital in addition to the town’s big one. And yet we could not cope with the epidemic. I used to be out of my house all day, and even in the night there could be no telling when I would be called.

My sister used to be very annoyed when anybody knocked at our door in the dead of night. She would not hesitate to tell the caller that the doctor was out. I had come to know this trick of hers so well that whenever I heard our door-bell ring at a late hour I could predict that there would be a needy caller at the door-step, and that my sister would pitilessly perpetrate on him her usual "experiment with un-truth."

That was why on that particular day when the door-bell rang, and my sister, making a sign to me that I must not leave my chair, moved towards the door, I could not help saying to her:

"Yes, you may answer the call. But if somebody wants me don’t send him away with your usual lie."

But she jerked her head, as if to say that she knew things better than I, and went out.

She took a long time to return, and when she did she looked upset. Half to herself she muttered,

"Aren’t these people impossible? Do they mean that the doctor needs no food or rest?–That he must run along like an untiring machine in answer to their calls?….."

"What’s the matter?" I asked, "Who was it? Was it a caller?"

"Yes, and the fellow wouldn’t leave even when I told him that the doctor had gone to bed. Says he wouldn’t go unless he took the doctor with him. He would lie at our door-step the whole night, he says. What’s to be done now with this strange fellow?"

"Why, it’s easy. The doctor’s sister must now understand that dishonesty isn’t always the best policy and allow the doctor to put duty before his own rest."

I said all this as if I was cutting a joke, but I didn’t succeed in making her laugh. So I myself laughed and added,

"Come, sister, tell the man that the doctor is at home and would be ready to go with him in a moment."

But she made a very serious face and said, "No, brother, I would have let you go with another man. But with this fellow, never. He says his brother is burning with fever. But nobody will be the worse for it if his brother died. Why, I wish he himself was caught in this epidemic and perished."

I was amazed. "How could you talk so wickedly, sister?"

She did not shrink at my disapproval. With her steady gaze on me, she said, "You too would talk like that if only you knew who has come to call you."

"Who?"

"Rahim! Don’t you remember him? He was sentenced to four years and a half when you sailed for England. Why aren’t such bullies jailed for life? Rahim–the blackest ruffian that ever disgraced our town! Don’t you know the man?"

Yes, I knew the man all right.

How could I help knowing when everybody in the town, young or old, knew Rahim…..

Rahim and the other fellow…..What was his name?…..Yes…..Rama!

Notorious gangsters, the two of them. They both came of well-to-do families, owned houses and lands, and did business in the market as brokers and agents. They were fanatically devoted to their respective religions, and had a big following amongst their respective communities. There were hundreds ready to rise at their call. They were such important forces in the town’s public life that nothing could be done unless one handled them well–be it a municipal election or a civic reception to Gandhi or to the Governor. They were very fond of fights, and they were happy when they could brew up some trouble. Each of them controlled a dozen of wrestling clubs, and could muster quite a few hundreds of wrestlers under his flag. They had no fear of the officials. Rather, the officials feared them and knew that coaxing their type was the better part of valour. No Hindu or Mahommedan festival could pass off without at least a minor clash between their factions. At last the music in a Hindu Temple near a Mosque developed into a major issue between the Hindus and the Mahommedans and led to the most terrible riot in the history of our town. There were heavy casualties on both sides and the number of the wounded was staggering. The Government used this opportunity wisely. Rama and Rahim were prosecuted and sentenced to four and a half years’ rigorous imprisonment and a fine of a thousand rupees. It was at this time that I left India for higher medical studies in England…….

I recollected all this and said to my sister, "Of course I do. I remember Rahim perfectly well."

"You do? Then listen, you mustn’t go with him. No one would blame you if you refused to help a heartless rascal who spent all his days in hooliganism and who brought misery and even death to hundreds of people."

There was truth in her words, but it was difficult for me at the moment to take her advice. A conscientious doctor is, I believe, in an uncommon mood when a whirlwind epidemic sweeps his town, He has no room in his mind for any consideration except that he must run to the succour of the afflicted. I said to my sister:

"No. I think I’ll go."

"Are you mad or what? How can you think of going with Rahim? With that brute?…. That gangster?"

"You mustn’t forget, my dear, that the man who has come to my door is not Rahim the gangster, but Rahim whose brother is on his death-bed."

"But do you know if his brother is really ill? Maybe he’s telling a lie, and his dying brother is only an excuse to take you out of the house. I’m afraid they have laid a trap to kill you….."

"You’re getting almost ridiculous, sister, with your doubts and fears." I could not help laughing.

"You may laugh and call me a fool if you like. But I wouldn’t let you go."

You can imagine how difficult it must have been for me to make her see my point of view. But at last she did, and permitted me, although not without a show of reluctance, to go with Rahim.

There was no talk between me and Rahim as we walked together. Neither of us was in a mood to talk. Presently we passed a big Hindu temple. This was the notorious spot where five years back that terrible communal riot had occurred; there had been a free fight between the Hindus led by Rama and the Mahomedans led by Rahim, bloodshed, and at last firing by the police.

I looked up at Rahim. He was hurrying with his head hung down as though in shame. This was a little surprising to me. Was he ashamed, I asked myself, of the part he had played on this scene in the past?

Devotional songs were being sung in the temple to the beat of the drums and the sound of brass cymbals. The words of the song floated high up in the air: "Ye are all sons of the Divinity! Be like brothers unto each other!"

How noble the words!

The temple had resounded with such words for years together, and yet in front of this place of worship the ‘sons of the Divinity’ had committed murder and massacre.

Who was responsible for this? Rama? Rahim? Or the perverse ideas of religion and God that had been deliberately planted in their heads, by whom they did not know?….

I looked up at Rahim again.

He was still hanging down his head, and his steps were even more hurried.

As we approached the ‘Weavers’ Lane’ I slowed down. I remembered that Rahim had a house in the Lane and so I expected him to take a turn.

But Rahim said, "We have yet a good deal to go."

"But I guess that’s your house–the one with the balcony?"

"That was, but isn’t now."

"How do you mean?"

But Rahim made no reply.

His silence seemed strange. For a moment I remembered what my sister had said about a trap in which I might find myself. I resisted nervousness of course. But I could not help asking Rahim, "Where do you live now?"

"In the tenements of the mill hands."

This gave me quite a shock. What could be more incredible than that Rahim, a landlord and a business man, lived in the workers’ hovels? And my wonder increased tenfold when Rahim actually took me into the filthy yard of the tenements, and halting in front of a room on the ground floor knocked at the door and called, "Janaki…..

Janaki? This was a Hindu name! A Hindu woman in Rahim’s house?……Had this gangster kidnapped a girl?….

I must confess I began to lose my courage. Was I inviting danger? Would it be prudent to get away from the place before it was too late?…..

But presently the door of the room opened, and Rahim turned to me with the words, "Step in, please, Doctor Saheb."

I went into the room.

It was like thousands of other rooms where workers struggled with poverty. The shedless tin-pot which served for a lamp emitted much more smoke than light. It was difficult in the semi-darkness to know if there was any furniture in the room. But probably there was none. The patient lay in a corner. Rahim took me near the bed, and Janaki lifted the tin-pot lamp.

I bent down to look at the patient. And when I saw his face I was so amazed that I could not believe my eyes.

There lay before me none else than Rama, the leader of the Hindu rowdies, the man whom Rahim had hated all his life and whose throat he would have been glad and proud to cut.

I turned to Rahim. "But you said your brother…..?"

"Yes, doctor, this is my brother."

This was the biggest of all the surprises the night had given me. Rahim seemed to guess my wonder and said, "Please attend to him, doctor. And then, if you have time and if you care to listen to me, I have many things to tell you."

Rama had high fever. He spoke with difficulty, but he answered all my questions. I gave him a dose of medicine. As I wrapped him in the dirty blanket, he began to talk as if he was getting delirious.

"Doctor, look here. I suppose I’m going to die. If I do, promise me that you’ll look after my wife and my brother….."

"Your brother?" I purposely asked. "Who?"

"This, Rahim."

"Ah, I thought he was your worst enemy?"

"O, no, no, doctor, he might have been my enemy before, but he isn’t now. Things have changed, how much you have no idea. And now I’m his brother and he is mine. It’s like this, doctor….."

But it was not wise to let him rave. So I asked him to be quiet and tried to put him to sleep.

Later Rahim said to me:

"Doctor, I know you are puzzled. You’ve been perhaps asking yourself what magic has made brothers of us two whom the whole town remembers as avowed enemies. I tell you what: We spent half our lives battling with each other. We were both fanatics and wanted to serve our religions. Rama thought that the greatest service he could render to his country was by hating and fighting the Mahommedans. I used to think that I could be true to my religion only by hounding and persecuting the Hindus. We rioted, committed murder and arson, and would have gladly hacked each other’s heads. But at last we were both caught and sent to the same prison. We met a few educated young men there, and they talked to us of this thing and that, and opened our eyes to things which we had always refused to see. They cured us of our false ideas of religion and God’s service. They made us realise that the real fight was not between the Hindus and the Mahommedans, and that the two communities whose interests really clashed were the workers who sweated and starved, and the capitalists who grew fat and rich on their labour. Those who exploited the worker only knew him as a worker–neither as a Hindu nor as a Musalman…..

"And when we came out of the prison, we soon discovered that there was truth in what we had learnt from these young men. Things had changed, and we found it extremely difficult to get into step with our affairs. Our shops had been mismanaged during our absence, we had lost our lands and houses, money was hard to find and there was a terrible slump in the market. The riff-raff of the town were eager to gather round us and to pick up the old gangster game. But we now hated that business. We had done with it. We both began to work as mill hands in the same mill; and what we saw and suffered there cured us of the last lingering spot of foolish religious fanaticism. The owner of the mill was a Mahommedan. But did he on that account, consider me as his brother and equal? Did he show me any special sympathy or give me any special concession? No, never. Once I got my hand fractured and had to lie in the nursing home for a week. Did the mill-owner help me then? No. On the contrary, my name was struck off the roll and I had to bend on my knees and pray and touch his insolent feet before he took me in again. The head jobber in the mill was a Hindu. He wore a string of ‘Tulsi’ beads round his neck, and went on pilgrimage twice a year. He was that religious. But did he show any special kindness to Rama? No. In his eyes Rama was just one of the many hundreds of workers in the mill, who must be driven like cattle. Once Janaki had an abortion and Rama couldn’t go on duty for a few weeks. He was dismissed. When he returned to work, the head jobber refused to have him. And when Rama told him about his wife’s illness the brute replied that the wives of mill hands had no business to get pregnant. I would have liked to wring his neck when he said that…..

"There would be no end if I went on telling you such things. The point is that we both became convinced that neither the Hindus nor the Mahommedans would come upon better days so long as they went on making a fetish of religion and fighting each other. We have a common enemy who benefits by our fights. He will never let us make peace. During the last six months I and Rama received more than a dozen secret messages to lead our gangs as before. Even offers of big money. But we are both completely changed. The devil couldn’t tempt us now. We both know very well who the real enemy is and where the real blow must fall. We are ashamed of our past enmity. We want to forget all that–if possible to atone for it. I know, doctor, that you were surprised to find my head hung down in shame and silence when we passed through the Temple Square. But do you wonder now? I think not. We are really like two brothers–Rama and myself. We have to measure our strength not with each other but with a third power which fattens upon our folly and our communal strifes. Our country will be strong and free on the day when every Hindu and Mahomedan understands this! It’s like a stab in the heart to know that the day is not near! Heaven alone knows when it will dawn……"

Heaven alone knows when the day will dawn…….

These words kept ringing in my ears all through the night.

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