The Dying Sun by Joginder Paul

Author:Joginder Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperPerennial
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

God Thine Will Be Done

His stiff moustache was like two swords caught in the thicket of the beard. Jodha Singh was past fifty years of age, but the spark in his eyes gave one the impression that a fire may suddenly erupt somewhere. Having lost their homes in western Punjab, his ancestors arrived in this village of Ambala district in search of a livelihood. When the villagers refused to accept them, they took up dacoity as a profession and forced their way into the community. In due course, by adopting the common rules of love and war all at the same time, they became masters of the black and white, the good and bad of the village.

‘My poor father Nihal Singh was a dacoit only in name,’ Jodha would say as he recalled tales of his forefathers. ‘The real dacoit was my grandfather. When I grew up, the raw, virgin fields began to run all around me with abandon…

‘Jodhe – Oye Jodhe…’

‘What is it?’

‘Whom are you going to loot so far away from home? We all are right here. Ha ha ha…’

The ghee and sattu stuffed in Jodha Singh’s mouth would spurt out as he spoke, the crumbs getting caught in his beard. ‘My grandfather doted on me. He would pat my back and say to my father, “You are useless, puttar Nihal Singh, but may Wahe Guru forgive you, you truly looted His house. This son of yours is a diamond worth crores.” And then, as though the loot had been seized by the police, he would continue dolefully, “But what is the use? After having looted the whole world, my old age is confined to this dungeon.”’

‘Now, stop your long-winded tales, Sardaran,’ Jodha’s wife Roop Kaur interrupted him. ‘Get up and chant the name of Sachhe Paadshah, the true Lord.’

‘May the lord be good to you, Sardarni.’ Of course, Jodha prayed for the well-being of his wife, but other than her, he had spent his life praying for the good of all those whose houses he had burgled. ‘Only if you let me off from your sermons can I turn to Sachhe Paadshah – do this, Sardaran, don’t do that, Sardaran, do that not this … Will someone tell me what I should or should not be doing?’ he said, running his fingers through his beard. ‘The sages were right when they said that even the tallest of women is still a woman.’ He was very proud of his wife’s height. ‘There is no doubt that you are a rose amongst flowers, Sardarni, but you have reduced me to a good-for-nothing.’

‘It’s your hair that is dirty, Chacha, and you accuse chachi of having lice in hers!’ Jivanda Singh was the older son of his late brother and barely two years younger than himself. ‘At this age, what more work do you want her to do? Will you make chachi produce twins for you?’

‘Ask your chachi what I used to be! The first time I drew her close to

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