fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya

'Everything else has changed but notways of speaking,’ the old man said tohimself in a low voice, and stood still,leaning on his walking stick. His knessstuck out of his pajamas, and his sherwaniwhich ended above his knees was patchedin several places.A child came out of the lane crying.'Come here, son’ the old man said in asoothing voice. 'Come, I'll give you sweets.'Putting his hand in his pocket, he startedto search for something for the child. Thechild kept quiet for a moment and thentwisting his mouth, again started crying.A girl of sixteen or seventeen came runningfrom inside the lane and holding the child'sarm dragged him back into the lane. Stillcrying, the child struggled to free his arm.Lifting him in her arms, she held him close,kissed him, and said : 'Stop crying, myprince. If you cry that Muslim will takeyou away. Keep quiet my good little boy.Keep quiet!'The old Muslim had taken out a cointo offer to the child but now he returnedit to his pocket. Lifting his cap, hescratched his head and put the cap underhis arm. His throat was parched and hisknees shook slightly. He leaned against thefront plank of a closed shop in the laneand put his cap on again. At the mouthof the lane, where they had once stackedlong wooden beams, now stood a threestoriedhouse. Two well fed kites satmotionless on the electric wire above thelane. Near the electric pole was a smallpatch of sunlight. The old man stood fora while, watching the flying specks of dustin the sun light. 'Oh Lord of all!' Thewords fell from his lips.A young man came along, twirling akey-chain, and stopped on seeing the oldman. 'Why are you standing here, Mianji?Is anything the matter?'A faint tremor ran down the old man'schest and arms. He brushed his tongueover his lips and looking attentively at theyoung man said, 'Son, aren't you Manori?'The young man stooped shaking hiskey-chain, and closed his fist over it. 'Howdo you know my name?' he asked, givingthe old man a surprised look.'Son, seven-and-a half years ago youwere so high', the old man tried to smile.'Have you come from Pakistan today?'Manori asked.'Yes, We used to live in this lane,' theold man said. 'My son, Chiraghdin wastailor to you folks. Just six months beforethe partition we had built our new househere.’'Oh, Ghani Mian?' Recognition shotthrough Manori.'Yes, son, I'm your Ghani Mian. Icannot meet Chiragh and his wife andchildren but I said to myself that I wouldhave one look at my house.'The old man took off his cap andmoved his hand over his head, trying tohold back his tears.'But hadn't you left here long before?'Manori's voice was filled with sympathy.86 :: April-June 2013fgndi •