Prashant was sitting in his room, working in the office. His office was in Karol Bagh, Delhi. The office wasn't located in a huge space. There were three staff members, and the office had just enough room for Prashant Batabyal, the owner, to sit. The day after Dol Purnima. That day, Holi was being celebrated across the country. Therefore, none of the office staff had come in. Prashant had come in alone. He opened the office and was working on some pending tasks.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Prashant furrowed his brow. He wondered, "Who could it be today?" Just as he was about to get up from his chair, the door opened, and a gentleman walked straight into the room. Prashant did not recognize the man.
"Who are you?" asked Prashant.
"You won’t recognize me, sir, I know that," said the man.
"What do you mean?"
"It was quite a while ago that we met. Do you remember, you had come to Jodhpur to buy a horse?"
Prashant Batabyal seemed to remember something, but it was a faint recollection, about fifteen years ago. Though he vaguely remembered, he still replied directly, "No," as he could not recognize the man.
"You bought a horse from me. A Marwari horse!" the man continued, quickly listing his name and address, "Banwari Purohit, from the horse market in Jodhpur. You came to the horse market, negotiated, and paid thirty thousand rupees in cash for the horse… I understand, that day I was wearing a turban, but I’m not wearing it today; that’s why you probably don’t recognize me."
The man was speaking quite fluently in Bengali, though there was only a slight accent, not the typical foreigner's accent that is often present when non-Bengalis speak the language.
Anyway, even though he didn’t recognize the man, out of courtesy, Prashant invited Banwari to sit. He asked, "You must have come from Jodhpur. Please, sit, have a cold drink first. Then we’ll talk." Saying this, he himself got up and opened the office fridge, taking out two cold bottles. He handed one to Banwari and kept the other for himself. They both took a sip from the bottles. "Ah," Banwari exclaimed, letting out a sound of satisfaction.
"Ah," Prashant said, continuing his conversation, "the heat of Delhi, you know. And it's March too... But tell me, what made you come to me after all these years, Banwari?"
"Sir, do you still have that horse?"
"Why, do you want to know?"
"No, just tell me, do you still have it?"
"Yes. But it's no longer under my care."
"Well, it's good to know it's still there." Banwari sighed in relief. Then he asked, "Whose care is it under now? Where is my Dilbagh?"
"Your Dilbagh! What are you saying? I had bought Dilbagh myself! Besides, it's now under my daughter's care. Dilbagh is my daughter's horse."
"Your daughter... how old is she?"
"Why are you asking these questions, Banwari? My daughter and Dilbagh are the same age. I bought Dilbagh as a gift for her. She's the owner of Dilbagh, my daughter Apsara."
"Wow, your daughter has a lovely name. Apsara. Sir, I knew that Rani of Jhansi, Lakshmibai, had a horse named 'Pavan'; Rana Pratap had a horse named 'Chetak,' and your daughter Apsara has taken Dilbagh as her own! Amazing! Do Bengali girls really keep horses?"
"They do, they do, Banwari. If a girl can keep a cat or a dog, why can't she keep a horse? A horse is also an animal that follows commands..."
"Ugh, you've turned my Dilbagh into an animal now?"
"Well, if I don't call a horse an animal, what should I call it, Banwari? Dilbagh is a domesticated animal. Maybe my daughter dotes on Dilbagh a bit too much, but..."
"Sir, I have come to take Dilbagh. How much money do you need to return Dilbagh to me?"
"What nonsense are you talking? Money, return! Dilbagh...!" With that, Prashant tried to focus on his work, but he couldn’t. Banwari began speaking non-stop. "Sir, I’ll take Dilbagh with me. I swear to do so."
Then, Banwari did something unexpected. He poured a bag full of money onto Prashant's desk. The amount was so large it was hard to convey unless one saw it!
Surprised, Prashant Batabyal stood up from his chair. Stunned, he began calling out names, but the office was empty. He quickly rushed outside, panting. Banwari followed him. Standing beside him, Banwari took both of Prashant’s hands into his own and began pleading, "Sir, please return Dilbagh, please return him, sir."
Prashant Batabyal was in a great fix. He thought to himself, "In seven months, Apsara will be married. I had promised the groom’s family that I would gift Dilbagh to my daughter. Now what? Will Apsara let go of Dilbagh? She’s nurtured it so lovingly since her childhood."
Prashant asked Banwari to sit back inside. Banwari obediently returned to the room and sat down. The money was still scattered on the desk.
After Banwari left, Prashant took out a cigarette packet from his pants pocket. It was a new pack. He removed the cellophane wrapping and opened the packet. He took out a cigarette, a premium Five Fitty Five brand. Taking out a lighter from another pocket, he lit the cigarette. After taking two satisfying puffs, he looked down and saw a few uniformed police officers walking around. Prashant was startled. The police at such an odd hour! He wondered to himself, "Was Banwari here with some ill intentions? First, I couldn't recognize the man. Second, he brought so much money, and now the police are loitering in front of the office at this time! Who knows what this man’s real purpose is?"
"Well, better stay alert," he thought, as he stood there with the cigarette in his mouth. He began reflecting on the past...
Apsara's grandmother was still alive at that time, about fifteen years ago. Apsara was just two years old then. The grandmother’s favorite granddaughter, she never wanted to be apart from her. "Grandma, tell me a story, Grandma, tell me a story," she would insist day and night. Whether eating, sleeping, or sitting, it was always stories. The grandmother would keep telling story after story to her beloved granddaughter—monsters, kings and ministers, fairies... but none of these stories seemed to excite the girl. She only wanted horse stories. But how many horse stories could the grandmother make up? And this wasn’t the era of mobiles or TV either. So, the grandmother would tell the same old tale of a winged horse over and over again.
One year passed like this. The girl turned three. Now, she wanted to see a real horse in front of her eyes. By now, she understood that a horse cannot fly like a bird with wings. Where could they find a horse? Horse carts did not run in Delhi city. Outside the city, they still had horse-drawn carts. But "Those horses are small, weak, with thick tails, their necks are hairy, their eyes are covered, and their mouths are red..." No matter how many such descriptions the grandmother gave, it didn’t satisfy the girl’s desire. She insisted, "Get me a real horse. I want to ride it and be like Lakshmibai. I will jump over the roof like Rana Pratap and go all around Delhi." So many demands! And without that horse, she was upset. She wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t sleep.
Finally, Prashant had to buy a horse. The girl’s health was deteriorating, and both her mother and grandmother were heartbroken. So, he bought her a wooden horse. But that didn’t work... "I can’t ride on that."
In the end, Prashant rushed to Rajasthan to buy a horse. Horses from Jodhpur were known to be of the highest class. After doing some research, he learned that the Marwari or Malani horses were strong and well-built. They were seven to eight feet in length, over five feet tall, with a neck at a forty-five-degree angle, six to seven-inch ears, and their color was coppery, or what they called "chestnut." After hearing all of this, Prashant himself began to get more interested in horses. However, he understood that the girl’s interest in horses would be short-lived. So, he thought buying a pony would be sufficient, whether it was a Marwari colt or another breed.
But when he reached the horse market in Jodhpur and saw the horses, Prashant was completely stunned. He had never seen such majestic horses! He spent two days in Jodhpur, visiting markets all day, and finally found one that he thought would be perfect for Apsara. It was a small-sized but high-bred horse, and the seller told him that it would grow into a true Marwari horse. But he didn’t remember Banwari, anymore.
Fifteen or sixteen years later, that small horse had grown into a huge one. The Marwari horse bought from the market had become quite impressive. Of course, Apsara’s care and attention to it played a big role. Prashant had thought that when the girl grew older, her interest in the horse would fade. Then, they could sell it. But they were wrong. As Apsara grew, her affection for Dilbagh, the horse, only grew. Now, the horse wasn’t just a horse—it had become Dilbagh, the name Apsara called it. The care, the affection, the running around in open fields—everything continued full force.
And, when Apsara turned fifteen, she entered the racecourse with Dilbagh. The entire city of Delhi was astonished! A girl jockey at the racecourse! Apsara was possibly the first to take such a step. Even after a few falls, Apsara stood up as a familiar jockey in the field. And she started winning races. She was happy, her parents and relatives were happy, but the one missing from this joy was her grandmother. By then, Prashant had lost his mother. He regretted that his mother couldn’t see what a remarkable young woman his beloved granddaughter had become.
By the time Apsara was eighteen, Prashant had already decided on a groom for her. It was a decision he had taken with Apsara’s consent. The groom was also a jockey, a handsome young man who looked like a prince. Prashant was not ready to let such a young man slip away. Not just him, the entire family had approved of Apsara’s choice. Seven months later, Apsara was to marry. The groom’s family had asked for nothing as a gift except for Dilbagh.
Prashant had thought that grooms often ask for all kinds of gifts during weddings, sometimes even a motorcycle. But for Apsara, it was a horse? Of course, Apsara herself would never leave Dilbagh. Dilbagh was her life. And now, someone named Banwari Purohit had suddenly appeared, asking to take Dilbagh back? And that too, for such a large sum of money? Amazing!
Prashant finished his cigarette and brought himself back to the present. Inside the office. He remembered that he had left the man sitting in his office. He returned to his office room. Banwari was counting the notes spread out on the table, bundling them into neat stacks along the edge.
Prashant spoke, “Banwari, why don’t you come tomorrow? I’ll go home and tell my daughter. If she agrees, then I’ll consider giving you the horse, understood?”
Banwari Purohit made a face and left the office for that day. He had wanted to leave the money with Prashant, but Prashant refused. He thought to himself, “Is the man crazy? He wants to leave so much money with someone else?” No, he needed to understand the real motive behind this.
At home, he didn’t tell Apsara anything. He knew if he mentioned it, Apsara would make a fuss. She would never part with the horse, and it would lead to a huge commotion.
The next day, Prashant came to the office, and Banwari was waiting for him. This time, Prashant asked him, “Banwari, why do you want Dilbagh back? What will you do with him?”
Banwari sat silently for a while, his face darkening. Then, when he spoke, Prashant’s eyes filled with tears. Banwari was crying too. He said, “I have a daughter, sir. Her marriage has been arranged. We always give a horse as a wedding gift. Dilbagh had a twin sister, whom I raised for my daughter. But unfortunately, the filly died after just three days from a fever. Now, what am I supposed to give my daughter? That’s when I remembered Dilbagh. I tracked you down and brought the money. Whatever the cost, I came to take back Dilbagh. It’s all in your hands now. If not, my daughter’s marriage won’t happen.”
After he finished speaking, Banwari’s sobbing intensified. Prashant asked, “Why don’t you buy another horse and gift it to your daughter and son-in-law?”
“No sir, he won’t accept any other horse. He wants his own home-grown horse.”
“That’s quite a heavy demand. But you see, I too promised my son-in-law a horse from home…”
Prashant couldn’t finish his sentence. Just then, three police officers entered his office, saying, “Banwari Purohit, the man is here…”
Banwari’s face turned pale when he saw the police. What was happening? It turned out that Banwari was a well-known bookmaker in Delhi’s horse races. People placed huge bets with him, sometimes in the millions. The upcoming week’s race would feature a bumper jackpot, with millions of rupees riding on Dilbagh. Banwari had already fixed it. He wanted Dilbagh for the race. With the right amount of money, he could make a fortune.
“But he was talking about giving Dilbagh as a wedding gift!” Prashant said to the police.
“All lies, sir. Didn’t you take the money from him?” one of the officers asked, showing Prashant a card from a distance.
Prashant quickly denied it, saying, “No, no. He has been trying to bribe me since yesterday. I didn’t take a single penny.”
“Right, sir,” the officer said, and they took Banwari Purohit away.
Before leaving, Banwari could only say one thing to Prashant, “Sir, please take good care of Dilbagh…”
By then, one of the officers had silenced him with his hand.
The words were left incomplete, and that was what kept Prashant thinking. He sat quietly for a while, then suddenly left the office and rushed home to his daughter.