Shrine of the Broken Idols

Shrine of the Broken Idols

The Som Vihar residential complex dominates the cityscape as Sangam Marg in RK Puram curves northwards. Named after India’s first Param Vir Chakra Awardee, it is the only “private’’ colony in an otherwise wholly government sub city. A little further down the road, on the left side is a large peepal tree on the parapet around the base of which stands a saffron smeared statuette of Hanumaan, amongst a host of other chipped, cracked or broken idols - discarded from homes where they once were reigning deities.

 

Nearby the tree is an old water kiosk - relic of the time the sarkari babu cycled to office – no longer relevant in the age of bottled mineral water.
In the double shadow of the tree and the water-hut stood for many months, a hand-cycle with ‘Presented by RIN Association to Hawa Singh son of Piara Singh’ painted prominently on the back of the chair.

 

The story of Hawa Singh is of a life that plunged from a budding career in the Navy. He was also arguably, North India’s only beggar who sought alms in chaste English. ‘Give me five rupees Sir,’ `Can you give me half a litre of milk’, ‘May the Almighty bless your children and family’ were some of his beckoning calls which made heads turn in disbelief. Many a donor would stop by if only to know his story and Hawa Singh had developed a way to touch an emotive cord in them and obtain for him larger charities.

An erstwhile Naval Rating, Hawa Singh was discharged after losing a leg and seriously injuring the other in a railway accident on the tracks of Bombay’s suburban metro. ‘Entirely my fault’ was his admission of a catastrophic negligence. Lying unconscious in a Municipal Hospital ward for some days, he was as per Rules, declared absent without authorisation. When his whereabouts and plight were known, he was shifted to the Naval Hospital and treated well before being despatched home with a lump sum payment but no pension.

The initial sympathy and warmth he received when back at his village lured him into spending most of what he had to build an additional room and add other trappings to their small ancestral home. The initial shallow pretence of bonhomie was all gone. Instead there were pin-pricks which quickly grew to sharp jibes as his relations began to see him more as a liability. Hawa Singh painfully realised the need to fend for himself.

He first turned for succour to his erstwhile service. The Commander had told him that he would always be part of the Navy family. The small amounts of distress grant he received gave both hope and disappointment. Meagre even for a single hearty meal, they nevertheless established that his bond with the Navy was still intact. Then the funds stopped and against the costs of stationery, postage and the agony of waiting eternally he decided to make his plea in person, hoping to bank on the visual impact of his disability.  The response to his plight remained as before. Very sympathetic, but little money. A small dole was meted out from Welfare funds for which he was to come periodically and collect himself.  As this was inadequate to even cover his costs of move to the village, he had per force to make an existence in Delhi.

 

Hawa Singh tried his hand at whatever he could – teaching, translating and drafting letters. But there were too many players with these skills, all better trained and equipped. His worthlessness to the community became frustrated him and in despondence, he rapidly slid down the social ladder.

A stage soon came when the proud Seaman had to reach his hand out to beg. Now his disability became his asset and with some histrionics and story-telling added, his earnings were impressive. His earlier uniformed status helped in forming a rapport with the local police without whom no activity, not even begging, can be undertaken in RK Puram, or just anywhere else.

Then one day, in a surge of misplaced self- respect he got into an argument with a Petty Officer on increasing his dole. The debate got out of hand and he realised even as he spoke, the folly of his bravado in declaring loudly that it was the last time he would be standing here. In a single swash of his tongue, the goodwill with his Naval benefactors was severed and he left to be a mere legless beggar on the streets of RK Puram.

The Gods of the broken idols probably empathised with one who, like them had been dislodged without much ceremony from the home in which they once enjoyed adoration. Their blessings helped him to endure the seasons, hunger and the humiliation. A short distance away was the sanitary convenience which Hawa Singh used. Even pedalling to reach there during winters was a strenuous effort. Hawa Singh was compelled to gather all his measly possessions to move to another location close to the nearby market. He had now left the benign shade of the peepal tree and the grace of the idols.

Hawa Singh’s earnings fell sharply. His constant exposure without sufficient protection in the cold winter nights afflicted him with pneumonia. Weak and frail, he could no longer even sit on the cycle and descended to lay down on a grass patch. For two whole days those who passed by thought first he was asleep and then gave him up as dead.

 

Only the chowkidaar of the neighbouring colony sat by him for brief durations to pour water and warm milk into his parched throat, performing what he called an insaani farz. A plea to the Navy for assistance brought no response. The ambulance from the local government hospital too never turned up. Only the police hearse summoned after he died was prompt. Hawa Singh was bundled into it and that was the last seen of him. His final contribution to mankind being perhaps as a cadaver at the Government Medical College.

Rarely are unserviceable utility items and equipment discarded from an Indian home. They are usually put out of sight into the loft, basement or garage to be set right on a future day which may or may not ever come. When In the case of idols however, no delay is brooked in submerging them in rivers, lakes and where no water body is available, placing them under peepal trees where they continue to dispense their benediction.

 

Idols may be fractured, not the Gods, or their divine grace.

 
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