Abid bhai was now old and frail but he could remember a time when his body had been strong and lean. His back hadn’t hurt when he bent to sweep the entire courtyard nor had his hands trembled under the weight of the big broom which he used to sweep the leaves from the fields. He gazed thoughtfully at the grave and realized that time was running out.
The Guardian of the Forgotten Fort
Born in a small town of Uttar Pradesh, young Abid’s parents had not been able to afford schooling. He had spent his youth doing odd jobs for local roadside dhabas. As he grew older, most of his friends left for larger neighboring towns and cities because of lack of employment but Abid was more fortunate.
Their town, otherwise entirely devoid of anything of interest, had a small fort believed to be built by the Mughals as a temporary resting place on their journeys. This fort had been recognized by the Archaeological Survey of India as a state protected monument nearly thirty years ago. It had a tiny mosque inside adjacent to a grave. This grave was believed to be of a famous saint of unknown religion who had lived there for a long time. The saint was believed to have possessed extraordinary powers and had helped the people of the town in many ways. During his time, people had visited him from far flung places to seek his advice and help. His name was unknown too.
It was here that Abid found employment. His mother had been a maid in a fairly rich household and she had asked her sahib to find employment for her son. With a lot of gratitude, Abid had accepted the position of a sweeper within the premises. It was his job to sweep the large courtyard where the grave was situated, the mosque and also the grounds of the fort. Apart from him, there was a muezzin who came five times a day.
From the very beginning, Abid had loved his job. As a child, he often played in the grounds with his friends, sometimes pretending to be the king of the fort. Apart from that, the people of the town still had a soft spot for the unknown saint and Abid felt a certain pleasure in working so near his last resting place and ensuring that it was clean.
However, as his attachment to the fort grew over the years, he realized that it was not all it seemed. He had suffered anguish, immeasurable anguish, for this fort, sometimes wishing that he never worked there. It made him feel his own powerlessness and everyday he lost hope.
***
It was Sunday so more people came than usual to look at the grave and pay their respects. Abid bhai leaned on his broom and stared suspiciously at the younger boys as they scampered past. It had been an endless battle. He could not understand when they sneaked in and wrote their names on the walls of his beloved fort but children were the least of his problems. Adults did it too, far more than children. They declared their love on the walls of the fort (Amar loves Simran etc.) as though destroying something beautiful would eternalize their love.
After the prayers, the place became gradually empty and Abid bhai sat on the steps of the courtyard, staring at the grave and thinking about his plans. Everyone in his family thought that he was slowly going crazy with age. It was true that he did have dementia but that didn’t mean that he would do nothing. All these years, he had loved this place and looked after it. It had provided him with a living and it was his turn now. He had to do something for it before he died. He realized that this beautiful fort was slowly dying too. The walls had blackened in large parts; green moss clung to it in places. The eastern and western walls were crumbling while the gates were rusted and hung loosely on their hinges. Several metal chairs had been placed for the public but they were full of holes and their legs were twisted out of shape. He had written several letters to the mayor by dictating to his grandson who went to school but no action had been taken yet.
Every monsoon, the fort suffered some new damage. This monsoon had been particularly stressful. There was a tree adjoining the courtyard that had shaken dangerously every time the winds rushed past it. Since the beginning of monsoon, he had told his family that he was going to sleep inside the mosque at night and would not return home. They had tried persuading him initially but when he refused to comply, they had let him be. He overheard them calling him crazy later but didn’t care. What if it rained and the tree collapsed overnight? He had to be there. He didn’t know how he would save anything but he would try because there was no one else but him.
That night, he was woken up by the screaming of the wind in the tree. He rushed out with a flashlight and saw the tree swaying as though possessed by spirits. He heard the distinct cracking of the branches and saw the tree leaning down. He heard screaming and realized it was his own. Rushing towards the center of the courtyard, he felt the concrete wet under his feet. It was raining heavily and he could hear the tree groaning as it fell, over his own panting. The tree crashed into the middle of the courtyard and he felt himself being burdened under its weight. He realized he had fallen and could not move. He could not understand where exactly the tree had struck him. Every part of his body ached. The flashlight had fallen out of his hand and was out of reach, shooting off lights in all directions. He was not sure if he was covered in blood or rainwater. His ears were ringing and he could hear the saint screaming. His eyes refused to focus but he saw the saint walking towards him. Voices whispered to him to calm down because it was all going to be fine. His castle, his kingdom, his history, would be safe. He could relax now. He closed his eyes as life gradually flowed out of him.
