Gardens

 

Hari Singh had migrated to England long back. He started off as a lowly grocer. Soon his shop was monopolizing the cabbages and the carrots, one by one putting the stuck up British shopkeepers out of business. There was reaction of course, but luckily the implementation of the anti-racial violence laws was stringent. Just like the race laws were then, in another land.

Hari Singh was more than successful, and that's mildly putting it. His savings were growing and he was patient. He had vowed not to marry. Marriage would bring unnecessary burdens and guilty consciences. He got his mother back from Amritsar. She would remind him of the vow. He steeled his nerves. Just as his father had then.

Hari Singh was proud of his trading skills. Jugaad will enable him to survive and execute his plans.

Soon he had bought up and managed almost all the shops not only in the Indian Quarter but also in the heart of Salisbury. He was nominated to the chair of the Salisbury Chamber of Commerce. On the day of his investiture he took a dog with him. He was an Englishman now.

Hari Singh was going places. He now owned a chain of grocery stores all over England, with about two hundred in London alone. Soon he would be Mr. Hari Singh, OBE. He remembered Tagore's actions then. The irony.

Hari Singh's parties soon became the talk of the countryside. He built a magnificent palace on the Salisbury Plains, just near the Stonehenge. The Queen herself would attend his birthday celebration. The Prime Minister would be at his palace on Baisakhi. His shooting abilities spawned admirers. His aim with old rifles was always straight and true. His generosity laid to rest his critics. He gave employment to hundreds of the deprived. He planned to built a huge garden. He managed to get his design approved. His generosity had paid off. His mother passed away. He did not shed a tear. Her last words charged him with his vows. Just like every day since he had got her here.

13th of April, it was the inauguration of his garden. Only about a hundred and sixty guests. Upon arrival, they were surprised to see so many known faces. The guests were intrigued at the garden's architecture. He explained to them saying that the tall walls and the narrow entrance was in consonance with traditional Punjabi architecture. Drinks were provided. Then a small speech was given by the host. He took the names of all the guests. He traced their ancestry to one individual. He took his mother's name and he repeated his vow. The guests could make neither heads nor tails of the ongoing proceedings. That still made them uneasy.

He took out a long case from under the podium and walked towards the entrance. Standing beside it, he opened it and loaded the Enfield Rifle. He called out to some of his friends who had flown in yesterday. They formed a double line in front of the gate. The guests began running. They could not climb the tall walls. There was no well too.

"Fire". The little platoon kept on firing till it was out of ammo.