Nothing much, I had just started gaining a little weight, and immediately my uncle panicked. He exclaimed—"Disaster! Your paternal cousin-granduncle—what a catastrophe!"
There was no need to finish the sentence. The glaring precedent set by my uncle’s uncles in matters of weight was enough. Just hearing the names, I could understand everything.
My paternal cousin-granduncle had so much fat accumulated in his body that he suddenly had a heart failure and passed away on the spot—there was no need to call a doctor. In the case of my paternal granduncle, a doctor was called, but while attempting an injection, he couldn't penetrate through the layers of fat and, in frustration, ended up inserting three needles at different places in the body. Then, out of rage, disappointment, and frustration, he left without even bothering to bandage the injection sites. He left—both in anger and in haste.
For a family where such tragic and grotesque incidents are part of history, what could be more terrifying than a descendant gaining weight? Naturally, upon seeing signs of my weight gain, my eldest uncle became deeply unsettled.
Protesting, I said, "What can I do? Am I gaining weight intentionally?"
"Nope, I’m not scared of any other excuses anymore. But getting fat—oh dear!"
There’s no deadlier disease than this! Every ailment has a cure, every affliction has its remedy—but for obesity? Not a chance! Even the most accomplished doctors and herbalists raise their hands in defeat. Sigh!
And so, as a last resort, they decided to send me away to a health retreat—to lose weight! People usually go to retreats to gain weight, but in my case, it was the complete opposite. My elder uncle had an acquaintance in Guwahati, a renowned doctor, and it was to him that I was sent. He took upon himself the Herculean task of turning me from fat to fit to fitter again—and then, hopefully, cured!
His first question was—“Do you exercise?”
"Sir, I walk. Twice a day. A couple of miles, maybe a mile and a half… well, sometimes just half a mile—depends on the day. But whenever I step outside, I walk!"
"Ha! Walking? And you call that exercise? Do you ride horses?"
"Uh… no," I stammered.
"Riding a horse—that’s real exercise! A man’s workout! A proper workout! Buy a horse and learn to ride it—soon, your bones will be rattling out of your body like loose change!"
The doctor’s words sent a shiver down my spine. I could easily tell the difference between a cow and a horse—though, whenever I had to write an essay in school, my "cows" and "horses" always managed to mix up and become one single entity. My poor teachers had to work extra hard to separate them! While both belong to the same four-legged category, when it comes to danger, a horse definitely ranks a few notches higher.
Anyway, despite being a Gauwahati native, the doctor was no Gaurakshak—he immediately dismissed the cow and placed the horse on the highest pedestal. And of course, I was supposed to sit on top of it! So, without hesitation, I resolved—yes, I shall ride a horse!
Honestly, horseback riding—what a spectacle! I had seen it in the circus, occasionally even on the streets. Back in Ambala, as a child, I had watched Punjabis gallop away on their horses—how the turbans flew in the wind, their pointed beards flapping alongside! With their binoculars slightly ahead on the nose, they looked as if they had not a care in the world! Charging through the heart of the city at breakneck speed, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of dust!
Yes! I had to learn horseback riding—just like that! Otherwise, what’s the point of living? I was already fat, might as well live fearlessly!
And so, just as fate would have it, the doctor’s prescription arrived… and that very evening I stepped forward, chest puffed up, and confidently entered the auction yard. Horses were being paraded in full glory. And there it was—a magnificent, jet-black steed, the kind that could make one feel like a cavalry general!
"Twenty-two rupees!" The auctioneer's voice rang through the crowd.
"Twenty-two rupees! One… two…" I called out breathlessly.
"Twenty-four!"—a voice from the crowd, as if challenging my very existence.
The auctioneer carried on, "The horse, saddle, reins, and even the stirrups—all included! Going once, going twice…"
"Twenty-eight!" Another wretched soul dared to raise the stakes.
Just then, a man pulled me aside and whispered, "You’re bidding for that horse? Strange, isn't it? Selling for so little!"
"Why? What’s the catch?" I widened my eyes, though had it been physically possible, they would’ve popped out completely. "You mean to say this isn’t a real horse?"
"Oh no, sir! It's a Bhutani Tatto! The best of its kind!"
Now, I had no idea what a Bhutani Tatto was. But from the way he said it, I gathered that not owning one would mean living a meaningless life in this vast world!
Summoning all my courage, I shouted—"Thirty-nine!"
"Forty-four!" A reckless fool next to me tried to outbid me.
I silenced him with a withering glare. "Forty-six!"
Then, like a man possessed, I went all in—"Forty-seven, forty-nine, fifty-two, fifty-five!"
I single-handedly kept the bidding alive, one call after another. Finally, I stopped at fifty-nine!
"Fifty-nine! SOLD! Such a fine horse finds a worthy master!"
"Going, going—GONE!" The auctioneer banged his gavel. The crowd cheered. And me? I was standing there, drenched in sweat, victorious but half in shock.
Counting out fifty-nine rupees in crisp notes, I secured my steed and strutted home, feeling like a warrior returning from battle.
That same horse-expert gentleman did me one last favor—he found a stable for my prized possession. They would feed it, groom it, and ensure it was always ready for me to ride.
Of course, there was a small "maintenance fee"—but what’s a few coins for a Bhutani Tatto?
I treated the gentleman to a grand feast at the sweet shop as a token of gratitude. The next morning was The Great Horse-Riding Event.
The stable boys arrived with my noble steed. A few of them held onto its head, while another set was gripping its tail as if their lives depended on it. Those at the front had access to all the premium features—the reins, ears, and flowing mane. But the ones at the back? Their only possession was the tail—a sad, lonely piece of horse anatomy!
I took in the scene, astonished, but carefully avoided expressing any surprise—lest they think I was a complete amateur. Maybe this was just how horses were brought in! Who was I to question tradition?
Just then, that doctor gentleman happened to pass by. Seeing me, he stopped.
"Ah-ha! So, you’ve got yourself a horse! Good, good!"
"How much did it cost? Fifty-nine? Not bad at all! A fine deal!"
He patted the horse’s back as if he had personally prescribed it for me. "Forget walking! Who walks anymore? Real men ride horses! This will do wonders for your physique. Soon, you’ll be so fit that even your own uncles won’t recognize you!"
Having thus blessed my noble pursuit, he trotted off. Not counting him as an audience, my historic first riding attempt began.
The stable boys held onto the horse firmly while I gracefully climbed onto its back—slowly, carefully, methodically. I settled in, feeling rather royal.
Then, they let go.
And boom! The horse curled up like a spring, arched its back as if preparing for a rocket launch, and then… with one sudden jolt, it flung me skyward!
I soared through the air like a newly-launched deity, at least four or five hands high, temporarily occupying an airspace never meant for mortals.
Now, floating mid-air isn’t exactly my natural habitat, so I had no choice but to return—to the horse’s back. But just as I landed, off I went again—this time, straight onto someone’s head.
The horse wasn’t done yet. It sent me flying again—this time, I landed on its neck.
Before I could even process what was happening, it catapulted me once more—but this time, the horse was gone!
I landed on solid ground, two and a half hands away from the beast, standing in a dignified collapse—as if I had intended to descend like that.
Now, realizing the true intentions of this equine menace, I decided not to give it another chance. Before it could attempt a fourth launch, I lay down flat on the ground, completely surrendering to gravity.
By now, that four-legged traitor had flung me off and was galloping through the streets of Guwahati like a possessed rocket.
I slowly pulled myself up, heaved a deep sigh, and concluded—horse riding is definitely not my cup of tea.
One hand went to my forehead, the other to my lower back. And that’s when it struck me—human beings simply do not have enough hands!
This realization had never dawned upon me before, but at that moment, I felt the acute shortage. I needed at least a few extra hands—one for my neck, another for my back, two for my waist, maybe a couple more for my ribs, and a handful to comfort the various bruises blooming all over my body!
But my troubles didn’t end there.
Not only had I lost my dignity and bones, I had also lost the ability to stand up straight! The moment I tried, I realized—two legs are simply not enough for such a situation.
The stable boys rushed in, pulled me up, and stood me upright. But the moment they let go—BAM! Down I went, flat as a pancake!
Once again, they hoisted me up—this time, with extra determination and group effort. No need to mention that my own hands and feet contributed absolutely nothing to the process. At this point, I had completely surrendered myself to being handled by others, like a human-sized rag doll.
And so, I spent the next month bedridden.
Everyone insisted I see a doctor. But dare I?
Not after that doctor! My dear uncle’s friend, the horse-loving enthusiast? No way! Who knew what he might do next? If he couldn’t find that runaway Bhutani beast, he’d probably arrange for a Nepali mule as a substitute! No, sir! I preferred to heal naturally, under the tender care of time and self-pity.
When I finally stepped out of my room, I caught sight of my own reflection in the tall mirror.
“What in the world—!”
Had I shrunk? Had I withered? Had I aged ten years overnight?
I could hardly recognize myself! I looked so frail, so ghostly—no wonder I had avoided looking in the mirror for so long!
And then, just as I stepped out onto the street—fate had another blow in store for me.
There stood the stable master, waiting like a debt collector.
“Sir, you still owe us some money.”
“Owe?!” I gasped. “For what?”
“For the horse rental, sir.”
“But I bought that demon! Paid the full amount! Alright, maybe a few annas for the whip—you can have that. Though I never even got to use the whip on the beast, I’ll pay for it anyway.”
“Oh no, sir,” he said, shaking his head. “Not just a few annas—seventy-two rupees and twelve and a half annas!”
And before I could faint all over again, he held out a printed bill—as if mocking my existence.
"Seventy-two rupees and twelve annas for fodder?" My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Why, what’s my crime?"
"8011, sir! Your horse has gobbled up twenty-two and a half rupees’ worth of chickpeas and five and a quarter rupees’ worth of hay in just a month."
I protested immediately, "But… but that horse ran away!"
"Your horse? Not at all! It just went missing during mealtime and returned right after. And since then, it has been showing up regularly for dinner without fail!"
Saying this, the Junior horse-keeper led the horse right in front of me with great bravado. The horse, well-fed and clearly thriving, looked more plump than ever.
"Honestly, we fed it less than we should have. If we could, we would have given it double—some jaggery, some grains, real strength-building stuff! But we weren’t sure if Huzoor would approve of such generosity. The last time—"
The horse keeper abruptly stopped, as if he had said too much already.
Sensing there was more to the story, I urged him on. Finally, with some hesitation, he let it slip—
"Before this, no one who rode it ever made it back alive!"
The senior horse keeper took over—"So, that’s five and a quarter plus twenty-two and a half—totaling twenty-seven rupees and twelve annas. Then there's the meal charges—ten rupees. And of course, boarding fees—because, sir, they can’t sleep on an empty stomach. That brings it to exactly thirty-two rupees and twelve annas. See for yourself in the bill!"
"And on top of that—" the junior keeper was about to add something when the senior one cut him off, "Shut up, you!"
Thus, I was spared the next blow.
"Got the bill? Now kindly clear the dues and take your horse away!"
"Oh, let the bill and the horse merge into one!" I sighed.
The junior smirked and added, "And then there's the rent for the horse’s residence—ten rupees!"
"A house for a horse??" I was dumbfounded. "What on earth does a horse need a house for? They don’t need separate rooms for the dining hall, the toilet, or the living space. It’s all the same to them!"
"Ah, but sir, this particular space costs ten rupees a month in rent!"
I was speechless.
Senior one, ever so politely, continued—"And then…"
"Huzoor’s horse eats to its heart’s content, but we, poor souls, must starve. Can’t we expect at least ten or fifteen rupees from Huzoor?"
At that moment, Huzoor’s financial condition was even worse than that of the starving stable boys. But still, he mentally calculated the sum and muttered, "Even then, the total comes to sixty-two rupees and twelve annas. And what’s this extra ten rupees and two paise for?"
The younger horse keeper quickly replied, "Sir, that two paise is for me… for betel nuts."
"What?! Does the horse chew betel nuts now?" I exclaimed.
"No, sir! The horse doesn’t, but I do. I had just placed a nice, fresh paan near my mouth when that wicked beast—curse its soul—suddenly snatched it away! Ruined my entire betel nut experience!"
I immediately fished out two paise and handed it over, hoping to end this madness as quickly as possible. One should never let debts or arguments pile up.
The older one chimed in, "And you want an explanation for the remaining ten rupees? Huzoor, I tell you, this horse is a menace! One day, it shoved its nose straight into the landlord’s coat pocket and gulped down a crisp ten-rupee note—completely digested it!"
"What?! You must be joking!" I was horrified. "It actually ate the whole note?"
"Every bit of it. We thought it might, you know… reappear later. But no! We fed it more chickpeas, we even bribed the dung collectors to keep an eye out, but the note disappeared forever. So, sir, that ten rupees should rightfully be counted as horse fodder!"
I clutched my head in despair. The thought of ten whole rupees vanishing into the horse’s digestive system made my world spin.
The keeper tried to console me, "Huzoor, at least we didn’t charge you for the whip! If you insist, we can add a few annas more and make it a neat seventy-three rupees! And of course, just a small tip for the two of us—after all, isn’t it only from generous patrons like yourself that we poor souls expect such kindness?"
Completely drained, I watched as Sahas finally took his leave. With what little I had left, I’d barely be able to settle my hotel bill—perhaps even sneak onto a train back home.
But one thing was certain—I was done with this horse. No more stables, no more feeding, no more endless bills. I told Sahas to summon that kind gentleman who had once tried to stable the horse. If he had an eye for the horse, let him have it.
Let this cursed beast be my gift to him, my humble way of repaying his generosity.
As soon as I expressed my wish, the elder Sahis exclaimed, "Why wood you do that , Huzoor? That horse ibelongs to his brother in law!"
I gasped. That auctioneer… his brotherin law …? Before I could recover from the shock, the younger Sahis added, "And after all, sir, the stable belongs to him too!"
I said nothing. I just made a solemn vow—if that kind gentleman were to pass away while I was still in Guwahati, I would drop everything—reading storybooks, watching bioscope films, gorging on chops and cutlets—yes, all worldly pleasures would be abandoned, and I would attend his funeral with due solemnity. That would be my amusement for the day.
The horsemen left. I looked at the horse and wondered—what should I do with it? Or rather, what would it do with me?
Just then, the doctor appeared on the road. Seeing me, he beamed and walked up enthusiastically—"Ah-ha! Looking much leaner, aren’t you? Didn’t I tell you last month? Nothing beats horseback riding for exercise! You think walking alone could make you this light? You’d have sunk into the ground by now! Excellent! Now, when you go back home, tell your uncle to send me a fat consultation fee!"
"Why uncle? I’ll pay you right away!" I said humbly. "This horse is your consultation fee."
"Excellent! Even better!" The doctor was overjoyed. "That means I’ll never have trouble visiting patients anymore!"
With that, he leaped onto the horse. The way he mounted it, I could tell he was no stranger to this bad habit. And then—within seconds—he vanished.
That evening, as I was strolling outside my hotel, I suddenly saw the doctor returning—on foot!
"Where’s your horse?" I asked cautiously.
He shot me a disgusted look and grumbled, "Walked back. It’s just four miles! Riding is great exercise, sure—but too much of it? No good! You must walk sometimes too, my boy!"
And with that, he walked away without another word.
A little later, the doctor’s servant arrived and said, "Huzoor, master has returned your horse."
"Returned? Where is it? I don’t see it with you!"
The servant had no clue. The doctor didn’t know either.
From what I could gather, the authorities I.e. the Doctor Babu and his wife had no hesitation in returning this thick-bound volume of a disaster. What the wife of doctor could gather from his husband knew, and the young servant somehow managed to know from them, I tried to extract from them through sheer interrogation.
The short version of the mess?
Dr. Babu had no trouble getting on the horse—it was the getting off part that proved complicated. And, of course, it didn’t happen at the intended location.
Not just two or four miles—no sir! A solid fifteen miles later, the horse decided it had had enough and, rather than simply dropping him off, flung him to the ground and vanished into thin air!
Where it went? No one could say. By now, it could have traveled a hundred miles, a hundred and fifty miles… or maybe even a thousand! The doctor estimated 150, but the servant’s wild guess was nothing short of a thousand!
I was in a state of panic. I had to return immediately—before the beast came galloping back!
After all, it was almost mealtime. If it had galloped a thousand miles on an empty stomach, what was to stop it from charging back in one breath—fueled entirely by sheer hunger?
Wandering around Guwahati with that creature still attached to my fate? Far too dangerous!
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