It was a fine horse that the highly revered Baba Bal Bharti had. A mere sight of the stallion evoked excitement and awe in all who gazed upon. The king pleased with the Baba’s accurate predictions, had gifted him that horse. Baba, a fakir, lived in a village temple premises where he had built his hut and a stable for his horse whom he named Sultan.
Khadag Singh a much-feared dacoit used to
visit Baba as a devotee. Baba never judged anyone, embracing all who came to his door.
“I’ve heard a great deal about your horse,” Khadag Singh said, “I would like to see it too.”
The ever enthusiastic Baba took him to his stable.
“Incredible!” Khadag said, patting the glistening black down of the glorious animal. “Indeed, this is the finest steed I’ve ever seen.”
“My life has found a new meaning with the arrival of Sultan.” Baba’s chest swelled with pride and he ran his hands through the horse’s mane. “Every day is a beautiful day now!”
At Khadag’s bidding, Baba let him take Sultan for a ride. The majestic stallion galloped faster than the blowing wind. What strength, control and speed! The swell of envy washed Khadag’s heart with feelings of covetousness and jealousy. Of what use was a horse to a saint; Sultan should have been his property, his companion, he thought. He tethered it in the stable and they went back inside the hut where Khadag offered to buy it.
“Not in a million years!” Baba protested.
After a bit of haggling when Khadag realized that Baba was not willing to part with Sultan at any cost, he warned, “One day, I’ll take this horse from you.”
“No, Khadag, please. I can’t live without my Sultan. He is like my son”
“Whatever,” Khadag said shrugging, in a disrespectful manner “I’m going to get him by hook or by crook.” And with that he left.
Baba would ride Sultan taking the stallion for a run each day. One fine evening, as Baba was riding in the forest on the outskirts of the village, he heard a faint voice filled with agony, “Please help me, I’m dying,”
In the fading light Baba ji saw someone curled up on the ground, completely smeared in dust.
“What happened?” Baba asked, still on his horse.
“Please take me to a safe place, I need medical help.” he pleaded. “Khadag Singh and his men mugged me.”
“But, I don’t even know you.”
“I’m the brother of the famous doctor Durga Dutt,” he said in a strained voice, clutching his stomach. “Please, I beg you. Help this needy person.”
No true Baba will refuse someone who needs help. He got down and helped the man climb on the horse with great difficulty. Before Baba could mount, however, the supposedly injured man took the reins in his hands and gave Baba a mighty kick in his chest leaving him sprawled on the ground.
“I told you,” the rider said victoriously, “one day this horse would be mine.”
He heeled the horse but barely had he gone a few yards when Baba roared, “Stop! Khadag Singh.” Khadag couldn’t ignore his Guru’s voice, plus he had nothing to be afraid of. He was armed and on the horse. So, he halted.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Baba murmured as he got closer and dusted his robe. “Just don’t make any mention of this incident. You can have Sultan.”
“Why?” Khadag chuckled, stroking Sultan. “Are you afraid that people will say how can this Baba bless us if he couldn’t even save his own horse?”
“You see, Khadag,” Baba said, “if people find out, no one will ever trust another person in need. People will stop helping each other.” And with that, Baba Bal Bharti turned around and walked away from Sultan like he never loved him and with the detachment befitting a saint.
Khadag rode away with great pride and Baba took solace thinking now he had nothing to worry about for there was nothing left to lose. With each passing day, Khadag became increasingly restless. How could I do that to my Guru? What beast in me made me stoop so low?
Rather than getting mad at me, Baba thought compassionately about the world. How calmly he walked away from the horse he had said he couldn’t live without… many similar thoughts plagued him.
In the dead of the night, he went to the temple, quietly tied the horse to its post and sneaked out.
In the morning, one weeping and one neighing, both Baba ji and Sultan were overjoyed to be reunited. Baba ji leaned against his Sultan resting his face on his long neck, caressing and stroking, tears streaming from Baba’s eyes. “Oh Sultan,” he said, “now people will not be afraid to help those in need.”
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This story (Haar ki jeet) was penned by the phenomenal Hindi writer Pandit Sudarshan (1895-1967).
You can also view 'Haar ki Jeet' short movie in Hindi
My thanks to Ram Chhetri ji for sharing this wonderful message.
