Train to Delhi by Shiv Kumar Kumar Page A

done.’ Then, after a pause, he resumed, almost hissing: ‘Why don’t you marry her now?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Surely you understand, you deadly viper,’ Gautam blared out.
    â€˜Maybe I deserve to be called that … But you loved him.’
    â€˜Who?’
    In his anger, Gautam couldn’t fathom what Mohinder had meant.
    â€˜Rahul.’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Gautam almost stuttered and strode away.
    A man from the house opposite peeped out. From the street’s bend, Gautam looked back to see Trivedi talking to Mohinder.

7
    D esigned as an inverted charpoy, almost like the King’s Chapel at Cambridge, and built three years after the Indian Mutiny, in 1860, St. John’s Cathedral stands at the northern end of Mahavir Street, about half a mile from the Red Fort. Its steeples tower high above a marketplace cluttered with hardware merchants, drapers and wholesale dealers in stationery. Except for two painted glass windows on either side of the main entrance, depicting scenes from the Bible, all other windows are bare.
    But what strikes even a casual visitor to St. John’s is its sturdy massiveness, its impregnable strength. After the end of the British rule, on 15 August 1947, this cathedral acquired a unique significance, as though the Englishman, who first landed on the Indian soil as a mere trader, and later ruled as the absolute monarch of this subcontinent, had now assumed his new role as a missionary. So, all the affluent Anglican missions in England started pouring generous donations into this church which, they believed, was now destined to ‘annex’ India’s spirit, if not her body. No wonder, Father Jones felt himself unequal to the new burdens and responsibilities; so much had happened within the brief span of a few weeks only.
    On a quiet warm Thursday morning, Father Jones walked across the vast courtyard, holding a pocket Bible in his right hand. He was draped in a white silken robe, his velvet hood dangling at the nape of his neck. At the main entrance, he was joined by two of his junior churchmen, while inside the cathedral were Gautam and Berry, already seated, looking like two nervous candidates about to be interviewed for some post.
    As Father Jones saw Gautam, he walked towards him.
    â€˜Good morning Mr Mehta,’ he greeted him with a gracious smile.
    â€˜Good morning, Father,’ Gautam responded; then, turning to Berry, he added, ‘This is my friend, Birendra Dhawan. He’ll be my witness.’
    â€˜I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Dhawan …’
    Then the bishop beckoned Gautam to follow him up the rostrum. To its left stood a large bronze statue of Christ on the Cross, while to the right was a mural painting of the Madonna and the Child. As Gautam went down on his knees, Father Jones began to read from the Bible. Gautam was particularly touched by a passage from Joshua in which Moses asks his followers to cross the river Jordan into the land of new promise. Wasn’t he too about to cross over to freedom!
    This was followed by the sprinkling of holy water on his head and shoulders. As Gautam rose to his feet, the bishop said: ‘Since you are now one of Jesus’s flock, the Lord shall take care of you.’
    There was a brief silence. Then the bishop asked the small congregation to join him in prayer.
    â€˜O Lord, this man has come to you for your blessing. Let him share your glory, partake of your divine grace. All these years he has wandered about seeking you, and now that he kneels at your feet, accept him, O Lord—help him, guide him, forgive him all his past sins. He seems to have suffered endlessly. What joy can there be without you? So for every moment of pain he has undergone, let him have years of happiness. Lend him courage, for that’s what he’ll need most hereafter. Fill the remaining years of his life with love, light and song. Amen!’
    After this