The Blind Dog
The Blind Dog
The Blind Dog
Narayan
IT was not a very impressive or high-class dog; it was one of those commonplace dogs one sees
everywhere colour of white and dust, tail mutilated at a young age by God knows whom, born in the street,
and bred on the leavings and garbage of the market-place. He had spotty eyes and undistinguished carriage
and needless pugnacity. Before he was two years old he had earned the scars of a hundred fights on his
body. When he needed rest on hot afternoons he lay curled up under the culvert at the eastern gate of the
market. In the evenings he set out on his daily rounds, loafed in the surrounding streets and lanes, engaged
himself in skirmishes, picked up edibles on the roadside, and was back at the market gate by nightfall.
This life went on for three years. And then occurred a change in his life. A beggar, blind of both eyes,
appeared at the market gate. An old woman led him up there early in the morning, seated him at the gate,
and came up again at midday with some food, gathered his coins, and took him home at night.
The dog was sleeping nearby. He was stirred by the smell of food. He got up, came out of his shelter, and
stood before the blind man, wagging his tail and gazing expectantly at the bowl, as he was eating his
sparse meal. The blind man swept his arms about and asked: "Who is there? " At which the dog went up
and licked his hand. The blind man stroked its coat gently tail to ear and said: "What a beauty you are.
Come with me-" He threw a handful of food which the dog ate gratefully. It was perhaps an auspicious
moment for starting a friendship. They met every day there, and the dog cut off much of its rambling to
sit up beside the blind man and watch him receive alms morning to evening. In course of time observing
him, the dog understood that the passers-by must give a coin, and whoever went away without dropping
a coin was chased by the dog; he tugged the edge of their clothes by his teeth and pulled them back to the
old man at the gate and let go only after something was dropped in his bowl. Among those who frequented
this place was a village urchin, who had the mischief of a devil in him. He liked to tease the blind man by
calling him names and by trying to pick up the coins in his bowl. The blind man helplessly shouted and
cried and whirled his staff. On Thursdays this boy appeared at the gate, carrying on his head a basket
loaded with cucumber or plantain. Every Thursday afternoon it was a crisis in the blind man's life. A seller
of bright coloured but doubtful perfumes with his wares mounted on a wheeled platform, a man who
spread out cheap story-books on a gunny sack, another man who carried coloured ribbons on an elaborate
frame these were the people who usually gathered under the same arch. On a Thursday when the young
man appeared at the Eastern gate one of them remarked, "Blind fellow! Here comes your scourge-"
"Oh, God, is this Thursday?" he wailed. He swept his arms about and called, "Dog, dog, come here, where
are you?" He made the peculiar noise which brought the dog to his side. He stroked his head and muttered,
"Don't let that little rascal-" At this very moment the boy came up with a leer on his face.
"Blind man! Still pretending you have no eyes. If you are really blind, you should not know this either-"
He stopped, his hand moving towards the bowl. The dog sprang on him and snapped his jaws on wrist.
The boy extricated his hand and ran for his life. The dog bounded up behind him and chased him out of
the market.
"See the mongrel's affection for this old fellow,” marvelled the perfume-vendor.
One evening at the usual time the old woman failed to turn up, and the blind man waited at the gate,
worrying as the evening grew into night. As he sat fretting there, a neighbour came up and said, "Sarni,
don't wait for the old woman. She will not come again. She died this afternoon-"
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The blind man lost the only home he had, and the only person who cared for him in this world. The ribbon-
vendor suggested, "Here, take this white tape-" he held a length of the white cord which he had been
selling - "I will give this to you free of cost. Tie it to the dog and let him lead you about if he is really so
fond of you-"
Life for the dog took a new turn now. He came to take the place of the old woman. He lost his freedom
completely. His world came to be circumscribed by the limits of the white cord which the ribbon-vendor
had spared. He had to forget wholesale all his old life all his old haunts. He simply had to stay on forever
at the end of that string. When he saw other dogs, friends or foes, instinctively he sprang up, tugging the
string, and this invariably earned him a kick from his master. "Rascal, want to tumble me down, have
sense " In a few days the dog learnt to discipline his instinct and impulse. He ceased to take notice of other
dogs, even if they came up and growled at his side. He lost his own orbit of movement and contact with
his fellow-creatures.
To the extent of this loss his master gained. He moved about as he had never moved in his life. All day he
was on his legs, led by the dog. With the staff in one hand and the dog-lead in the other he moved out of
his home a corner in a choultry veranda a few yards off the market: he had moved in there after the old
woman's death. He started out early in the day. He found that he could treble his income by moving about
instead of staying in one place. He moved down the choultry street, and wherever he heard people's voices
he stopped and held out his hands for alms. Shops, schools, hospitals, hotels he left nothing out. He gave
a tug when he wanted the dog to stop, and shouted like a bullock-driver when he wanted him to move on.
The dog protected his feet from going into pits, or stumping against steps or stones, and took him up inch
by inch on safe ground and steps. For this sight people gave coins and helped him. Children gathered
round him and gave him things to eat. A dog is essentially an active creature who punctuates his hectic
rounds with well-defined periods of rest. But now this dog (henceforth to be known as Tiger) had lost all
rest. He had rest only when the old man sat down somewhere. At night the old man slept with the cord
turned around his finger. "I can't take chances with you-" he said. A great desire to earn more money than
ever before seized his master, so that he felt any resting a waste of opportunity, and the dog had to be
continuously on his feet. Sometimes his legs refused to move. But if he slowed down even slightly his
master goaded him on fiercely with his staff. The dog whined and groaned under this thrust. "Don't whine,
you rascal. Don't I give you your food? You want to loaf, do you?" swore the blind man. The dog lumbered
up and down and round and round the market-place on slow steps, tied down to the blind tyrant. Long
after the traffic at the market ceased, you could hear the night stabbed by the far-off wail of the tired dog.
It lost its original appearance. As months rolled on, bones stuck up at his haunches and ribs were relieved
through his fading coat.
The ribbon-seller, the novel-vendor and the perfumer observed it one evening, when business was slack,
and held a conference among themselves. "It rends my heart to see that poor dog slaving. Can't we do
something?" The ribbon-seller remarked, "That rascal has started lending money for interest I heard it
from that fruit-seller. He is earning more than he needs. He has become a very devil for money-" At this
point the perfumer's eyes caught the scissors dangling from the ribbon-rack. "Give it here," he said and
moved on with the scissors in hand.
The blind man was passing in front of the Eastern gate. The dog was straining the lead. There was a piece
of bone lying on the way and the dog was straining to pick it up. The lead became taut and hurt the blind
man's hand, and he tugged the string and kicked till the dog howled. It howled, but could not pass the bone
lightly; it tried to make another dash for it. The blind man was heaping curses on it. The perfumer stepped
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up, applied the scissors and snipped the cord. The dog bounced off and picked up the bone. The blind man
stopped dead where he stood, with the other half of the string dangling in his hand. "Tiger! Tiger! Where
are you?" he cried. The perfumer moved away quietly, muttering: "You heartless devil! You will never get
at him again! He has his freedom!" The dog went off at top speed. He nosed about the ditches happily,
hurled himself on other dogs, and ran round and round the fountain in the market-square barking, his eyes
sparkling with joy. He returned to his favourite haunts and hung about the butcher's shop, tea-stall, and
the bakery.
The ribbon-vendor and his two friends stood at the market gate and enjoyed the sight immensely as the
blind man struggled to find his way about. He stood rooted to the spot waving his stick; he felt as if he
were hanging in mid-air. He was wailing. "Oh, where is my dog? Where is my dog? Won't someone give
him back to me? I will murder it when I get at it again!" He groped about, tried to cross the road, came
near being run over by a dozen vehicles at different points, tumbled and struggled and gasped. "He'd
deserve it if he was run over, this heartless blackguard-" they said, observing him. However, the old man
struggled through and with the help of someone found his way back to his corner in the choultry veranda
and sank down on his gunnysack bed, half faint with the strain of his journey.
He was not seen for ten days, fifteen days and twenty days. Nor was the dog seen anywhere. They
commented among themselves: "The dog must be loafing over the whole earth, free and happy. The beggar
is perhaps gone forever-" Hardly was this sentence uttered when they heard the familiar tap-tap of the
blind man's staff. They saw him again coming up the pavement led by the dog. "Look! Look!" they cried.
" He has again got at it and tied it up-" The ribbon-seller could not contain himself. He ran up and said,
"Where have you been all these days?"
"Know what happened!" cried the blind man. "This dog ran away. I should have died in a day or two,
confined to my corner, no food, not an anna to earn imprisoned in my corner. I should have perished if it
continued for another day but this thing returned-"
"When? When?"
"Last night. At midnight as I slept in bed, he came and licked my face. I felt like murdering him. I gave
him a blow which he will never forget again," said the blind man. "I forgave him, after all a dog! He loafed
as long as he could pick up some rubbish to eat on the road, but real hunger has driven him back to me,
but he will not leave me again. See! I have got this " and he shook the lead: it was a steel chain this time.
Once again there was the dead, despairing look in the dog's eyes. "Go on, you fool," cried the blind man,
shouting like an ox-driver. He tugged the chain, poked with the stick, and the dog moved away on slow
steps. They stood listening to the tap-tap going away.
"Death alone can help that dog," cried the ribbon- seller, looking after it with a sigh. "What can we do
with a creature who returns to his doom with such a free heart?"
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