Justice Shiva Ram Murthy.(Short Story)

It is a point of discipline that Manmohan and I meet always on Thursday afternoons to take luncheon together. This is our routine now and it began soon after my arrival in the U.S. five months back: every Thursday without fail I walk from my son-in-law's home and Manu comes from his son's house and we meet in front of the old church in Copley Square. Of course for me the walking is not so hard as it is for Manu--daily I walk at least forty-five minutes for my exercise. Since I was a young man in law college in India I have been doing that and see, even fifty years later I am still hale and hearty, whereas Manu is a bit lazy, has a slight paunch and experiences some difficulty climbing steps. Always he was like that even when we were small boys. I try to tell him but he will not listen. What to do if others do not know what is good for them?

You must know that on Christmas day, when my story begins, I had been living in the U.S. for three months. Already I had opened my own bank account, obtained a law library card, and successfully settled the living arrangements with my daughter and her American son-in-law. He is a good fellow, despite having only superficial knowledge of our language and traditions; it was my poor wife, who is no more, who had trouble with the marriage initially. Also I had contacted Manu, with whom I had kept in touch all these years, and we began our present custom of taking luncheon together at an Indian establishment on Boylston Street in the Back Bay area.

That Christmas day, Manu and I were to meet as usual, and every bit of the city was covered with snow and ice. I had seen snow once before, in Darjeeling in 1968, but I had forgotten how one's foot will slide on it. By the luncheon hour the snow was no longer falling--still, I was surprised to see Manu wearing just a sweater and gloves waiting for me on the park bench. Even now he does that sometimes. He thinks that he is sitting on Abid Road in Hyderabad as we did when we were youngsters, watching the crowd during the hot season.

"Judge sahib, you are using a cane now, eh?" Manu called to me as I approached. Still he addresses me with the old Urdu term. Of course he tries to intimidate me by speaking English only--but it does not work. I am very comfortable with English. All of the courts in India are operated in that language only.

"I am required to use the cane, Manu. Not out of necessity, mind you. My grandchildren gave it to me as a present for their Christmas holiday. Their feelings would be very much hurt if I left it behind."

He is a short man, much shorter than I am, so I have to look down at him when we speak. But then I leaned the cane on the bench and remained standing while he sat, just so he would know I was speaking the truth.

"Are you not cold?" I asked.