The Black Swan of Mr. Khan

Mr. Anees Khan- a lone, wealthy merchant in the village, always found love in his pets. He was a tall, long bearded, muscly man who often dressed in white. He lived in a big mansion surrounded by a beautiful garden and an artificial lake with a small arched bridge. His garden was home to many parrots, pigeons, rabbits, squirrels and swans- his favorite creatures…. Among the swans, there was a black swan- a special and most loved pet. The swan was the center of attraction to all the villagers and children. Mr. Khan personally took care of the swan and had named it ‘Blackie.’

Blackie was a pen and was famous among children, so we visited his mansion every day to watch her beautiful movements. After all, black swans are almost impossible to be spotted in India. Many times we tried to hug Blackie but she would get aggressive if anyone tried to touch her. Only Mr. Khan was able to touch her, hug her, feed her… His affection towards her was so much that he would resemble a swan while playing with her! She would wrap her wings around him and bugle a sweet sound. Then he would caress her very slender neck saying, ‘black swans have the longest necks in their species.’ Then he would feed her and we would witness her red bill open.  What an amusement that used to be… to observe her magnificent flight, the dimensions of her body and the gracefulness of her lithe movements… A devine art she was!

Once, while we were watching Blackie’s movements, I saw Mr. Khan feeding other swans on the opposite side of the lake. I went to him and asked, ‘you have lot of pets but why are you so fascinated with swans?’ On which, he replied, ‘swans are elegant, loving and loyal creatures. They mate only one partner for the lifetime and when one of the partners dies, the other one dies of heart break… isn’t that pure love? I don’t know whether it’s a myth or reality, but whatever it is, it’s piercingly beautiful! And that, dear, drives me towards them.’ He smiled and continued feeding the swans.

Mr. Khan lived alone in his mansion. He was an old widower, cursed by love and blessed by ancestral wealth. He had lost his wife at a very young age and now, the sad demise of his mother had made him lonelier. His father had gone missing when he was about twenty-five. Some people said that he died and some said that he had gone to Mecca and later on lived life of a saint. Mr. Khan had a step mother and step brothers but they lived somewhere else due to their differences with each other. He regarded himself as a worthless child to his parents. Being a below average student at school and then a college dropout never landed him a decent job. So eventually, he had the family business to take care of. He did charity to the orphanages as he had no child. His pets were the only source of happiness who kept him going and with whose support he tried to build memories… good memories…

One evening, when we were watching the stunts of Blackie, we heard some noise. A group of people was abusing Mr. Khan who was standing in his doorway. Mr. Khan too abused them. ‘Get lost from here and never show me your faces! Where were you rascals when I dealt alone with my grieves?’ Mr. Khan went forward with a stick in his hand and threatened them to leave. For the first time we heard him speaking this kind of language. The people left looking at the lake, where we were enjoying Blackie’s company. Mr. Khan stood watching them till they disappeared, and closed the gates. Sweating and panting, he sat in his armchair in the garden. We did not dare to ask Mr. Khan about the matter but something we came to know from the villagers was that, the people were his relatives, maybe the step brothers who claimed to have an equal share in his property and that Mr. Khan denied the claim…
The day passed and we kept thinking about the matter…

The next day, In the silence of afternoon, Blackie was found dead, lying in the garden with an arrow crossed through her neck… Mr. Khan was sitting helplessly beside her with a mixed expression of grief and anger. Who dared to damage the divine art…? 

‘What is it? Get lost and study well. Don’t be another Anees Khan.’ He yelled at us. Frightened by his horrible look, we left the place. Villagers thronged outside his mansion but Mr. Khan didn’t show up. For one more time life had made him relive a loss…

After few days, when we thought that it was a suitable time to visit him, we entered the gates of his mansion. After all, it was our duty to cheer up our old friend. He didn’t open the door. We cried his name out but he was in no mood to open the door. It had been fifteen minutes… there was no sound from inside. We tried peeping through the glass windows but the curtains were closed. We exchanged suspicious looks… I picked up a stone and aimed it on of the windows. The glass shattered and we slid the curtains. There was no movement… everything seemed lifeless… Rotten smell came through the window… Under the golden chandelier, Mr. Khan laid still and motionless, curled up on the shiny marble floor…

“Swans die of heart break,” was not a myth…