Dumb Caretaker: English Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

 Dumb Caretaker: English Short Story

 Author: Deepak Budki

Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

He was the caretaker of the guest house for a long, more than a decade and a half before the British left. Scrupulously truthful, virtuous, sincere, god-fearing and clean-hearted, he always wore spotless clean clothes. It was for these attributes of character that Ramzan Joo was recruited as a caretaker of this guest house by a kind-hearted British officer back in 1930 in spite of his disability. He was dumb -- unable to speak. Those days British had an upper hand in all matters though Maharaja ruled the state.

Dumbness had struck him when he was still in school. He suddenly got a very high fever which resulted in the loss of speech though miraculously his hearing was not affected. Communication became his greatest handicap but his sharp intellect taught him how to express himself through sign language and seek help from his wife and later on his son. 

Ramzan Joe took a personal interest in the maintenance and cleanliness of guest house rooms. He knew that the British were keen on neatness and cleanliness. So far none of them had raised even a finger on his spotless work. On the contrary, many British officers appreciated his work and given him letters of commendation at the time of their departure.

He had been the keeper of this guest house for more than forty years now. Mostly the guests were senior government officers on their official visits to local subordinate offices. They stayed here for a few days, sometimes accompanied by their family and at other times alone.

Things changed drastically after independence. Democracy changed both culture and behaviour of society.  Foot soldiers became torchbearers. Hooligans and ruffians controlled the reins of government and their slaves occupied chairs of power. Ramzan Joo sensed it all and felt worrisome, especially for his family which comprised his wife, one grown-up daughter and a son younger than her. He would occasionally express his worry to his wife in sign language but she was initially unable to understand him properly. Later on, however, she deduced the truth on her own and understood what her husband was trying to convey looking at the behaviour of local and other guests who came and stayed in the guest house.

“Zooni, things have changed altogether now from what it was during the British days. They were very clean-mannered, devout and god-fearing. God save us from these ruffians and hooligans who visit nowadays. They lack all dignified conduct and have no respect for good culture. They are full of lustful desires and abominable to the core. Never go in front of them in my absence nor send Farzana under any circumstances. Rashid can go, he is a boy.” Ramzan Joo could not speak but he could think and express himself through sign language and movements of his hands. Zooni could easily read everything from the tearful eyes and pallid face of her husband.

Ramzan Joo received his first shock when the Conservator of Forests, Peerzada Himayun Ashraf came into the guest house.  A party was held till late into the night in the dining hall. The subordinate officers had come with their wives who felt free in entertaining the chief guest. Those who veiled their faces at home carried glasses of lemon-immersed gin or frothing beer in their hands and welcomed stealthy glances onto their half-bare ivory-like bodies. Every one of them wore expensive dazzling clothes and hung Pashmina shawls on their shoulders just to display affluence. With heavily made-up faces, deeply painted lips, long dangling earrings, and pretty golden bangles on their arms the women moved around inviting compliments from onlookers. The hall echoed with high pitch laughter and obscene jokes. Wine and dining were made available by subordinate officers from a nearby hotel while the caretaker was asked to make other arrangements in the guest house. 

At the time of departure one of the officers called Ramzan Joo and tried to hand him over two bottles of whiskey as a tip for the services rendered adding, “Ramzana, these two bottles are for you! You’ll recall our favour for a long and remember what nice officers you came in contact with today!!" Ramzan Joo wore a feeble smile and politely refused to take the bottles with the movement of his hand. He wished he was able to speak, he would have given him a sound verbal thrashing. He wished he could tell him that he had seen officers in this guest house of such refinement and calibre that people like him would not match their shoe shiners even. The officer felt embarrassed and went away. Slowly the hall was emptied of all the guests but was left littered with so much refuse and garbage that it took Ramzan Joo two days to clean up. For this additional work, he was paid just twenty-five rupees over and above the actual bill payment as a tip. While cleaning the hall, words of the officer repeatedly echoed in his ears---“You’ll remember our favour for a long time and often recall what nice officers you came in contact with today!!”

After this episode, he faced many more embarrassing happenings in the guest house so much so that at times he wanted to quit his job instantly but the pressing need for livelihood for himself and his family dependent upon him made him bear all the insults and humiliations patiently. Had he been alone he would have long back kicked the job and left the guest house since his honour was at stake. His dilemma was understandable. How could he be able to support four members of his family besides himself that too with such a serious physical handicap? His children were studying in a nearby government school. His moving out would have caused a catastrophe for his family.

Many a time some officer guests came in with other women and stayed in the guest house. They showed so close association that nobody could suspect anything wrong. Ramzan Joo, simple-minded as he was, didn’t smell anything suspicious till his wife found it out and warned him of its dangers but he was unable to prevent it. He was a humble employee and unable to denounce them for their immoral activities or inform the police. One of them who frequented the guest house was a top police officer while the other one was a member of the legislature. When his wife expressed her concern he had to force himself to maintain silence. Many a time he pondered over it and said to himself, “Hell, imagine what type of people visit this guest house? Sons of bitches! Shameless guys! Lack of even the basics of ethics and morality. The women accompanying them too are shameless and promiscuous. Nothing like that was seen by me during the British days. They never committed anything regretful. True, they consumed liquor and were free but shamelessness was not in their blood. I’m fed up seeing it all with my own eyes. I want to kick this job and return to my native village but how to sustain my large family with a small piece of agricultural land and a shared property in the village! Now it is only God’s grace that can save us otherwise it is impossible to carry on with these wicked rascals!”

Then another earthquake shook his existence! One day an Excise Commissioner came into the guest house. He was on an inspection tour. A man of abominable short stature and a thin wiry frame with a wheatish complexion, who in order to hide his inferiority complex took long steps and talked aloud. He often used words and expressions like a bloody, bastard, son of a bitch to give vent to his anger or stamp his authority, especially on his subordinates to keep them on tiptoes. When he reached the guest house Ramzan Joo had gone out to the market to fetch some veggies etc, so Farzana, his daughter opened the gate for him. She had already reached her seventeenth year and looked so cute and pretty. While looking at her Afzal Karim stood awestricken and the devil in his heart came wide alive!  Farzana looked around and said pointing at the door of the nearby VIP suite, “Sahab Jee, this suite is reserved for you. You may get fresh, hot water is available in the geyser. In the meantime, Dad will be back. He’s gone to the market to fetch some fresh veggies. If you need anything more you can push the call bell. She had immediately sensed his intention so without staying further she rushed back into her quarter.

Afzal Karim and his orderly went into the suite. The orderly opened his bags and began putting the requisite essentials in order. Meanwhile, he took out two bottles of Whiskey and some snacks from the bag and set them on the table. In order to have some glasses, the orderly rushed out to the kitchen and called out aloud besides pushing the bell. Farzana came almost running. On being told she took out four glasses, put them on a tray and handed them over to the orderly.

Afzal Karim went into the washroom, got fresh in a few minutes, changed his clothes and sat in the armchair near the table. He wanted to have some drinks to get relief from the weariness of the journey. The orderly prepared the drink and Afzal Karim took a few sips slowly though intermixed with the thoughts of Farzana. After a few moments, unable to control his lust, he said to his orderly, “The girl is extremely pretty, like a fairy. God knows who is destined for her!”

The orderly knew his boss well. He immediately sensed his intention. So he replied hastily, “Ah, Sir, what’s her status? Won’t even get an ordinary man! Some third-class fellow will marry her for sure!”

“That’s unfortunate! She’s truly extremely beautiful!”

The orderly got the clue. Karim was emptying whiskey pegs one after the other which was showing its effect. Meanwhile, Ramzan Joo returned from the market and knocked feebly at the door of the suite.

“Come in!” Afzal Karim called out aloud.

Ramzan Joo came in and said in the language of gestures, “I hope the arrangements are satisfactory!” Looking at the wall clock he asked again, “When will you have dinner, Sir?” Afzal Karim was puzzled why this man was not speaking. His orderly saw through his enigma and said, “Sir, he is Ramzan Joo, the caretaker of this guest house. He is unable to speak but can hear well. He wants to know at what time you’ll have the dinner and if there is any other requirement, he’ll arrange it.” The orderly was already acquainted with Ramzan Joo because he had earlier visited this guest house on several occasions.

A fit of notorious anger with an air of grin spread on the face of Afzal Karim. He said to his orderly “If he can't speak, someone else should have come. Okay, see if some arrangement can be made.”

The orderly got the cue. He got up and drove out Ramzan Joo placing his arm on his shoulder. He whispered into Ramzan's ear as if he was revealing a secret, “Ramzana, he is my topmost boss. My job is subject to his pleasure. It'll be kind of you if you fulfil his wish.”

Unable to make out his intention Ramzan Joo stared closely into his face. He himself became a question personified.

Cutting across all the limits of shame and bounds of morality, the orderly told him clearly in his ear, “Sahib likes your daughter very much. I should be leaving after dinner. Send her to him late in the night. He’ll reward you to your heart’s content. He is very bounteous.”

Suddenly Ramzan Joo felt the earth shaking under his feet and the sky crashing down on his head. He didn't possess the power of speech but now momentarily he seemed to have lost his power of thinking and understanding as well. It was for the first time in his life that he heard such shocking words. His breaking emotion burst into a flow of tears but somehow he could control himself. Without uttering a word he walked back to his quarters with legs as heavy as lead.

On seeing Farzana his anger got the better of him. He slapped her face with all force and asked in his language of gestures why she had appeared before the guests in his absence. She was dumbfounded, and couldn't reply but her mother spoke out, “Why do you flare up? You were not here. Neither I nor Rashid was available. I had taken Rashid to the doctor. And what wrong did she commit, she only opened the door and made them comfortable. She didn't misbehave. ”

Ramzan Joo was feeling as if someone had undressed her daughter before him.  He could not express anything, only a stream of tears was flowing in his eyes and he was beating his forehead with his palms repeatedly. Gradually his wife tried to comprehend all that might have happened, so she consoled her innocent husband and begged him to cool down.

“Farzana is not at fault, dear. These people are wicked and greatly sinful. The British were far better than these devils. Forget it now; serve them dinner in the evening, by morning these monsters will vanish.

At nine in the evening, Ramzan Joo spread dinner for the guest in the dining hall, knocked on his door softly and with a little motion of hand called him to the dinner table. Not a word was spoken or a gesture made after that. After dinner, Ramzan Joo silently removed the used dishware and went straight into his house. Normally he would go into the room of the guest after serving him dinner and ask him if there was any other requirement. After fulfilling the need of the guest, he would bid good night to him and take his leave.

Tonight it was different. He was not able to have even a wink of sleep the whole night. His inner conscience was poking him. Repeatedly he would get up and bow low in submission before Allah as if he had committed an unpardonable sin. His wife too was much anguished, she witnessed it all but was helpless. She went along in extreme anguish.

In the morning after Afzal Karim left the guest house, Ramzan Joo started packing his bags. He had decided finally to leave his job and go to his native village to spend the rest of his life. In the afternoon he met his boss in his office and submitted his resignation. His boss wanted to know the reason for his resignation but Ramzan Joo did not say anything though tears continued to make his eyes moist and were about to burst.

After three days a young man replaced him in the guest house. Ramzan Joo handed him the keys and left the same evening along with his family. While leaving, Ramzan Joo heaved a deep sigh of anguish and relief and looked back at the guest house which to him was no less than a place of worship.

*****

Justice Delivered: English Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

Justice Delivered: English Short Story

  Author: Deepak Budki

 Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat 

That day an unusual thing happened. He greeted and hugged me in the middle of the road and I kept looking at him with great astonishment. He looked straight into my eyes, then said, “Hearty Congratulations! You have cleared the Civil Services Examination. This is a matter of great pride for all of us.” His gestures appeared both affected and stagy.

Then he turned to his wife who was standing beside him and told her, “Ah! He had to waste five precious years of his life in our wretched Corporation. I was, however, sure he will make it one day and become a gazetted officer in the Government. See my prophecy has come true!”

He again looked at me with hope and expectation and after a few moments invited me for a cup of tea at the Grand Hotel which was nearby.

My astonishment doubled. For five years we had worked together in the same office. Several times I had visited his office chamber for some work but he never talked so warmly nor did he call for a cup of tea. He always put up a long face as if he was facing the worst times of his life. Seeing him now, I started thinking, "What has befallen this man that he is showering so much affection on me today? Maybe he is trying to impress his wife with his high-ranking friend circle, or.... maybe he is looking for a match in me for a girl of his near relation. These little things do in fact turn one to behave erratically. 

While having tea we talked about many subjects, the Corporation, state politics, our personal lives, and many other things. Meanwhile, his wife stole some glances at me and smiled occasionally. Her smile seemed to enhance the sweetness of the tea. She was a buxom woman in her naughty thirties.

A few days passed. One day Jagannath accompanied by his wife arrived at my office and both took seats across the table in front of me. Immediately after he comforted himself he came out with the purpose of his visit saying, “We have come to you for some favour.”

“What can I do for you, please let me know.”

“My brother-in-law, Harji Lal works in your department and is presently on frontier posting in Gurez.  His tenure will be over within a month and his transfer orders are expected anytime.”

“That’s good. Where do you want him to be posted? Near his home, I suppose?”

“That’s the tragedy, brother! He is an eccentric person. Has made a hell of our life.” His wife spoke in between.

“He has illicit relations with his elder brother’s wife and prefers her company oftentimes. Unbelievable and Strange, isn't it?  But that is what it is. He has brought disgrace to the whole family. He has distanced himself from his wife, often sends her to the parental house while he himself enjoys with his sister-in-law.”

“That’s very loathsome!” I said looking into his piercing feline eyes.

“I want that Harji Lal is posted far away from this city. Two years ago he managed to get his divorce order from the subordinate court and has applied for the custody of his child now. Imagine a mother being denied proximity of her child whose pain she has borne for nine months.”

“Usually the custody of the child is given to his mother, the father cannot be awarded his or her custody. That is natural justice.”

“He has deposed in the court through his lawyer that his ex-wife has no means of income and hence she will not be able to provide for and care for the child. Moreover, the child is no longer dependent on his mother’s milk. It looks like he has greased the palm of the Judge to get a decision in his favour. We do not want his posting anywhere in this city so he may not be able to attend hearings in the case regularly. The case will thus get prolonged and maybe by the time the child will attain maturity and state his own choice in the court.”

“That is a better solution. I understand your problem. I’ll post him at a place wherefrom he will have to travel a great distance that will take him a day or two to reach Srinagar.”

Both of them left for their home fully satisfied. Afterwards, it occurred to me, "Won't it be irrational to form an opinion on the basis of what I was told by these people? It is just one side of the story. Their assertions may be tailored to suit their own vested interests and not based on truth. Believing them and deciding the fate of my subordinate on their half-truths may mean a miscarriage of justice. I must hear the other side too."

My doubts were reasonable, so I decided to consult some senior officials and union leaders who may be knowing Harji Lal personally. It would be possible to extract the truth from them or at least get corroborated the assertions made by the couple. I was able to gather some tidbits of information and piece them together. One Union leader, a well-learned Hindu, lay the entire blame at the door of Harji Lal. I could feel that he had a soft corner for women folk as is usual in such matters because Hindus expect a cent per cent fidelity of men towards their spouses. Later in the day, I met a Muslim Union leader who knew Harji Lal so well that he burst out with emotions, "You Hindus are all the same. You want the men to be like galley slaves. No escape even if the wife is a witch." He gave me some important clues about the case like how the in-laws of Harji Lal have constantly hounded him, how they had been influencing my predecessors for keeping him out of this city and how he has been suffering from gastric ulcers in far-flung areas. I was moved and almost tearful. I sent an unofficial message through him to Harji Lal asking him to meet me at my residence during the coming holidays.

After about fifteen days there were a few consecutive holidays including the weekend. On the last day of the holidays which was a Sunday, I was all alone in my house. My wife had gone to her parent’s house along with the children. Early in the morning, somebody pressed the call bell at the outer gate. I was still lying in my bed. I thought it may either be a newspaper hawker or milkman seeking payment of their monthly bills. So I hurriedly put on my tweed Pheran (a smock-like apparel worn by Kashmiris) and opened the gate. Harji Lal stood before me.

I took him to the large room on the ground floor which we used for receiving and entertaining guests. You may call it a drawing room though it never looked like one. Devoid of any furniture, the floor of the room was furnished all over with locally woven straw mats commonly known as 'Patej' which were covered by pressed cotton felt rugs called ‘Namdahs’ in local parlance. A few long barrel-shaped bolsters and pillows lined up against one wall to recline on while sitting. In an average Kashmiri house, there is generally no tradition of sitting in chairs and sofas though the rooms are spacious. The guests are received in a large room called Baithak and all sit on the floor with thick warm flooring to stop the cold coming from underneath and recline against large long bolsters and pillows for comfort.

“I’ve come to meet the Sahab Bahadur, he has called me for a meeting,” Harji Lal informed me. He was at a loss guessing where he had landed up as he could not find any semblance of a house of an IPS Officer. He was not able to place me as well as he could hardly expect his Sahab Bahadur to be in a pheran.

“You are Harji Lal? It is I who called you. Sit here, I have to talk about something special with you.”

“Is it you, Sir? I am sorry I couldn’t recognize you. I have never seen you before. I am extremely sorry, Sir. Hope you will pardon me.” 

“No reason for asking pardon. Make yourself comfortable.” By the time I too sat informally by his side on the floor.

“I have called you here to gather some information about your personal life if you wish to share. I have heard your in-laws' side of the story and now I would like to hear it from you. If you like to throw some light on your relationship with your wife and recount your personal hardships, it can facilitate me to reach a proper and just conclusion. I don’t want to make a decision based on what has been stated by one side only.”

He was totally astonished to find me as his boss besides being overawed by the environment around him. However, on the other hand, it helped us to bridge the gap of strangeness immediately and develop familiarity among ourselves. He was able to shun his shyness and inertia in communication. Harji Lal had thought he was going to meet an IPS Officer, he would have to wait for God knows how much time to get an audience and then face many strange questions but the situation that he faced here was quite different and encouraging for him. He never expected such informality from a person who had power in his hands and who had the authority to do or undo things in his favour.  

I tried to comfort him further with some more assuring words to make him feel that I was his well-wisher and not in any way harmful to his interests so that he could satisfactorily have full trust in me.

He once again looked around to feel reassured and then spoke, “Sir, the truth of the matter is that I lost my parents in my childhood. My brother and his wife treated me as their own son and never gave me an occasion to feel that I was an orphan. After completing my education my sister-in-law diligently arranged for my wedding and with a lot of hope brought my wife into the house. Before I could settle down with my marital affairs I found that my wife was made up of completely different stuff. She could not reconcile with my brother and sister-in-law in any manner. From the very first day in my house, she converted it into a battlefield and started fighting with my brother's wife. She quarrelled with her on all petty issues so fiercely that our neighbours had to often intervene. She never appreciated the fact that my brother and sister-in-law have been no less than father and mother to me and it was only because of them that I was able to stand on my feet. I soon came to realize that her only aim was to get me separated from them and snap all relations with my brother and his family.”

“I don’t think there was anything wrong about it because most of women nowadays prefer to be independent and want to live their own life without anybody's interference,” I interjected cutting short his talk in the middle.

“You are right, Sir, but one has to give due respect to those who deserve it and have substantial consideration for traditions in the family. She cannot simply lash out and abuse those who have sustained me all my life and I have treated them as my parents. She stooped so low as to accuse me of having illicit relations with my mother-like sister-in-law. That was the height of things and quite unbearable to me as one whom I worshipped as my mother should be blamed as such.”

“Harji Lal! The circumstances you are in and what you describe can easily prove you guilty irrespective of whatever the facts may be.” I took to somewhat harder stance to eke out some more critical information. “You continued to be carefree about your duly wedded wife and lived with your brother and sister-in-law. Your wife had to often go to her parental home, you neither stopped her from going nor ever went there to bring her back. On the contrary, you lived comfortably with your sister-in-law. She always took care of you. What inference can one draw from this account of yours on a rational basis?”

“Sir, you are looking only at one side of the matter. No man would like his wife to stay at her parents and himself to waste his youth alone in his room. Notwithstanding no sane person would like to live with such a venomous serpent in the guise of a woman. As regards my living with my brother may I know where else do I go? This is our parental home and both I and my brother are equal shareholders. My sister-in-law treats me like her own son and feeds me as she feeds her own children. They have been looking after me since my early childhood and will continue to do so in the future. She often cries bitterly looking at my condition and blames herself for it, saying, "It was because of me that you had to suffer that hag." Suppose I part with my brother but tell me, Sir, how can I trust a woman who may ditch me any time in future without rhyme or reason?”

“You are right but sometimes one has to compromise and accept such undesirable circumstances.”

“Compromises are done only when there are faults on the part of both partners and each one shows a willingness to amend his or her conduct in the future. Here the situation is miserable. I am a victim of the worst exploitation and cruelty. The last few years have been pathetic for me. My health conditions have deteriorated considerably because of the mental stress that I experienced. Gastric ulcers have formed due to excessive acid formation in my stomach. I had to undergo major surgery in the hospital a few years back.” Harji Lal suddenly lifted his shirt off his front body to show me more than a foot-long scar on his abdomen due to the operation. “Sir, I was in the hospital for one month and it was only due to the care of my brother and sister-in-law that I survived otherwise I would have died since. My wife never tried to see me in the hospital even once.”

“Don’t say that. God always makes an alternative arrangement for every creature to survive. Incidentally, was your divorce approved by the court at that time? ”

“No Sir, I was hoping that she will realize her mistake and return. We have a son as well. It is in fact only this hope that kept me going on. I thought my own blood will become animated someday and look out for his father and also force his mother to return to her husband but she poisoned his ears so bitterly that such a thought never occurred to him while on the contrary he also turned against me. It was only after this disclosure that I decided to apply for divorce.”

“I understand, such circumstances are gradually shaped like that.”

“Sir, I want to tell you a secret that I’ve been holding close to my chest for many years. I have not revealed it to anyone not even to the court.” He once again moved his eyes around the room lest someone else might be spying on their talks or ears might have grown in the walls of the room and maybe listening to what he was saying. After gaining confidence, he continued, “I have not divulged this secret to anybody so far but want to disclose it before you as I have developed a strange familiarity and closeness with you, Sir.”

“You can say everything without fear. I’ll closely guard your secret.” 

“Sir, if you do not mind, sometimes just walk down your lane between 3 to 5 pm and as you hit the road you can see a Chemist's shop ‘New Global Medicate’ on the opposite side across the road. There you’ll see a lady sitting behind the counter every day. She is my Ex-wife. She and the owner of the shop are in love with each other since premarital days. Those days the owner of the shop was just a helper in some other chemist shop earning a meagre sum and therefore not financially sound. Hence her parents didn’t consent to their marriage and in order to avoid any untoward happening they quickly sought out another groom for her. And the axe, unfortunately, fell on my head. She continued meeting her paramour even after our marriage. It was rather this relationship that made a hell of my life. She was very eager to separate from my brother's household so that there is no vigil on her movements and her paramour can even visit her house in my absence. As they say, the offence is the best part of the defence. In order to hide her illicit relationship she made counter false allegations against me and my sister-in-law. She often made allegations about my character and advertised it widely to malign me. 

“Okay, I understand. You can leave now. Give me some time to reach a decision.”

The next day I returned from my office somewhat early. I changed my dress, wore ordinary clothes and ordinary slippers, and walked across the lane to reach the road from where I could see the ‘New Global Medicate’. I wanted to confirm what Harji Lal had said. After entering the shop I saw a middle-aged man, roughly 35 to 40 years old, sitting behind the counter writing something probably making entries in his daily account. On his right side was seated a short-statured chubby and fidgety woman with glossy eyes wearing a violet saree. They were talking unreservedly to each other. She would off and burst into peals of laughter after lively banter. On looking at her closely I found her just a carbon copy of the wife of Jagannath who had met me twice. On seeing me both of them got startled initially but later overcame their apprehension as they did not find me interested in their personal affairs.  I  took out a piece of paper from my pocket, read out the names of some medicines and asked about their availability.

The owner of the store looked at me from head to foot with amusement and then walked around in search of medicines. He opened a few almirahs to bring out the cartons containing the medicines, pulled out the required quantity and placed it on the ledge of the counter. Meanwhile, I kept watching the gestures of his lady friend looking sideways at her without making her conscious that I was interested in her. Later on, I visited the store a few times more after a gap of some days in between the visits and at the specified time. I would ask for some different medicines every time. During such visits, I found both of them in the same frolicsome mood as I had seen on day one. The owner gradually became quite informal with me. Meanwhile, if a customer entered, he would immediately attend to him and after satisfying him return to his seat. Over a period of time, more and more facts about them were revealed to me. 

Whatever Harji Lal had stated about his ex-wife proved to be cent per cent correct. I was also fully convinced that this woman had levelled false allegations against her husband in order to hide her own evil deeds.

In a week’s time, I acted as was most desired in this case but beyond the expectations of many. Harji Lal was posted precisely at the office as was requested by him in his application. How Jagannath and his wife must have reacted to the order remains unknown to me. I neither tried to know about it nor did they ever meet me after that. Harji Lal did once come to meet me in my office and thanked me profoundly.

It was during those days that I was sent on deputation to Army Postal Service. I was trained in Kampti near Nagpur in Maharashtra for about two months and thereafter posted to Bareilly, Uttar Pradesh for the first time. After around six months I came to my home on leave. In my heart of hearts, I was very eager to know what had become of Harji Lal, so I went to the post office where I had posted him. He was fortunately available in the same office where I had posted him though I had apprehended that his in-laws might have manipulated again to get him ousted from there and got him thrown far away from the city. On seeing me he immediately left his counter and fell on my feet.

With tears rolling down his cheeks yet inner happiness apparent on his face, he said, “Sir, when did you come?”

“I have come just a couple of days back,” I replied.

“Sir, I have got my son back. The court decided the case in my favour. My in-laws had been trying for a long time to keep me away from this city such that I would not be able to follow my case in the court but you were sent by God as a Messiah for me. Your order solved all my problems. You have reestablished my deserted life, Sir. How can I repay your favours? Now my son has become quite familiar with me and goes to school regularly. I am happy as happiness could be, thanks all to your mercy, Sir.”

Rivers were oozing out of his eyes. In spite of that, he exhibited his inner joy. I cannot say if those tears represented his joy or his sorrow!!

 

                                                                  *****

Agony Of The Soul: English Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

Agony Of The Soul: English Short Story

 Author: Deepak Budki

 Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

She was a very senior Indian Audit and Accounts Service Officer. Her name was Shivangi Menon. Those days when she qualified,  very few girls appeared and qualified for the Civil Services Examination. Those who were successful nourished a secret desire to take aggressively compete with fellow officers. Superseding their colleagues and going ahead of them was a profound tendency, a strange fire, and a maddening urge with these young fiery women!!!

She too had nourished the same dreams. Being a single child, she enjoyed both the love of a son and the care of a daughter from her parents. Besides schooling her in a local Convent, her parents readily agreed to whatever she said and pampered her absolutely by fulfilling all her demands and aspirations. Little did they know that by doing so they were sowing the seeds of egoism, conceit and vanity in their daughter.

During probation, she became friendly with an Indian Administrative Service probationer Vikas Sharma, a happy-go-lucky, flamboyant and impassioned young man. A strong lover of music both instrumental and vocal, he also had a sweet tooth for delicious foods.

Soon both of them came very close and were seen moving together along the serpentine roads of Mussorie during late nights trying to discuss and explore future dreams of their life together. On weekends they enjoyed booze and pop music in the Whispering Windows, a restaurant patronized mostly by Westernized young. During moments of such dazedness, Shivangi opened her heart to Vikas in the hope that he would sincerely respect her love, little knowing that he belonged to a family where everything was weighed in terms of money and riches.  He however knew that he was simply passing time with her and continued taking advantage of the openness of Shivangi in the Academy.

After completion of training, both returned to their homes. Vikas, in accordance with the wishes of his parents, proceeded with his wedding procession to the house of the State Finance Minister to marry his only daughter while Shivangi kept waiting and longing for him endlessly.

It was like an earthquake in the life of Shivangi, tremors which she kept feeling continuously all her life. The tremors would have subsided had she got a suitable match but neither she could find anyone better in status compared to her nor even at par with her. Frustrated, she finally decided not to enter into a matrimonial alliance all her life.

Shivangi tried her best to get herself out of this shock but found it difficult. So she got lured to worldly pleasures, chasing money and a hedonistic way of life. Gradually she started reading fiction during her leisure besides indulging in drinking like a fish, listening to Western music and even dancing with scintillating tunes in her solitude. Time still fell heavy on her because neither smoking nor boozing helped.

When hope is lost in life, all elegance, grace, glamour, and desire to show off is finished. One is overcome with a strange sluggish attitude and inertness and the sense of inactivity overpowers. The same happened with Shivangi. She started gaining weight day after day as layers of fat gradually deposited on her body. All interest in life was lost for her and the only thing that remained with her was to see days slip into nights and nights turn into days.

Whatever the circumstances, life had to be lived. Casual friends came in occasionally, passed time with her over cupfuls of wine, and left. She could find none among them who would extend to her a few words of sincere warmth of love not to speak of owning her as a life partner.  She had never imagined that life would take such an unpleasant turn for her.  Meanwhile, she lost the solitary support of her mother who until then had overshadowed her life in its true sense.

One day, while casually talking to the head clerk of her office in whom she reposed faith, she was unable to hide her state of utter desperation in life. In reply, the head clerk alluded to a topic that astonished her to the core. He said, “Madam, I hope you remember a casual worker who worked in this office long ago, Sadanand by name, a very gentle and good-natured man who had a  spiritual aura about him. Taking pity on his condition, he had been put on a casual job by one of your predecessors. He worked for four to five years with sincerity and then disappeared suddenly. After some time the Supreme Court in one of its orders directed the Government to confirm all the casual employees and he was one of them. Consequently, we began to search for him so that he too derives the benefit of the windfall on the casual employees. It soon came to light that he had withdrawn from active life and had become a Sadhu. He had established an Ashram in a remote village which presents a wondrous spectacle. Thousands of people visited him daily to seek his blessings. Through day and night, Bhajans and Kirtans are sung by devotees. People say he has solved the problems of numerous individuals with his spiritual healing touch. Lots of people with serious ailments have been miraculously cured through his blessings. Surprisingly here in this office, everyone took him as a simpleton and unworthy of anything tangible!”

“Such things do happen. Human faces are usually deceptive. Nobody knows what’s hidden inside this frail frame, both good and bad! We all wear shoddy faces while the truth about us is known only to the almighty God. There are many such people who are blessed with strange spiritual powers but they do not display any traces of their exalted status from outside," responded Shivangi quickly.  

From that day onwards Shivangi nourished a strong desire to meet Swami Sadanand, though at the back of her mind was her own official superiority which resulted in some reluctance too. It was a struggle between her emotive behaviour and her reason. 

"How would she go to meet and prostrate herself before a person who was an ordinary casual worker in her office?" she would ask herself. But soon her reason retorted, “He is no longer your employee. He has renounced this world and become an ascetic. He is now an illuminated soul closer to the truth.”

Again her emotive behaviour outpoured its own resentment, “What would people say? Such a senior officer and bowing down before an ordinary worker, a peon of yesterday!”

Her reason came once again to her rescue, “Let people say what they say! Even Lord Rama didn’t escape the taunts of people!”

This fight between head and heart continued for quite some time till one day her reason was the winner and she decided to visit Swami Sadanand.

The next day, dressed in a simple khadi saree she reached Sadanand’s Ashram. She experienced a wonderful feeling of the liberation of spirit and ananda as she took the first step towards freedom from the shackles of life.

How much was she bound by the chains of worldly affairs! Though she was highly educated and intelligent yet she was unable to liberate herself from the ordinary fetters of life. In a life of loneliness and solitude with no one around to take care of her, she often wondered about her life's purpose. She drew a fat salary and owned a decent bungalow where she was scared to live alone. It was in fact the insecurities of her life that had overwhelmed her to the core. It is because of loneliness that she shifted to a small flat and rented out her big house in order to escape the insecurity on one hand and make some money on the other. The rent she paid for the flat was less than half compared to earnings from the house. Whenever she went on official tours she invariably ensured that the bills are paid by her hosts. Like other officers, she too overbilled her expenditures and claimed in her TA bills amounts far above what was expended by her. Sometimes you could see her fighting with the caretakers on petty expenditures.

It was beyond comprehension why she was so much after money and stingy in her spending. For whom was she collecting all her money and who was there to benefit from her huge savings? She could not be called a miser because she lavishly spent on her foreign liquor, expensive Cigarettes and Cigars. In fact, she had become addicted to certain habituations that she could not shed away, so she continued with these things like the sorrow that she had nurtured in her heart!

But now things were shaping up. Her visits to the Ashram of Swami Sadanand became a routine for her. Swami Ji had also come to know about her through common sources, so he extended due respect and compassion to her and stressed upon her to make amends for her current behaviour come what may. He sincerely desired that her life is saved from going inordinately wasteful like that. Shivangi involved herself fervently in the affairs of the Ashram. She made it a routine to be there every Friday evening without fail after office hours and returned home on Sunday evening. She also took a keen interest in the maintenance and upkeep of the Ashram and became its integral part.

Time marched on and years slipped by.  Shivangi attained the age of superannuation and retired from her service. Strange enough, the office presented a deserted look after she was gone which is rarely noticed in offices. Everyone missed her cheerful and carefree attitude, lively conversations full of confidence with her employees, attending farewell parties and extending lots of affection and love to all.

After retirement, she engaged herself almost full-time in the affairs of the Ashram. In spite of this, she did not seem to realize the true purpose of her life. The more stress she lay on her mind to get awakened to the truth of life, the more agony did she experience. Swami Ji tried his best to take her nearer to the realities of existence but the knots she had developed in her mind did not wear away. She continued to be feeling a vacuum inside her and was far from the absolute truth.

After some time she permanently shifted to the Ashram. Occasionally she fell into deep introspection thinking about her past life and her wasted career. In her desperateness, she would sometimes open her briefcase and examine her possessions, papers representing her savings in fidelity bonds and equity shares, bank deposits, and the ownership of immobile properties. She would often laugh looking at them, thinking about her inability to live a successful life and would question herself about the purpose of the riches she had accumulated throughout her life. What was this all? Did she do all this for eating two chapatis, a few helpings of vegetables and a bowlful of Dal? What good was this money for and what has her status ultimately bestowed on her? Just nothing! Everything seemed to be of no use to her now. A soft smile passed like a mild lightening over her lips and vanished as fast as it had come.

Exasperated, one day she called her advocate and told him, “Mr. Narang, I want to make my Will!”

“Okay, madam! Everything will be done as you desire!”

Shivangi opened all her papers before Mr Nararang and asked him, “Can you tell me about the market value of these assets?”

“I am a lawyer, madam, not an assessor. I cannot make a correct assessment of their value, however, I can give you a tentatively estimated value!”

“Okay, tell me what your estimate is? ”

Narang checked the papers one by one, made some rough calculations on his calculator and said after some time, “I guess it is a property worth about a crore!”

“It is okay; now draft for me complete papers of my Will as per law and get it registered in a court of law.”

“In whose name, madam? Who is going to be your heir? ”Narang asked.

“In the name of Swami Sadanand Trust! It has to be mentioned here that in the event of my death, this property shall stand transferred in the name of the said trust. I will pay whatever expenses are incurred on writing and registering the Will. Besides, I want a copy of Will to be sent to Swami Ji as well.”

The advocate looked with amazement at her but noticed a wonderful feeling of peace and contentment on her face. For the first time, Shivangi felt light without any encumbrances and at peace with herself.

That night she had such a peaceful sleep as experienced never before!

*****

Ten Inches Of Land; (English Short Story); Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat.

Ten Inches Of Land; (English Short Story)

  Author: Deepak Budki

 Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

Money, Land, and Women are the roots of all troubles, thus goes an old adage. In the present context, the issue is land and that too just about ten inches in width. You will surely be astonished how a piece of land as little as ten inches can be the cause of a major dispute? To know the truth, please bear with me and follow me to the end.

The story is about two cousins, Gidhari Lal and Jawahar Lal, who lived in two adjacent houses inherited from common ancestors. Both the houses were more than a century old, built with mud and old tile-like bricks called Maharaja bricks in local parlance. The walls of the houses had weathered and dilapidated with time and a lot of dust had settled in the crevices while the thatched roofs bound by mud had mosses and wild herbs growing on them. They had decayed and cracked at many places and leaked during rains and snowfall. In the olden days there used to be an entry gate on the backside of Jawahar Lal's house on the ground floor which directly opened onto the back lane but with the passage of time the house slowly sunk into the ground and on the other hand level of the lane kept gradually rising during successive repairs leaving no traces of the gate whatsoever. The ground floor turned into an underground basement for storage of winter fuel. Though there was a large courtyard in front of the house yet it was never used because the exit point belonged to the cousin. On the contrary, access to the house of Girdhari Lal was from the front side which opened in his courtyard and was connected directly to the front lane leading to the road. However there were no walls built, no barriers installed. After the main inbuilt gate of the house of Jawahar Lal became nonexistent, the inmates of his house had no other way to come in or go out of their house except through the corner of Girdhari Lal's courtyard which over a period of time became a thoroughfare. The very thought that his private land was being used as a thoroughfare made Girdhari Lal feel ill at ease.

To overcome his inner strife he would often announce with pride that the entire land that extended up to the front lane belonged to him and he would be within his right to stop its usage by anyone except his own family. Interestingly in the heart of hearts, he was aware that given an opportunity he would not be able to do so since long usage of the land for trespass had legally jeopardized his right to its ownership. People had in fact forgotten that the land belonged to anyone yet Girdhari Lal would not let his ownership be questioned.

Notwithstanding the present conflict had arisen as a result of something else. To be honest it takes no time for a new issue to crop up between neighbors, be it individuals or countries. Luckily Girdhari Lal enjoyed considerable prosperity in terms of money and other fortunes so the envy of neighbors was a natural outcome. Had he been a citizen of some western country he would have taken his wife and children on tours around the world showing them different interesting places besides enjoying his holidays on distant seashores but eastern traditions only coaxed him to fill his coffers so that his children and grandchildren do not face any difficulties in future. It is a tragedy that in the east we spend our lifetime only thinking about the security of our future generations. Our special concerns center around making good houses, acquiring vehicles for movement, arranging for lavish marriages of sons and daughters, and if age further permits, cherishing the desire to see our grandchildren grow up and get happily married. With such a cultural background, going on tours and travels is regarded as a mere wastage of time and money. Girdhari Lal also followed the same tradition meticulously. As a first step, he planned to reconstruct his house. The intention seemed more to show off his wealth before his neighbors especially his cousin than to make himself comfortable with a house provided with all modern amenities of life.

The municipal laws of this city are strange. If you want to rebuild your house after dismantling the old structure, you have to part with almost one-fourth of the plot of your land by surrendering additional margins alongside roads or lanes bordering your plot. Under the law, you have to provide at least ten feet wide space on every side facing adjoining lane or road which means a major chunk of your land is gone. But human ingenuity knows no bounds. To save one's precious land, people rebuild their dilapidated houses by parts starting from the ground floor without dismantling the whole structure. It is a great feat worth watching how the whole project is executed. First, only the ground floor is dismantled while the rest of the building is supported by numerous wooden props. The dismantled floor is reconstructed without disturbing the upper floors until it touches the old structure. The upper floors remain intact on props till the ground floor is reconstructed to support it again. Then after waiting for some months, preferably till onset of the favorable season, the first floor, in turn, is dismantled in a similar manner as the ground floor and is rebuilt after supporting the second floor on wooden props. The whole process is repeated until the entire house is rebuilt. As per law this process comes under the purview of renovation of the old structure and cannot be termed as new construction. And this is how intelligent people escape the dragnet of law. 

Girdhari Lal also followed the same procedure for rebuilding his ancestral house. When he started reconstruction of the ground floor, many an eyebrow was raised in the neighborhood. The adjoining walls of two houses of the cousins had initially been kissing each other with no gap in between but with the passage of time and tilting of walls due to movements of the earth during the past century a narrow cleft of about ten inches wide had appeared in between them. The issue, therefore, arose as to which of the two walls had tilted to one side and the gap created and who should be deemed as the real owner of this space. The mason used a plumb line to straighten the wall being reconstructed which narrowed the gap. After observing the mason was trying to take in the ten inches gap on his side, Jawahar Lal flared up and raised a big ruckus, “You cannot usurp this space which is legally mine. It has been created because the wall of my house has leaned the other way, so it belongs to me. I won’t allow it.”

“This space is created because our wall is inclined, so nobody can stop me from raising the wall,” Girdhari Lal rebuffed and signaled his mason to continue his work. In fact, it was very difficult to judge immediately whose wall had sloped sideways and created this gap. Even expert masons could not say it with certainty who among the two had a right on this space. Since the space created in between the walls was not a significant one, just ten inches wide to be exact, a bit of understanding and goodwill from both sides could have easily solved the problem through negotiations but both sides were hell-bent upon making it an issue and showing each other down. Thus a small affair snowballed into a big dispute.   

In no time the women of the two households joined the melee and raised great hue and cry by abusing each other at a very high pitch. This was followed by men who too joined their womenfolk and used most foul swearing words against their rivals. Such was the display of their moral degradation from both sides that the expletives exchanged included dirtiest vilifications targeting each other's daughters who the other day were treated as their own kith and kin. Jawahar Lal collected many influential people of the vicinity to protest against the high handedness of his cousin Girdhari Lal but could not get any favorable decision. On the other hand, Girdhari Lal was confident of the power of his muscle and money so he directed the masons to continue their work without fear. He employed the masons overnight paying them handsomely and ensured that the wall was raised in full before sunrise because he apprehended that Jawahar Lal might get a stay order from the court early next day.

Jawahar Lal braved the shock anyhow but was soon overcome by serious restlessness so much so that his nights passed without sleep and days without rest. After a few days, he suddenly woke up with a novel idea that would settle the issue in his favor for all times to come. He immediately went out of his house and purchased some digging tools from the market. The same night he started digging a hole in his own wall on the first floor which was adjacent to Girdhari Lal’s wall. His kitchen was there and he directed the exhaust pipe of his kitchen through this hole to make it into a chimney. The neighbors especially Girdhari Lal had to bear the brunt of the deafening sound of the strikes of hammers and pickaxes throughout the night. Girdhari Lal kept wondering what was going on but was helpless. He could not make out the reason and purpose of the noise. Before the morning twilight, Jawahar Lal engaged a mason to permanently fix the exhaust pipe of the chimney so as to direct the smoke through the hole into the gap between the two houses. As Girdhari Lal woke up he was astonished to see the smoke coming out through the space between two houses. He soon understood the trick played by his cousin who had directed the chimney outlet through the gap between the two houses as a permanent measure. He raised loud protests but they had no effect on Jawahar Lal. Here again, the law was exploited for personal gain. According to the existing laws, now that chimney had become a permanent feature, a mandatory two feet gap had to be left for free exhaust of the chimney smoke while raising the first floor and second-floor walls on that side unless the court declared the chimney to be illegal.

Simultaneously Jawahar Lal got a stay order from the court of law restricting Girdhari Lal from making any further additions or alterations in his house till such time the case is decided. Girdhari Lal had to stop all work since he could not even lay an additional brick on his house which he had started with great zeal and enthusiasm. Ten years passed by and no decision came from the court on this issue. The partially rebuilt house of Girdhari Lal presented a pitiable sight like a paralyzed organism. There was no way out visible in the near future. The hostility between the two cousins related by blood continued with ill will and bitterness growing every passing day on both sides. Whenever the two cousins or their family members crossed one another by chance somewhere on the roadside or market or temple they preferred to turn their faces the other way though out of curiosity would look at one another with oblique glances. Nobody would attend any important event in another's house, good or bad, such as birthdays, marriages, or even occurrences of death. Cousins of yesterday related by blood had turned foes of today and the reason for this hostility was just ten inches of land.

 ******