Khudsar Sahafi; Deepak Budki (Afsana, Short Story, Kahani)

 

Goonga Caretaker; گونگا کیئر ٹیکر ;Urdu Short Story; اردو افسانہ

 Goonga Caretaker; گونگا کیئر ٹیکر 

Urdu Short Story; اردو افسانہ 

Manqoola Khwab; منقولہ خواب ; Urdu Short Story; اردو افسانہ

Manqoola Khwab; منقولہ خواب 

Urdu Short Story; اردو افسانہ 

Ek, Do aur Teen!, ایک ،دو اور تین ;Urdu Short Story; اردو افسانہ

Ek, Do aur Teen!, ایک ،دو اور تین 

Urdu Short Story; اردو افسانہ 

Justice Spelled Out At Last; English Short Story: Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

Justice Spelled Out At Last; English Short Story

  Author: Deepak Budki

 Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat

Immediately after the death of their parents in a fatal accident, the hostility between the brothers surfaced in the open. The whole edifice fell like a house of cards. Thank God their only sister had been married earlier otherwise, she would have suffered the most. A common kitchen served the joint family till the parents were alive. All earning brothers would place their salaries in the hands of their mother on the very first day of the month. Earlier the mother used to feel as much contented when her husband was the sole bread earner of the family as she felt now when all her sons except one were earning and filling the coffers of the family. But this delight and satiation were short-lived. It ended the very day when both their parents died in a fatal road accident as their car skidded on a hilly road while negotiating a sharp curve.

Until next Friday all went well as the whole household was in a state of mourning. The same day a formal meeting of all brothers was arranged after sunset to talk about the future course of action due to changed circumstances. The discussion was initiated by the eldest well-to-do brother, Dr Ilyas Wani, who was a Reader at the local university. As is common among teachers, both Dr Ilyas and his wife were very miserly and would avoid any extra expenditure beyond the bare minimum. They were selfish too. God also didn’t treat them kindly. He denied them the joy of having a child of their own though more than a decade had passed since they had got married.

Dr Wani started thus, “Brothers, I would like to be straightforward and unambiguous today. You know in modern times nuclear families are the in thing and everybody wants to live separately without interference by others. Times have changed a lot. Everyone has his own priorities in life. A person's own problems are so complicated that he cannot afford to take responsibility for others. So I suggest that we divide our heredity property immediately after arriving at a consensus.”

All the brothers agreed sheepishly. Second brother Showkat Wani, who was an Engineer in State Public Works Department, was eagerly waiting for this opportunity for a long time. He had always cherished a dream of owning a luxurious comfortable house with modern facilities. To this end, he would quietly put aside all the extra money he was able to earn in the shape of bribes and commissions during his service. So he quickly responded, “Dear brothers, our parents have left this ten-room house, bank deposits worth fifty thousand rupees and some gold ornaments. I suggest ornaments and proceeds of the fixed deposits be given to the sister. Married brothers should be apportioned three rooms each while one large room which is double the size of others is kept reserved for unmarried Asghar.”

“What a pity! How is it you propose only one room for Asghar! Is he not our brother?” the third brother, Javed Wani spoke out in favor of Aghar who was the youngest of all. Javed had hardly passed the matriculation examination after facing many failures his father arranged a shop for him by paying a premium of a lakh of rupees in the busy market. Javed started a readymade garments shop there and was satisfied with his earnings because the expenses for his family comprising two kids and a wife were met.”

“You see, as yet Asghar is unable to earn anything. We’ll have to take care of his education and other expenses till he is ready for a job. Nobody knows how many years he will still take to stand on his own feet.” Showkat Wani replied in all seriousness.

Asghar Wani was listening to the conversation quietly. He preferred to be silent in the situation as any interjection by him could invite trouble. Asghar had been admitted to a college about two months back. He was very good in studies but it would take him not less than three years to complete his graduation, and thereafter some more time to find out a job. Nobody could say how long it would take him to be on his own. Moreover, he had developed a relationship with Parveen, a girl in the neighbourhood who was eagerly waiting to get married to him. She had been able to win the hearts of his parents but with their passing away she found it difficult to enter their house even. Rarely would she get a chance to meet her beloved Asghar, sometimes while going to school or while going to the market. She would ask him about his welfare and nothing more. But now for the last few days, she too cold-shouldered him.

The discussion did not end with the division of their house only but continued with what to do with Asghar and how to finance his studies and daily expenses.

“About the maintenance of Asghar, I suggest all of us should jointly bear his responsibility till at least he completes his graduation and is able to find a job. It would be proper that Asghar stays with each brother for a year by rotation and he would take his responsibility during that year. The arrangements will continue till he is able to earn to maintain himself independently.”

The suggestion seemed reasonable so everyone agreed but in heart of hearts, Asghar was deeply traumatized. Something like an earthquake was shaking him from the inside. The demise of his parents had made him a pauper in his own house. He would frequently shed tears like torrential rains in his solitude and think why was he reduced to such a condition of helplessness. He felt he was living the life of a beggar who had to extend his needy hands for the necessities of life and that too in front of his own kith and kin who regarded him as a liability.

With passing days he began reconciling little by little with the changed circumstances and concentrated more on his studies which, he thought, could prove to be the only authentic support to his otherwise dissipated life. While he was trying to come to terms with his new life he had to face another shock that shook the very foundations of his existence. One day Parveen revealed to him that she had been engaged to a doctor and was going to be married next month. She had tried her best to bring her parents around to her choice of Asghar but they refused flatly on the pretext that Asghar had been deserted and emasculated by his brothers who had grabbed his share of the ancestral property. They added that handing her over to Asghar in marriage was no less than throwing her into a ditch. Parveen had tearfully expressed her willingness to her parents that she was ready to spend her life with Asghar in whatever condition he might keep her but they did not yield to her beseeching and she had to ultimately submit before their wishes. Asghar reckoned in deep distress that not only his nears and dears but God as well was playing false with him under a conspiracy.

However, he showed exemplary courage in facing misfortunes and somehow passed the graduation examination whereafter he decided not to pursue further education. Asghar felt things slowly easing for him and therefore decided to do some business in order to stand on his own legs. This would also relieve him from dependence on his brothers. On the advice of his friend Imran, Asghar accompanied him to peddle Kashmir Shawls and other embroidered goods in Delhi and Kolkata. A number of such hucksters from Kashmir can be seen during winter in the streets of Delhi, Kolkata, Mumbai and other cities of India selling handicrafts from Kashmir at reasonable prices.

His brothers were very much pleased with his going away since it relieved them of his burden. Meanwhile, Showkat Wani, the engineer, sold his portion of the house to his elder brother and constructed a grand bungalow using his illegal earnings accumulated over the years. On the other hand, their sister never looked back after collecting her share from the brothers. Slowly the siblings scattered like beads from a broken string got engrossed with their own life and rarely came across each other.

Asghar had to stay in Delhi with his friend for a few days before he could proceed to Kolkata. One day while he was casually walking near the Andhra Bhawan his eyes fell on some people fighting among themselves. Two groups of people of rival political parties were engaged in the most deplorable fight with each other while one man lay injured on the footpath bleeding profusely. His clothes had been torn to pieces and he was unconscious. Nobody in the gathering cared to help him get up or take him to the hospital for treatment.  Taking pity on his condition Asghar went near him and tried to bring him back to a conscious state. Asghar cut a piece of his torn shirt and tied it to the bleeding wound on his head. He also purchased a bottle of cold water from a nearby stall and made him drink some water till he found him fit to be carried to a hospital. Then he hired an auto-rickshaw and took him to the nearest hospital where his wounds were dressed and he was given some medication. After taking a rest for a couple of hours he was allowed to go back to the Bhawan as he had regained his consciousness fully. Asghar escorted him back to Andhra Bhawan. Now his condition was stable and the atmosphere around Andhra Bhawan had also returned to normal. He took Asghar directly to the dining hall and ordered coffee.

“Brother, my name is Salim Ansari. I’ve been recently elected to the Parliament from Andhra Pradesh. I find no words to thank you for saving my life. I would have bled to death if you had not attended to me in time. Actually, I am suffering from high blood pressure and diabetes so the risk was greater.”

Asghar was astonished to notice how respectable people like Members of Parliament fight like street dogs for political gains. Hearing Saleem Ansari he too shuddered with the thought that the latter would have died on the footpath if he had not helped him in time. He replied, “You don't have to thank me. I simply did my duty as a human being.”

“That’s your greatness! May I know something about you?” 

“My name is Asghar Wani. I am a hawker from Kashmir, sell Kashmir Shawls and other embroidered items here.”

“You seem to be well educated?”

“Yeah, I’ve recently passed my graduation in the first division but due to poor financial conditions couldn't continue further.”

Salim Ansari became curious to know more about him and probed further. In reply, Asghar told him briefly all about himself and the misfortunes he had to face in the past. Salim Ansari was very much moved and felt deep sympathy for him. In order to console him, Ansari said, “These days we are facing severe political turmoil. Many people are leaving the ruling political party and joining other parties. They are driving me hard to switch over to their faction but I don't agree as I consider it disloyalty. Since I refused them so they misbehaved with me. If God wishes and our party proves the majority, our good days will return. As regards the beating episode, such things do happen in public life.”

“I beg to disagree with you on this count. Is it advisable to risk precious life for the sake of a petty power? You don't know what pitiable condition you were in lying on the footpath. If your wound had been deeper or you had bled for some time more you would not have been talking to me here this time.”

“You are right but these are the demands of political life. We have to be ready to face such situations boldly. We can't avoid such confrontations.”

After a while, Asghar stood up, offered his hand for a handshake and asked permission from Saleem Ansari to leave. His parting words were, “That’s your choice in life, you may do as you like, let me leave now!”

“All right, but remember one thing, I’m leaving for Hyderabad tomorrow and will return after a week. Be sure to meet me when I return. Let us see how things shape up!” Having said so he too stood up and not only shook hands with Asghar heartily but also hugged him warmly.

Coming out of Andhra Bhawan, Asghar Wani began feeling on cloud nine. His joy knew no bounds but the very next moment he felt disillusioned. He thought with himself that Salim Ansari was a politician and politicians are not reliable, they show you many rosy pictures but ditch you at the time you need them most. Immediately the balloon of his high hopes burst off and dashed to the ground.

During the ensuing week, everything changed dramatically. On one hand, Asghar reached Kolkata to pursue his newly adopted trade while on the other Salim Ansari became Deputy Minister in the Central Cabinet. Though Asghar had forgotten the episode yet his sixth sense prompted him to meet Salim Ansari in Delhi. He reluctantly reached Delhi two days late and did not expect a positive response from the latter. Despite his bewilderment, he reached Andhra Bhawan on the ninth day. It was Sunday. He was informed at the reception that Salim Ansari has been appointed Deputy Minister of Health and Family Welfare and has been allotted Bungalow Number 15 on Ashoka Road where he lives now. Asghar felt a strange hesitation in meeting him. He thought to himself, "These politicians are like veritable chameleons. God knows how he would treat me now. Once they get a status their minds soar high in the skies. I doubt whether he would recognize me or not.

“Still there’s no harm in meeting him, maybe it turns out a good meeting!” Some voice from inside came alive to wake him from his despair. Immediately he went to meet Salim Ansari at his residence and to his utter astonishment, he found him waiting.

“Come on Asghar! Where were you all these days? You kept me waiting for so long. I told you to meet me in a week.”

“Sir, I had gone to Kolkata in connection with hawking handicrafts. I thought of earning some money before you return. I reached here just today morning.”

“Okay, it’s fine. You must have heard that I’ve been appointed a Deputy Minister.”

“Yes Sir! Accept my hearty congratulations.”

“But I think it is you who deserves congratulations. Had you not saved my life on that day how could I have held this position? Anyway, all is well that ends well!”

“Sir, you are putting me to shame. Who am I to save anyone's life? It was all willed by God and I became his tool.”

“That's your humility. It’s fine. Now listen to what I say. I treat you as a dear and sincere friend of mine capable to hold my trust and confidence. I intend to appoint you as my Personal Assistant responsible to maintain my personal communications, fixing appointments, and maintaining public relations on my behalf.”

Asghar did not believe his ears. He wanted to jump with excitement but preferred to remain calm. He replied in a humble tone,” Sir, I am very grateful to you for the confidence you are showing in me. I will do as you direct me, Sir!”

The next day Asghar took charge in the office and completed all the required formalities. The Personal Secretary to the Minister explained to him all about the nature of his job saying that he will soon pick up the niceties of his work.

Salim Ansari not only accommodated him in his own Bungalow but also made him part of his household. He stayed in Delhi alone and would occasionally bring his family from Hyderabad. In return, Asghar performed the job assigned to him with utmost trust and sincerity. It looked as if Asghar and Salim were real brothers brought up together right from early childhood.

The world of Asghar changed completely but he didn't forget the pain he had undergone in the past. He remained focused on his objectives to make his life comfortable for the future. He completed his MBA from Indira Gandhi National Open University in two years' time which further opened doors of his progress rapidly.

Back home in Kashmir, his relatives heard about him and got keenly interested in knowing more and more about him and his growth beyond their expectations. His brothers wanted to patch up differences and make up for their past misdoings with him but he did not respond favourably. His sisters-in-law specifically tried to net him in matrimonial alliance with their kin but he showed no interest. He could not forget the day when his parents died and his brothers had lost no time to raise partitions in the ancestral house so much so they robbed him of his due rights in the ancestral property. What had pained him the most was his reduction to beggary in his own house where he had to bear the nudges and hostile facial expressions of his sisters-in-law and brothers alike for his legitimate daily needs. The behavior of his only sister was much worse for she never tried to ask about his welfare after she parted with a sizeable share of her parents’ savings.

In total contrast, Salim Ansari was sent by God as an angel to him. He filled in the vacuum of both father and mother in his life, especially in the most insecure period when he was facing an absolute void of despair around him. Ansari looked after his needs and aspirations and made him stand with his head high in this crooked world. Moreover, he arranged his marriage with a pretty local girl belonging to an affluent family who was a lecturer in a college. In the marriage, none of his relations or friends were invited except of course Imran, who had stood by him during adversity.

Time marched on with incredible speed. One fine morning Imran informed Asghar on the phone that his eldest brother Prof Ilyas Wani has been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors in the hospital had advised him to specialized treatment and surgery in Delhi preferably in AIIMS because treatment in a good private hospital would cost him at least ten lakh rupees which would be far beyond his reach. Imran further informed him that his brother was writhing in pain and his appointment for surgery at AIIMS has been fixed after one month as there were many such cases waiting for similar treatment but the long wait will further deteriorate his condition.

Everyone advised his brother and sister-in-law to contact Asghar in Delhi who should be able to manage his appointment in AIIMS immediately. Professor's wife entreated her husband to forget the past and contact Asghar for help. She wanted her husband to borrow time from Death as she could see the writing on the wall. But he flatly refused saying how would he ask help from Asghar whom he had deserted and damned most cruelly at the time of need. He further added that he would not be able to face Asghar as he considered himself a criminal who denied his younger brother his legitimate right and care, being the eldest brother in the family on whom such responsibility devolved after the parents.

Asghar did not sleep for the whole night. He found that his own blood was calling him for help and he could not be so heartless as to refuse the call. Professor had no doubt been harsh to him when Asghar needed his support but it was not advisable to pay him back in the same coin. "Maybe God is testing me and my prudence, as also my capabilities of generosity. God wants all of us to be kind and helpful. If I refuse I should be committing a grave offence." Asghar had a dialogue with his conscience and in the end was convinced that he should extend a helping hand.

The next morning, he took a recommendation letter from the Minister to the Head of the Institute for the immediate admission of Prof Ilyas on priority. He personally met the doctors concerned and further arranged for the airlift of the patient the same day. All tests were conducted on the patient expeditiously and the following week he was operated on for a tumour in his stomach. After a long time, he gained consciousness and found Asghar standing in his front. His eyes became moist with remorse and repentance. His daughters too were standing in attendance and he understood that Asghar had secured their life too. It was the same Asgar whose life was made insecure by him through his malevolent actions. Professor Ilyas was torn apart by his inner contradictions but maintained calm on the surface.

Gathering courage at last he called Asghar beside him and confessed in a trembling voice, “Asghar, my dear younger brother, the truth is that I’m your real culprit because I was the eldest in the family and should have been more discreet and protective. I know I’m not even worthy of pardon, yet I ask you to please forgive me if you can.”

 

*****

The Provident Fund; English Short Story; Author: Deepak Budki; Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat.

The Provident Fund; English Short Story

 Author: Deepak Budki

 Translator: Jawahar Lal Bhat.

While I was posted in Tripura I issued an administrative order that the conditions for withdrawal of the General Provident Fund should be followed strictly. I had been informed that most of the employees, in order to withdraw their GP Fund, circumvented existing rules by giving false reasons. They succeeded in withdrawing from the fund time and again only to spend on liquor and gambling ignoring the needs of their family though their welfare ought to be the primary purpose of this saving. After I took over as Director, Postal Offices in Agartala, within a few months I observed the plight of families of employees and was severely pained to see their miserable conditions. Besides West Bengal and Kerala, Tripura was the only place where communists ruled the state after independence yet the conditions of people were pathetic.

I must confess that during my school and college days, I had been associated emotionally with socialist thought. Like other socialists, I also believed that socialism only could cure society of the evils of poverty and other problems attached to it. But as time passed and the iron cage around the Communist Bloc was removed, the stark truth was laid bare before the public. However, the empathy towards the poor that had been sown in my mind by this ideology in my formative years didn’t wane. Consequently, after becoming a member of the bureaucracy, I always considered helping the poor and ridding them of their troubles as my prime duty though many of my colleagues did not favour my disposition.

Unlike Arunachal Pradesh, Meghalaya and Nagaland, Tripura is not mountainous and rich in natural beauty. Most of the area is plain and marshy. There are no snow-clad mountains and dense evergreen forests. Like Meghalaya, there are no coal mines too. The soil here produces plenty of jackfruit, litchis and pineapple. Truckloads of jackfruit are sent to distant places including Bangladesh. Before coming to this place I had eaten jackfruit as a vegetable only. It was here that I came to know that once it ripens fully it is as sweet and fragrant as a mango.

Tripura is a backward state. The people are steeped here in poverty and destitution. Even after more than fifty years of independence, no industrial development is seen anywhere nor do any professional colleges exist here. The people of this state have to proceed to cities like Kolkata for advanced education, professional training and ultimate employment. The remaining population indulges in drugs, drinking, gambling and betting in order to rid themselves of remorse. Almost the whole of the North East is steeped in this evil.

After the partition, lots of migrants from East Pakistan settled here. They were mostly Bengalis. They overpowered the simple and unassuming tribal population of Tripura who were ignorant of the complexities of urban life. Gradually the original Tripuris were marginalized and reduced to a minority and became dependent on the immigrants. When they felt that their rights were being denied to them by the new settlers, they were compelled to pick up the gun. Terrorism spread in the whole state and has not been controlled ever since. Taking advantage of this situation the Communist Party of India (Marxist) showed many rosy dreams to these poor and gullible people and exploited them for their personal benefit. A number of labour unions were formed under the Marxist rule and its leaders held absolute power in many areas of influence.

Almost all trade union leaders were annoyed by my directives regarding Provident Fund. Jayant Majumdar and his supporters who were associated with Marxist Union protested in my office though they knew very well that my decision was for the benefit of poor employees. The Government had laid down certain conditions for withdrawal from GP Fund which inter alia included giving information about the pressing need for such withdrawal and providing sufficient proof to that effect. The order also made it incumbent upon the sanctioning authority to check and verify the authenticity of the claim. Since the money in the fund was the personal saving of the employee so the drawing officers didn’t insist on providing proof regarding the need for withdrawal nor checked its validity. It surely works well in a healthy society but where the employees are mired deeply in bad habits and unable to judge their good and bad, it is the duty of Officers to ensure that the employees do not misuse their savings. It was for this reason that I issued orders for strict implementation of the conditions for the withdrawal of the GP Fund. I had anticipated that trade unions would appreciate my actions for the benefit of their fellow employees but I was proved wrong.

There was a long interaction with the Trade Union leader on the issue but I was unable to bring him around. He said loudly, "Sir, these are dictatorial orders which you have issued? We’ve learned that you’ve stopped employees from withdrawing from their GP Fund. This is extremely inhuman and cruel on your part. GP Fund is a part of their hard-earned money and is kept as a trust with the government. You have no business to stop its payment since it is their own money?”

“Please be calm and listen to me. There’s neither any ban imposed on withdrawal from this fund nor have any new rules been made. I’ve only reiterated the strict implementation of the conditions of its withdrawal. I have noticed that these conditions are not followed properly in many cases. There are cases where the roof of the same house has been repaired several times and Mundan, the first hair-cutting ceremony of the same child has been performed not less than five times. Huge amounts have been withdrawn for the marriage ceremony of the same daughter three to four times and the amount thus withdrawn spent on wine, betting and gambling. Families of these self-destructive officials are suffering for want of basic necessities of life while they spend money on boozing and gambling. Balance in the fund of most employees has touched the bare minimum. Isn't it our duty, yours and mine, to save their families from impending disaster? Isn’t it proper under the circumstances that the withdrawal is restricted to genuine cases and not permitted to fake claimants? Isn’t it our duty to ensure the welfare of the families of our fellow employees for which the money was intended to be saved?”

During the discussion, it remained my earnest endeavour that all pros and cons of the order are explicated properly to Majumdar. In the end, I made a humble request to him to make amends for his views and attitude. I felt he was not unaware of ground reality yet he pretended ignorance because he feared that by owning the truth he would invite the anger of his fellow union members.

After I finished, he said, “Sir, do you think I’m unaware of this all? The truth is, if I do not take up this issue before the administration, our rival union will, and in all probability, many of my union members will switch alliances to their side. The employees prefer only such a union which is able to highlight their genuine as well as bogus demands vehemently. I hope you understand my helplessness. In the circumstances, Sir, I make a humble submission that the order may please be withdrawn.  

I was really impressed by the matter-of-fact answer of Jayant Majumdar and felt astonished as to what levels can these trade unions stoop down to in order to keep their hold on their members. These union leaders were more worried about the number of members affiliated with them rather than the welfare of such employees. So it was decided in the meeting that action on the particular order shall be put off for some time.

Barely a week had passed it was reported to me that a Postmaster had died in the BG Hospital, Agartala. On hearing the news, I immediately rushed to the hospital to express condolence. As per convention, I was expected to arrange for a specific amount of money from my office and hand it over to the heir of the deceased for performing his last rites but I forgot the same and nobody in the office had reminded me about it. Someone in the hospital did point it out to me but it was too late. So I thought I’ll arrange to send the amount immediately on return to my office and by the time the dead body could be taken home. Meanwhile, Union Secretary Jayant Majumdar had also reached the hospital.

The dead body of the Postmaster was lying on the bed of the general ward of the hospital. After a while I requested Mujamdar, “Please call for a stretcher so that the body is taken downstairs. Also, arrange for a Taxi for carrying it to his home.”

“Sir, taxis are not available here, we can get a three-wheeler and carry the body in it.” He signalled someone and told him to get a three-wheeler.

Two men got a stretcher and placed it before us. On looking at the stretcher Majumdar turned to me, “Sir, I’ll call two sweepers who’ll pick up the body and carry it downstairs.”

“Why, what for the sweeper? Can’t we take him down ourselves?”

“No Sir, that’s not done. Nobody will touch or help to lift a dead body. People here are very conservative.”

I was shocked to hear that. On looking at the powerless face of Majumdar I understood that nobody around was in fact ready to touch the dead body. For them, it was the job of sweepers.  How unfortunate! These people loathed the touch of the dead body of a person who till yesterday was their colleague and with whom they were associated for so long. In India, even if you are a staunch believer of  Marxist ideology, you cannot escape the caste prejudices that you have inherited from generation to generation.

Just a few minutes later, I rolled up my sleeves, put both my arms underneath the body, lifted it up and placed it on the stretcher. Having seen me shifting the dead body single-handed the employees present there were stunned and felt ashamed. Though reluctantly, they started helping me to keep the dead body on the stretcher properly and later brought it downstairs to place it in the three-wheeler.

Postmaster’s wife was standing beside the auto-rickshaw and crying inconsolably. She was hesitant to sit in the auto beside the body of her dead husband and continued to look at my and Majumdar's face expectantly. I was at a loss to find proper words to console her in such a pitiable condition. All I could say was, “Sister, you sit in the auto with the body and reach home. We will also reach there soon. You need not worry about anything.”

She continued staring at me as if she had not understood anything whatever I had told her and it seemed she was looking for some urgent help. Meanwhile, an employee who was standing with us asked her something in Bengali and after getting her reply addressed me, “Sir, the poor woman is penniless. How can she go home? Who will pay for the three-wheeler? Her husband was a compulsive gambler and a heavy drunkard. Because of his excessive drinking, his liver had been damaged totally. Whatever he earned in his life, he spent on drinking and gambling leaving nothing for his family. If you check his GP Fund balance, it’ll just be the bare minimum, the rest evaporated like ether. Who knows how much he may be owing to his creditors? Thankfully he was living in a staff quarter, otherwise, his children would have no roof over their heads. They will now be thrown out on the road. This poor woman is a mother of three kids. She earns her living by selling vegetables in the vegetable market. That man never spent anything on his home. Every penny of his salary was spent on booze and betting. On the contrary, he would frequently demand money from his wife and if she refused he would beat her mercilessly and leave the house while she wailed and cried painfully.”

On hearing this all, I was deeply anguished. It was beyond my imagination that a human being would fall so deep in the abyss of vice that he betrays his personal life, soul, conscience and everything. Further, it drove him mad to such an extent that he was gripped by a malady which abruptly terminated his life. Instead of becoming a savior to his family he became a source of great trouble and worry for them. I had already got a clue of this behaviour of some employees much earlier, and therefore as a remedial measure, had issued an order for strict implementation of conditions for withdrawals from GP Fund. However, it was not even in my remotest thoughts that the conditions would turn so explosive.

I took out a hundred rupee note from my pocket and handed it over to the distressed woman saying, “Sister, keep it and make payment to the rickshaw driver. Meanwhile, I’m going to my office and shall in an hour or so arrange to send you the permissible amount for funeral rites and other related expenses.”

Jayant Majumdar heard this conversation. I could feel vexation inside him due to his guilty conscience. He was unable to look at me face to face. Normally he is talkative and keeps everyone absorbed around him but for some time now he had grown calm and quiet. Maybe either his inner conscience was blaming him or he was thinking about the further course of action to be adopted to survive as an effective trade union leader. Who knows what new schemes were fleeting through his corrupt and mischievous mind?

As for me, I was deeply immersed in the sea of irritation and uneasiness. My aversion to the selfishness of human beings was getting pronounced since some of them did not feel any shame to sacrifice the interests of their blood relations and colleagues. The members of their family - parents, brothers and sisters besides their colleagues were meant to achieve their own goals and became ladders for their own career hops. For such people, human values sink into the morass of selfishness with total disregard for the rest of the world.

In an awful state of worry and discomfort, I took leave of all the mourners there and went straight to my office, arranged for the funeral expenses allowance, and sent the same to the Postmaster’s house before proceeding to my home. I couldn't sleep for the whole night. Frequently the face of the poor old widow would pop up before me. I was not able to understand how the mother of three children would be able to pass her life of deprivation and loneliness hereafter? Besides, the question that was repeatedly arising in my mind was whether the object of the formation of trade unions was the betterment of the union members or their ruination?

 

*****

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.

*****