Measure for Measure: A Short Story by Dalpat Chauhan

 

At the edge of the village, far from the centre of its life stood about a dozen small crudely built mud huts. This was the   colony of Vankar and Chamars. It was a still, tranquil afternoon and not  a leaf stirred. The harvest was on and the peasants were all out in the fields cutting the stalks of grain. At the entrance to the colony, a mongrel was licking the wet mud around puddle of water. It shook its head, flapped its ears and stretched its front legs. Suddenly straightening   up and wagging its tail, it glanced up at the sky. It opened its mouth to back but restrained itself walking into the colony. It stopped before Gokal’s hut for a moment, went over to the next hut, lay down in front of it and panted leisurely its tongue hanging out from its mouth. 

Gokal who had been ailing for a long time, was sleeping on a cot in the small verandah of the hut. His body looked like a necklace of bones strung up on the fragile thread of life. His grandson Nanio was at a home to look after him. The rest of the huts in the colony were empty.

Nanio was eight years old. He wore only a dirty jacket which barely reached down to his waists. His hands were muddy, his eyes twinkling bright and his enthusiasm for his little fancies and games unlimited.  He could have lent a hand to his parents, but someone had to remain at home to look after Gokal.  Nanio was now busy with a toy cart made of jowar stem.  Gokal coughed. He longed for a puff of smoke. With a supreme effort he managed to sit up but could not get down from the cot. Though he felt an urge to urinate, he suppressed it but he badly wanted a smoke.” O, Nanio where have you gone?”

There was no reply.  Gokal raised his voice the little rascal won’t stay in the house for a minute. Hey Nanio, can’t you hear me?

“What is it Bha? Why did you call me?”, Nanio asked his grandfather as he came running in.

“Fill the hookah, my boy. The dung cakes  are in the cow shed. Light them.”

“ Yes, Bha “ Nanio busied himself with setting up the hookah. He changed the water in the tube, removed the coals and ash at the bottom and put them back in the grate.  He took some tobacco from the pouch hanging on the peg on the wall and made a ball of it.  He then took out a cake of smoldering dung from the cow –shed, placed a couple of unlit cakes on top and blew hard on them.  He put the ball of tobacco in the hookah, placed the lid over it and began filling the smoke chamber with the embers of the burning dung cakes.  This done, he quickly drew in a couple of  puffs gluk gluk.  Hearing the sound,   Gokal called out from his cot.” Hey Nanio, what are you doing, puffing at the hookah on the sly? Come here, you rascal! A great one for smoking hookah aren’t you? Hey, can’t you hear me? 

 Nanio came in hurriedly, handed the hookah to Gokal and went back to play with his toy cart.

“ Ho, is there anybody here?” The hoarse voice came from the direction of the entrance to the colony.

The dog leaped up with a start and ran towards the entrance.  Then the swish of a can and the wound of blow falling on the dog was heard. Then a mouthful of abuse directed at the dog and it’s howl of pain followed by short bark. Gokal shouted at the dog to come back.  The dog came running back, halted in front of Gokal’s  hut and shook its head vigorously. 

“ Nanio, O  Nanio, look who has come.”

Not getting any reply, Gokal turned over on his sides and resumed puffing at the hookah.  He tried to move his body on the cot but found it too painful.  Nanio was still playing with his toy cart.

The sound of staggering feet turning in the direction of Gokal’s hut was heard. A human shape reeking of alcohol came into view. Gokal was a familiar with the expression in the blood shot eyes. “Oh Vajesangh Bha , come in, come  in.  How are you?” Gokal tried to be as polite and humble as possible. “What a surprise, what brings you here, Bha? Vajesangh was a man in his middle age. He was drunk most of the time and it appeared that now he had a bit more than usual. His clothes were dirty and ragged; the turban on his head was in no better condition.  He held a thin cane stick in his hand.

 

Seeing Gokal lying on the cot, Vajesangh’s  eyes grew wide in astonishment. He did not respond to Gokal’s greeting but made a contemptuous gesture with his left hand. “Ho dear brother scavenger, what do you think you are going?   Sitting coolly on the cot, saying how are you, what   brings you here, damn smart aren’t you? “

Gokal gaped at Vajesangh, terrified.

“ Are you listening , you scoundrel? Smoking hookah leaning against the wall? “He felt the urge to urinate becoming uncontrollable.  Folding his hands in a gesture of submission, he beseeched. “ I have been suffering from fever, don’t have the strength to get up. That is why I am lying in bed. You area a kind hearted man, Bha, you can understand it.”

Vajesangh’s wrathful expression did not soften.” Oho, is it so, my brother scavenger? What kind of fever my dear? Because you have got three sons, you think you can boss people around? And your stupid babbling at me…”

“ No Bha , please , it is only because I got this fever …”

Gokal had not finished when Vajesangh’s cane stick swung in the air. Whack! Whack..One blow after another.

"Take that you scum!"

Whack!  Whack !

The cries of pain stopped as Gokal, trying to fend off the blows unsuccessfully fell to the floor. But Vajesingh, his eyes too blurred to notice it, did not realize it till the tap of the stick on the empty cot caught his attention. His hand became still as he saw Gokal lying prostate on the floor. “Now you have arrived, you bastard! There in the mud, where you belong! Still wagging your tongue! It needs a stick to make you fall in line!”

Thook! Vajesingh spat out a mouthful of saliva with a vengeance gave the whole hut a searching look and went out. The mongrel sitting outside had already started moving away, its tail tucked between its hind legs…

It was some time before Gokal opened his eyes. Tears blocked his vision and he groped in the mud. On the far shore of the river of tears, a face loomed up like an apparition, a face exactly like Vajesingh’s. It scraped on the grave of the memories. He heard a voice from the depths, from the unfathomable depths, calling him :”Gokalbha, o Gokalbha!”

“Open the window, I am standing here in the dark.”

“Vajesangh’s father…            !” Gokal muttered as a dark, terrible night of chhappaniya days broke out from the locked cells of his mind.

“Gokalbhai ..it is me. Madhisingh. I tried everything. No good. Our luck has turned for the worse,brother.Vajo , his mother and me, the three of us haven’t had a bite to eat for the last three days.the whole village is deserted. There is nothing to get anywhere. That is why I have come to you.”

Gokal heard the phantom voice in a daze. Hunger had made it hoarse.

“Madhubha! Welcome, but I don’t have anything to give you. Not a grain. Some konkaniyas are all I have. But you can’t take them, of course.”  

“I’ll take them, brother. Konkaniya are better than nothing.if bhagwan has willed that we should eat carrion, let it be. I don’t want to die of hunger.”

Half-concealed from the eyes of Nania’s grandmother, Gokal filled the apron of Madhusangh’s kurta with kankaniyas. The aroma of the dried meat boiling in Madusangh’s kitchen flooded his nostrils.

“I won’t forget you as long as I live,Gokalbhai! A clamour of voices drowned his senses.” "Vajo…Vajesingh…”

Gokal tried to spit out the taste of blood in his mouth in vain. A fit of coughing seized him, but was drowned in a spasm of pain which split his body. He fainted again with the apparition of Vajesinngh’s grotesque face before his eyes. When he came to, his lips and tongue were parched. He suddenly remembered that Nanio must be somewhere around.

“Nanio, O Nanio, bring me some water.”

Nanio , who had been watching everything in stunned silence, was shaken out of his stupor by Gokal’s pathetic voice. He had not been able to make anything out of what had happened, for this was his first exposure to pain and suffering. His toy cart lay abandoned in the yard, he could not make out what Gokal wanted, for the pain which was racking his body had crushed his words into an indistinct moan.

“Dada,I’ll call Bapu,” said Nanio and ran towards the fields where his parents were cutting grainstalks.

The mongrel, who was back in his niche now, took a cautious step forward, cast a pitiful look at Gokal, tucked its tail between its hind legs and stated sniffing the air.

Notes:

Chhapaniya , chhappaniya dukal:

Famine of Fifty six vikram era ,1956 AD 1899-1900 which devastated Gujarat

Kankaniyas:

Pieces of dried meat. During the chhappaniya it was the people of the upper castes (who were mostly vegetarians) who suffered most, for nothing grew out of the parched earth. The Dalits and Adivasis were better off because they managed on the flesh of sheep and cattle. It was common for the members of the upper castes, tormented by hunger to go to huts of Dalits and Adivasis after nightfall and surreptitiously eat dried meat.

Dalpat Chauhan
Dalpat Chauhan, born on 10 April 1940, is a retired Government employee. Along with Nirav Patel and Praveen Gadhavi he initiated Gujarati Dalit literature with publication of Dalit Panthers’ Kalo Suraj (The Black Sun). His poetry integrates Sanskrit diction with dialect of north Gujarat.
His collections of poetry are To Pachhi (1983) and Kyan chee suraj? (2001). He has been conferred with more than 15 literary awards, including those of Gujarati Sahitya Parishad, Gujarati Sahitya Academy and Narsimh Mehta Award for all literary genres.
He was editor of Dundubhi (2000), and Vanboti Varta (2000). A widely published writer, his novels are Malak (1991), Gidh (1991), Bhalbhankhalun (2004) and his collection of short stories Munjharo (2002). He has also scripted Radio Plays Patanne Gondrethi (1987-1988), Anaryavarta (2000) and Harifai (2003). His translated short story Buffeloed was published earlier in Muse India.

His address: Plot 928/2, Sector 7C, Gandhinagar 382007. And his Tel.: 079-23244505.