Naked Feet: A Short Story by Pathik Parmar

 

In the evening on his way home from the office Dhana’s  sandals betrayed him. Dhana looked at them in disgust. The bands of both had snapped.  The  loops were already broken, and there was nothing much left of the heels.

Dhana felt a rage rising in him rage at the his own wretchedness. The pedestrians who passed him on the road glanced alternately at his feet and his face. Dhana could not help feeling that they were subjecting him to a thorough observation, some of them were bold enough to grin  at him. Dhana was incensed but suppressing his fury and sense of desperation, he managed to maintain nonchalant countenance. 

Dhana flung the sandals into the garbage can at the corner and hurried home. He was lucky the mishap occurred not far from his house. He shuddered at the thought of it happening at the market in the midst of the evening crowd .

The ascetic nonchalance he had tried to maintain on the road broke down as he reached home. The disconsolate expression was back on his face as he crossed the verandah. Dhana’s mother was sifting ‘ration rice’, her little grandson seated in her lap. She turned to look at him and announced his arrival as she did everyday, “Ah, my son has come!”  

“ Yes Ba I have come .” Dhana muttered as he went in and handed the bag of vegetables to his wife. His wife was surprised at the look on this face.

 “What happened ? you look so exhausted. You were quite all right in the morning. I hope  nothing …” 

 “Just feeling a bit too worked out”, he replied shortly and started unbuttoning his coat. Hanging  the coat on the peg on the wall, he went out into the verandah and stretched himself on the cot. A light puff of cool breeze comforted him.

Dhana’s elder son back from school came in. He threw his school bag on the floor, ran into the kitchen and started crying.

“ Ba, I am  not going to school tomorrow I can’t wear  these rags any more. Everybody is making fun of me.”

 “Never mind son. Tomorrow your father will get his salary. He’ll buy you a new set of clothes”, his mother comforted him.

“ Ba, my sandals are worn out too. If I go to school without wearing sandals, they will call me ‘ Mr. Barefoot.” 

Dhana lying on the cot in the verandah could hear what was going on in the kitchen. At the word ,’ barefoot’, a tremor went through him.

Dhana shut his eyes tightly. A hazy picture of sandals shimmered in his mind, Sandals sandals sandals all around…. a mountain of sandals soon he was sucked into the whirlpool of disquieting thoughts.

How carefully he had maintained his sandals! How painful it was to throw them away as he had done! How delighted he had been when he bought them at a throw away price a year and a half ago! He   had thought that they would last for not less than two years. True they had lasted as much as a year and a half. But he had near imagined that he would have to throw them away on the road. If they had not been past mending, he would not have flung them into the garbage can. He had not been ashamed of patching them up, stitch after stitch. 

Now he could not cough up the money to buy a new pair. It was no less than a miracle that his family of six members his wife three children his mother and himself could live on his salary of a mere two hundred rupees. What more could peon expect? Dhana cursed his fate.

 “ Bapuji , come, supper is ready “; his son called him in for supper. Dhana was jerked out of his thoughts he got up with the feeling that he had been walking in his sleep as he sat down to eat, he made an unsuccessful attempt to conceal his thoughts behind an inscrutable expression.. But he could not swallow more than a couple of mouthfuls he go to up abruptly and his mother and his wife tried to read the  strange expression on his face he went out into the verandah spread a mattress on the cot and lay down. 

He was again sucked into the whirlpool of disturbing thoughts. Like a still pond in which a stone had fallen, his mind felt the waves of agitation rising and dispersing poverty inflation ill health the pittance of a salary… He turned and tossed all through the night. All his attempts at snatching some sleep failed.  

The sun  climbed up the eastern sky. When the shadow of the building touched the foot of the limbdo tree in the street it was time for Dhana to leave for his office. He was ready but the absence of the sandals on his feet tormented him. He was not in a position to take a day’s leave. What was wrong in going to the office bare foot for a day? He reflected for a second. He was going to get his salary in the evening anyway. He could then buy a new pair of sandals.

He walked hurriedly as if he had some urgent business to attend to. Noticing his unseal haste some urchins on  the road laughed. He did not bother to look at them. He stopped in front of the garbage can for  a moment. The workers of the municipality were emptying the garbage can into a hand cart. Dhana saw one of them picking up his sandals and throwing them into the cart while another tossed a shovelful of garbage over it. Dhana shuddered. The fate of his sandals!

Dhana resumed walking with his face downcast. The pebbles on the mud road pricked his  heels it was as if he had never walked the thorny paths of the earth he had the feeling that the  acquaintances who passed him on the road were all glancing furtively at his naked feet- the measure of his wretchedness!

 “Saheb, give me a paise, Bhagwan will bless you” a beggar on the footpath cried, extending his open hand towards Dhana.

Dhana cast a quick glance at the beggar’s feet, they were clad in sandals. How wretched I am Dhana muttered to himself. 

Some of his friends nodded and smile at him as they passed. He did not return the greetings for he felt they were amused by the sight of his naked feet. When he reached the office his feet were covered with mud. There was a stinging pain on the heels he went to the toilet and washed his feet coming back to the office he sat on a stool and heaved a sigh of relief.

Tak, tak, tak … The tap of boots on the floor startled Dhana. Ramdev Singh, the newly appointed peon came in.

 “ Ah, Ramdev Singh , I see you ‘ve got new boots.  How much did you pay for them? Dhana heard another peon asking  Ramdev Singh.

“ Fifty five”

Dhana was dumb founded a peon earning only a hundred and fifty rupees a month  comes to the office decked in boots worth fifty five rupees; and here he was, earning a net two hundred a month walking around bare foot! Did he deserve to be called a salaried employee? 

The clerks and officers came in and took their seats. They sent Dhana on various errands -fetching water and tea bringing files to the desk and taking them away when the day’s work came to an end in the evening. Dhana was dead tired.

The alacrity and enthusiasm of the employees had evaporated completely. With drained faces as they descended the steps from the portico into the street. Dhana learned that he would not be getting his salary for another couple of days and it flung him into a fit of depression. How long will they run this racket? When the sahebs in the office were helpless about it, what could a mere peon like him do? 

As he crossed the verandah, he heard the perennial greeting “Ah, son you ‘ve come!” 

       

“ Yes, Ba, I’ve come, Dhana muttered mechanically. He stood numb at the door for a moment. 

Thought raced crossed his mind- to go barefoot to the office , to go out into the street without  sandals, naked feet exposing his wretchedness – the mark of destitution !

Suddenly his eyes fell on the glittering silver medal on the cupboard shelf. He had won it in a swimming competition ten years before. The sheen of the medal swan before his eyes. 

Dhana quickly reached for the medal. Clutching it in his fist he strode out in to the street. He turned towards the market with decisive steps. He had stumbled upon a way to get out of his misery. He was so absorbed in it that he did not notice the bus coming down the road. When he did, it was too late. The bus knocked him down and its wheels rolled over his necked feet.

Pathik Parmar
Dr. Pathik Parmar, born 15 June, 1956, teaches Gujarati literature in Mahila Arts College, Bhavnagar.
His most important dalit poetry is in the form of songs. He has also written ghazals. His collections of poetry are 'Jhankhana Pathikni' (1973), 'Dwidal '(1978), 'Vatta '(1981), and 'Bahishkrut' (2003).
His address: 3839/160, Urban,Talaja Road, Near Kach Mandir, Bhavnagar, Gujarat.
Tel: 0278-2566250.

Broken Lid : A Short Story by Dashrath Parmar

There goes Bapa again, hollering, scaring the daylights out of me. Putting rotli on the pan to bake. I jumped up. Drat that pipe! Stumbling against it, I pitched headlong on to the paniyara. Everything has been going topst turvy since last night. I felt a lump in my throat. Mumbling a faint prayer, I gasped for breath. Not a moment of peace here. On top of it, the old man sits in the verandah barking orders all the time. Why can’t he do some work for a change? And that silly, pratting bavaji. No sense of time. No sooner does the day dawn than he sets out to butt in on anybody he can get hold of. The way he hangs around as if he owns the place.

I picked up the vatka from the stand and walked towards the koti. Got a terrible urge to clobber the bavaji on the head with the vatka. But I bit my tongue, pulled at the lid. Damn it! How did it turn so heavy all of a sudden? Heaving with all my might till I turned blue in the face did not help. You won’t budge, you son of a bitch! I’ll show you how to…one last almighty heave…crash! The lid lay on the floor in two pieces. I used to think it looked like the full moon. How it was like a bajri roti broken in two by a child. Confound it! Serves you right for harrying me. Ramli, my girl, what happened? Bapa’s voice sounded like chilies frying in the pan. Leaving the whole mess to tend for itself, I filled the vatka with bajri and turned. Suddenly I stopped. There was blood on my fingers. But did I ever get time to bother about such things? The bavaji seated on the edge of Bapa’s cot was puffing at a hookah as I emptied the bajri into his clothe-bag. As I turned to go, he turned to me and raised his hands: sada suhagi raho! Him and his blessing! I stared at his long beard…taking long puff and blowing out a cloud of smoke, he handed the hookah to Bapa. Here you are, my good man. Without a word Bapa put the tube in his mouth and took a puff. As the bavaji rose to go, the bell tied around his neck jingled. In my mind’s eye, a man woke up, stirred, yawned and sat up. Exactly like this bavaji, you know! The same figure, the same blue eyes…leaving me enchanted… only to break me up like and whey…

At the mela on bhadarvi agyarash, he wore a bush-shirt with checks and grey trousers. Proper cheliah he looked then.we were not even enged then.oh well, they were talking about the alliance. It was my phoyi from Malekpur who brought the proposal. You won’t get another boy like him if you comb the whole countryside. He is in the fourth year at college. As for his parents, they will eat out of your hands. Our Ramli will have the time of her life there. Such a bother. A girl to marry off. It frightens me  even to think of what will happen if Ramli marries into some horrid, cantankerous family. Sounds good to me, Bapa said, I will go down and have a look. From that moment the mere mention of his name made my heart miss a beat.

Then came melo on bhadarvi agyarash. The melo of ramabha. The nine pennants fluttered on the flagpost basking in the glory of the sun. At night they laid the carpet of a hundred and twenty five lemons. Our excitement knew no bounds. We heated a vatka with embers of coal and ironed our saris. But when I asked Bapa to let me go to mela, he was annoyed. What is this nonsense about the mela? You have enough work to do at home. But I was ready for that. Letting streams of tears run down my cheeks, I sobbed. If madi were still alive, you wouldn’t …poor Bapa! The moment he saw my tears his heart melted. I was free to go if Kamala and Mangudi accompanied me, he relented. Opening the money-chest he took out a two rupee note and handed it to me for spending at the mela. I would have leaped with joy.

When day gave way to night, the whole village was in a frenzy of excitement. Bright lights, loudspeakers blaring songs from Santu Rangili. What fun it was! The mela seemed to have drawn people from every village miles around. Mangudi’s mami was such a lovely dear. Pulled out a sparkling, brand new sari from clothes chest and handed it to me. Come on girl, wear it. It will look nice on you. Your father has told me everything.

Gobbling up our supper in two ticks, we set off for the temple. But where in the middle of this milling crowd could one look for him. It was some consolation that Kamli knew him by face. The funny thing was that he himself, accompanied by three of his chums was on the lookout for me. They spotted us first and started following us around like shadows, his mates- blast their nerve- ogling at us all the time. Shameless creatures. Never set their eyes on girls, it seemed. But Kamli was more than a match for them. Lashed out at them with her tongue. Finally they decided the show was over and melted away into the darkness. He was all alone now. Kamli pushed me towards him. I was trembling, my body burning as if I was running a fever. I didn’t know I gathered the courage to look at him from the corner of my eyes. I was startled by a cough. It was an old man passing by. I was so embarrassed I wished the earth would swallow me up.

Back at Mangudi’s mama’s house in the small hours of the morning, I felt his eyes were still drinking me in. Not getting a wink of sleep, I tossed and turned making the old, ramshackle cot creak. It was then that Mangudi’s mami asked: what did you see at the mela, my child? I saw a snake charmer, I replied. She giggled and playing along said: I hope he didn’t charm you, did he? I could have spoken something to him. But I didn’t have the guts. Everything was so bewildering. Back home, I felt terribly gloomy. Everything was so dull and boring. How I longed to take another look at him! I prayed fervently that Bapa would fix up everything quickly. And then Rami phoyi came down again. I learned that everything was all right. Money changed hands and the wedding was fixed for the next vaisakh. I couldn’t help feeling I was the luckiest girl in the whole village. He would be the most educated bridegroom any girl here had ever got. And the most handsome too! But he was really naughty, so naughty that even Kanuda wouldn’t be a match for him. the way he pinched me on the inside of my palm when we joined hands! On the third day after the wedding, he took me to the movie in the city. It was bhathiji maharaj.

Poor Kankuba! What a cruel fate she had! Tears started rolling down my cheeks. He placed his hand gently on my cheek. Don’t cry, silly, he whispered. This is what they call a film. Get it? A film. I didn’t believe him, of course. I cried till the show was over. We walked hand in hand and saw everything there was in their city. Narsi Mehta’s ancestral home, the snake park, Hathi Deru, Hatkeshwar Mahadev’s temple, Ramela Talav… it was heaven on earth. When the seven days of the aana were over, I didn’t want to go back home. I couldn’t bear to be separated from him even for a minute. It was my kaka’s son who came to fetch me. He was still a child. But who else would come to fetch a girl who had no brothers of her own? I don’t know what he felt. But I had been praying that nobody may come to fetch me.

Sitting in this bus, I felt tears running down my cheeks. When the bus started , he was still there at the bus stop looking wistfully at me.

But that was the last I saw of  him. It is more than a year now after that.not even a letter from him. His parents never sent for me either. Bapa was terribly upset. He was annoyed with Rami Phoyi too. Look Rami, he told her, I can’t put up with this any longer. They haven’t said yes or no for a year now. I don’t know what they have in mind. It was a blow to phoyi too and she cried bitterly. Wasting no time, she set out to inquire and came back with the news. His parents have nothing against her. But the trouble is with him, the young scoundrel .says he doesn’t want an uneducated girl for a bride.

Mangudi and Kamli were married now. Mangudi would soon be coming home after her aana. I was left all alone to curse my fate.

When the council of sarpanchs met in the city, Bapa took up the matter. He even thought of getting a divorce. But marriages cannot be cast off like that, they told him. It was a sacred bond that carried a man and a woman through seven cycles of births and deaths! How could anything come off when they were so obstinate?

Bavaji had reached the bend inside the house, the small inscription on the verandah, still faintly visible, crashed into my eyes like the horns of a bull:

Chiranjivi Ben Ramila’s auspicious wedding has been fixed for the third of vaishakh vikram samvat 2047…

I picked up the pieces of the lid and tried to fit them on the mouth of the koti. But the smaller piece fell into the koti and larger one remained awkwardly on the mouth.

Broke the lid? Bapa leaned the hookah on the paniyara and turned to me.

I sobbed.

Damn careless, aren’t you? What is the use of turning on the tap now? Throw the pieces away. You can’t  join them anyway.

I went out into the yard and flung the pieces on the garbage heap. Bapa was right. My life was in two pieces, useless. You cross-eyed pig! Why didn’t you say it then if you didn’t want an uneducated woman for a wife? You could have told me the first time we met at the mela. I wouldn’t have even set my eyes on you after that. But what can I do now?

Hey ramli, I think the rotli is burned. Bapa shouted. I ran into kitchen and removed the rotli from the pan. It was charred black like a lump of coal.  The odour of burnt rotli spread in the air. The rotli burnt my fingers as I put it into chhabdi. The scream that I had suppressed in my throat broke free. I saw Bapa wiping his eyes with end of his kurta.

It was somebody in your mother’s family who brought the news yesterday morning. It appears he eloped with a girl he was studying with…

Notes:

Paniyara :	The corner of a room 9 sometimes with an enclosure) where water-pots are kept.
Bavaji( baba) :	A wandering ascetic or mendicant.
Koti:	A large container in which grains are stored.
Vatka :	A small tumbler.
Madi :	( in some dialects) mother
Sada suhagi raho :	A blessing ,”may you always live a happy married life”
Cheliah, Kanuda:	Lord Krishna
Aana :	A brief period of stay for a woman at her in laws immediately after marriage.
Chhabdi:	A small basket made of bamboo.
Carpet of lemons :	Spreading carpets of lemons in various numbers is a ritual associated with melas

Holi: A Short Story by Raghavji Madhad

Hariyo pushed away the dirty mattress and got up. He glanced with hungry eyes with at the chulha. It had not been lighted. His gaze slid to the maningas which had lain cold for a long time and he quickly averted his eyes.

On a ramshackle rope-cot his mother lay asleep.
Hariyo was alarmed at the sight of his mother sleeping.  Never before had he seen her asleep at this time.

Leaving the door ajar,  Hariyo walked out into the street. The full moon of phagan was up in the sky with all  its splendor. There was a thin must which covered the earth like the veil over a young maid’s head. The pleasant chill of winter came walking on tip toes like a coy bride.

Hariyo traced his steps towards the padar. He could not afford to be late now he was face to face with the hour he had been awaiting since morning.

But when the moment to untie the knot of his resolution arrived, a sudden dread seized him. What if somebody else turns out to be smarter than him.  Hariyo increased his pace, but not  before glancing up at the path towards his left. There  was group of people from the vas coming down the  path. They were to light their holi well away from the centre of the village.

At the sight of his people Hariyo felt a pang in his heart. It was as if he was leaving home to embark on a journey to a strange land but he had no alternative.

Though he was walking at running speed the aroma of the delicacies being cooked in the upper caste homes wafted into his nostrils enticingly. Hariyo slowed down, took a long breath and drew in the aroma deeply.

Hariyo had eaten nothing since morning.  He had brought some stale khichdi from the gam  in the morning for his  mother. But she was too weak   even to   eat and Hariyao was able to appease his hunger a little with it. That and a glass of water was all he had taken by a way of food during the day. Now in the evening the chulha had not even been lighted.

Hariyo’s mother had not been able to get up from bed the whole the day. Death!  The word suddenly pounced on Hariyo. Perhaps the shadow of death had already fallen on his mother…..

Hariyo reached the padar.

A heap of twigs and dung cakes piled up in mound made the holi. Around it were half a dozen children in their birthday suits playing chananda. Hariyo felt an irresistible desire to join them. If it was   the holi in his own vas,  Hariyo would have leaped gleefully into the fray. But not here.

When he hovered around the holi, he had something else in his mind. He made sure the holi had not been lighted. This quietened his agitation considerably. He walked up to the cattle pen a few feet away and sat on its edge.

Soon the drummer arrived. He held the stick upside down and beat hard on the drum for a while. This done, he played a variety of familiar tals on it.

The beat of the drum resounded in every corner of the village the whole village flocked to the padar. The rituals were about to begin.

The padar which was deserted a few minutes ago now bustled with the multitude of villagers.  Girls in their teens broke into an amatory dance. A lot of gigging and teasing followed. Uninhibited, they sang the phag in a chorus.

Soon the rising rhythms of the drum and the bitter sweet melodies of the phag filled the air. The tumult rose up to its crescendo. Nothing else could be heard over its din.

Soon the excitement took possession of   Hariyo . He began to sway to the rhythms of the drum, tapping his feet on the ground, lurching back and forth. He lost himself in the crowd, boldly venturing into the midst of the girls, humming  Kathiawadi dohas trying to catch the eyes of the more attractive belles.

ariyo. He HaariHH  O, Ma … Hariyo froze as is an ant had bitten him on his legs. Once not long ago he had displayed the same boldness throwing caution to the winds in the company of Maniyo, a relative of his. But he had not been able to get away with it. A sound thrashing was what he got for his enterprise. 

Hariyo felt an excruciating pain through him.

Was his determined resolution slipping through his mind. Hariyo asked himself.

To root out his indecisiveness Hariyo walked briskly towards  the holi. The restless bullocks tied to other carts which had brought  a section of the crowd of the padar were tugging at their reins. A few dandies sticks in hand carrying turbans filled with salt on their shoulders,  were roaming around aimlessly.

The hour to light the holi arrived.

Hariyo’s anxiety and impatience were crucifying him. He feared the worst just when he thought he was within reach of …

But a booming voice reassured him.

“Ela, light it somebody…   the hour has come.”

“Ah delaying it would be …”,  the young men said in a chorus. But who would light the holi? The question vexed everybody.  Alter a few uneasy moments, the offers began to come, as they did every year.

“Ela , a five from me!”

Hariyo sharpened his ears to listen. Yes, the bid was on his heart beat a double speed. ’

“ I am game for another two.”

The amount swelled and Hariyo became more and more uneasy.

“Ten rupees in cash!”

Still nobody ventured to light the holi.

There was a terrifying clamour  in Hariyo’s heart. He had vowed to light the holi in the morning but when it was touch and go, he  was vacillating.

No, I won’t burn Holima. The curse will be upon me.  Hariyo was on the verge of going back on his resolution.

As soon as he uttered the words Holima , the picture of his own mother lying on the cot too weak to get up rushed into his mind.  Her drained face loomed up before his eyes today.   She had looked more stricken than ever. She had tossed and turned in bed for a long time, spasms of pain rocking her body incessantly. After a lot of persuasion a doctor had agreed to come to the vas but he would not give any medicine free.  Tormented by the yet undiagnosed disease, his mother lay convulsing in bed for a long time then her body became still. Hariyo had watched everything helplessly.

‘Ela!  Come on take the whole of twenty rupees!’ A chorus of voices shouted. The enticing red note dangled before Hariyo’s eyes. Two rupees was the largest amount Hariayo  had ever earned  in his life that was for taking out somebody s cattle to graze in the fields the whole day. The curse will fall upon me if I light holima..That is why none from the gam are lighting it…Hariyo oscillated between desperation and fear. It was a struggle between holima and his real, living ‘ma’.

I’ll give ten rupees to the doctor. With the other ten I’ll buy myself a dress. The doctor will give injections to me…she will be all right in no time…I will live like a prince. Hariyo’s mind roved.

But the curse of holima.. Hariyo trembled. But suddenly, another Hariyo was born inside him.

Look, Hariyo, you fool. in the morning you would have cut throats to get a chance to light the holi. What has happened to you now? Hariyo heard the other Hariyo reproaching him.

What have you got to do with ‘curse’ and ‘sin’? You are hungry most of the time. And here you go jabbering about…

Tears   came into Hariyo’s eyes. He reached for the chal of his kameez to wipe his eyes. His hands rubbed against his belly instead. The fact that his kameez had no chal had gone clean out of his mind.

“Gimmie, I’ll light it…” Hariyo extended his hand.

“Hey, you scavenger, what are you doing here?” One of the men raised his hand to hit Hariyo.

“Lay off! Who else do you think will light this?”, another man in the crowd snapped at him.

The box of matches was passed on to Hariyo. Hariyo lighted the holi.

Clutching the twenty rupee note, Hariyo ran as if he had grown wings. Blood rushed into Hariyo’s face as he leaped into the verandah with the same legs which were too weak to support him a few moments ago.

“Ma, ma. I have brought money…” Hariyo paused for breath.

His mother lay still with her eyes closed.

Hariyo tugged at the blanket which covered his mother. It was dark inside the hut and he could not see her face clearly.

“Ma, ma..Look at me…” Hariyo shook her violently. When he turned her face towards him, her head dropped limply. Hariyo was horror-stricken.

“Ma…” Hariyo’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He felt his head swimming. “I lighted holima. I sinned, and my ma…”  He raved, as he collapsed all in a heap on the floor.

Notes:

 maninas = iron nails driven into the chulha on which vessels are placed for cooking.

 padar = a strip of common ground, a small maidan.

vas= the colony of dalits, as distinct from gam or the village proper.

phag = a rustic, ribald song ( from phagan, a month in the Vikram era calender.)

The lighting of the holi bonfire was an inauspicious, but necessary ritual which dalits like Hariyo were enticed to perform.