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.

The Slave Labourers: A short story by Mohan Parmar

 

The slave labourers had not arrived yet. We left our horses under the mango tree and strolled aimlessly. Back at the camp, the king was taking his siesta. Leaving everything to us , he was relaxing quietly. But we could not afford to relax till our task was done. The queen had accompanied the king on the journey to the countryside this time. Normally she would have preferred to travel on horseback. but the heat was intolerable and she decided to sit in the palanquin . We cannot bear  this heat , she had told the king obstinately, take us back to the capital. But who was there to bear the palanquin? Slave labourers were indispensable.  Besides the palanquin, there were some bags and bundles to carry. All of us, from the king to the lowest private in the army, feared that the heat of the sun would wither queen’s charming and delicate body. If it had been a matter of a couple of men, we could have taken up the job ourselves. But at least a dozen men were required. The soldiers, who had gone to fetch the slave labourers, had perhaps already reached the village. There were seven men in our group which was dispatched for the mission. Two had gone in the village, while the rest of us waited under the mango tree at the edge of the village. It was likely that the cowardly villagers had taken to their heels the moment they saw us approaching. We were in uniform, and they were naturally frightened of the usual atrocities. But we were not at all intent on harassing them. Even we were to entertain such an idea; there was no time for it.

We had to hurry back to the camp with the slave labourers. Gazing at the fields, we had involuntarily walked some distance from the tree where the horses were tied. My companions , fed up with waiting  kept glancing impatiently at the village, I was more pre-possessed . Himmat Singh , who was the leader of our group seemed to be more impatient than the rest. Though  I being second in command should have been as impatient as him. But I was least interested in the slave labourers and continued to gaze at the fields. For everything there was Himmat Singh, his nerves already on edge. So why should I bother? Himmat Singh after taking a round of the fields, returned to the tree, while the other three sat on a hedge and set up a conversation. I just gazed at the barren fields. And why shouldn’t I? The two who had gone to the village to fetch the slave labourers were my closest pats, and I should not have a moment’s doubt about their success!

Suddenly I heard the neighing of a horse. That is one of the horses tied to the tree getting restless. I said to myself. But it was the two soldiers on horseback returning from the village. The three-some sitting on the hedge scrambled to their feet and looked expectantly at me. I joined them in a trice and we dashed to the tree. We swept the fields behind the soldiers with our eyes to pick out the slave labourers. But there was no sign of them. I glanced at the soldiers who arrived. The smile, which they usually wore on their faces like a charm, had turned into a sheepish grin. I bit my lips to restrain myself. The soldiers got down from their horses and walked up to us. But their lips were sealed. We raised our eyebrows quizzically at them. But it appeared that they had forgotten even the basics of sign language. They uttered no sound and stood with lowered eyes. Seeing their poise Himmat Singh was enraged. Advancing a step towards them, he thundered:

“Speak up are you dumb?”

There was no response from either of them. I was glancing uneasily at Himmat Singh. Himmat Singh caught one of them by the chin and turned his face up.

“Why are you scared like chicken? Why did you come back without the slave labourers?”

“Nobody was ready to come.”

"They ignored his majesty’s orders, and still you didn’t say a word?’

“There was little that we left unsaid.”

“You could have brought them here by force.”

“But how could we? We didn’t have any orders for that. We met the mukhi and gave him the king’s orders. Then we went with the mukhi of the colony of meghwals. The mukhi told the slave labourers to come with us. But they refused.”

“Why didn’t the mukhi command them to do it?”

“He commanded them. but that was all he could do. They stood in a circle around him, arguing their heads off.”

“The scoundrels! When did they become so audacious?”

“We don’t know. But they refused to budge. Do what you want to, but none of us will go, they declared it was the mukhi who had to beat a hasty retreat. Nobody will come for slave labourers from this village, he finally told us.”

Himmat Singh shook with rage. A determined expression came to his face. It was as if Yama , the god of death had suddenly possessed him. The soldiers trembled with fear and my eyelids flickered as I watched them. I tried to read the lines that appeared on Himmat Singh’s face. The other three were annoyed at their comrades for not bringing the slave labourers. But I caught their eyes and put my forefinger on my lips. Himmat Singh was our spokesman and there was no need for the rest of us to get wise. But as he ticked off the two soldiers who had failed in their mission, Himmat Singh was glancing surreptitiously at us to note our reactions, and we had to put on a grave expression.  It was no fault of Himmat Singh’s that he got wild on them. For this was the first time that such a thing had happened. The slave labourers had never disobeyed the King’s orders before. No village in the kingdom had ever, in living memory, recorded such a gross violation of a royal order. Whenever slave labourers were needed, the mukhi used to make arrangements for that. Often, seeing the approaching soldiers, the slave labourers would make out tat they were needed and would gather voluntarily at the village square. But everything had gone out of joint now.  The slave labourers had unequivocally refused to comply with the king’s orders. They had dug their own  graves. What was going to happen now? Perhaps Himmat Singh himself would go to the village, taking some of us with him. I could not even imagine what could ensue then. Himmat Singh’s eyes were now on me. Without relaxing the expression on my face, I walked up to him. The other three followed suit. The soldiers who returned without the slave labourers looked chalk-white, as if all blood had drained off their bodies. They did not make any attempt to look up at any of us. There was no way to get away from Himmat Singh’s blood-shot eyes. Everything had become unhinged. If Himmmat Singh would take his eyes off me for a moment, I could scrutinize the faces of the two. Finaly Himmat Singh asked one of them to fetch his horse from under the tree. When the horse was brought, Himmat Singh leaped on to its back and cried,

“Come on, everybody.”

We leaped on to our horses in an instant. Himmat Singh’s horse galloped furiously and our horses had to strain to catch up with it. When the village came into view, Himmat Singh slowed his horse and we rode together after that. I was is alarmed at what was going to happen. When did I become such a coward? My heart thumped in fear in each beat of horses’ hoofs. We stopped at the village square. It appeared that a pall of terror had fallen on the village as we entered it. Himmat Singh leaped down from horse and commanded ,

“Seize the mukhi, and bring him here!”

Himmat Singh looked at me imperatively. I looked quizzically at the two soldiers, as much as to ask where the mukhi was. The two of them went to the village and came back with the mukhi. Seeing the mukhi and the soldiers returned with the quite amicable expressions to averse each other. I rejoiced. The mukhi stood with folded hands before Himmat Singh. He was trembling with fear. The mukhi’s atendence spread a message on the platform in the square and we sat down on it.

“Since when have you been mukhi here?”

“It is twelve years now, bhai sahib."

“Have you ever disobeyed the king’s orders?”

“No, bapa. It will be the death of me, if I do!”

“Then why didn’t you send the slave labourers with soldiers today?”

“What can I do if they refuse to come?”

“Does it mean that your power does not extend to those meghwals?”

“It does, bapa.”

“Send the slave labourers immediately.”

Having said his piece, Himmat Singh twirled his moustache. The mukhi and his attendants hastened to the colony of the meghwals. As they disappeared from the sight, we started whispering to one another. Himmat Singh went on twirling his moustache and looking at us intermittently. My companions were frightened like mice before his ferocity, but not I. I asked him boldly.

“Do you think that the slave labourers will come?”

“If they don’t come, we will drag them by the scruff of their necks and skin them alive in the square.”

“Suppose they refuse to come even after we skin them alive?”

Himmat Singh looked suspiciously at me.

His eyes became thoughtful. It appeared he was suddenly confused; he turned his suspicious glare on others too. They stopped whispering and looked down the path along which the mukhi and his attendants had gone. Time flew. There was still no sign of the slave labourers nor there was any message from the mukhi. Himmat Singh started muttering to himself. As for me, I was beginning to feel exhausted. Everything now appeared perfect; it dawned on me all of a sudden. I got up abruptly taking a deep breath. Himmat Singh turned to me.

“What is it? Any sign of them?”

“Nothing!”

“It is getting too late.”

“Let us go, a couple of us, and look him up. How long can you trust him anyway?”

“Who does he think he is?”

“Taking the king’s soldiers for scum? Sit down!”

I sat down without a word. There was nothing to say.

For some time, we diverted our attention to the villagers who were passing through the fields and along the narrow paths. Still the slave labourers didn’t come. They had turned out to be too dear a commodity to get. If they don’t come, it is their look out. There was nothing to worry our heads off about it, was there? the two unsuccessful soldiers remarked that the mukhi had lost his nerve before the slave labourers. What was the use of threatening him? If Himmat Singh had reckoned time that past as we sat down on the mattress and waited for the slave labourers, the composure that he was maintaining would have crumbled. The king would have become annoyed at waiting for us so long. And here we were not even certain whether the slave labourers would come. It was probable the king had sent the chieftain of the army in search of us. I guessed right. Soon, hoofs beats were heard in the distance. The chieftain arrived with his trail. We scrambled to our feet. The chieftain did not get down from the horse. We bowed ceremoniously to him. Ignoring our obeisance  , he flung a question at us.

“Where are the slave labourers?”

“The mukhi has gone  to fetch them. But what are you doing here?

The chieftain’s tone was menacing. Himmat Singh trembled from head to foot. I looked straight into Himmat Singh’s eyes. But Himmat Singh averted his eyes and waited with bowed head for the chieftain’s order. The chieftain’s eyes narrowed. 

“Why are you still standing here? Why don’t you go to the village yourself to fetch the slave labourers?”

We ran towards the meghwal’s colony. Himmat Singh’s face was dead pale. I did not get a chance to look at his face closely. For my attention was diverted to the mukhi. I had to ascertain whether the mukhi had really lost his nerve before the slave  labourers.

His things had taken an entirely an unexpected turn. The slave labourers were wrangling with the mukhi and he was kind to pacify them. Catching sight of us, the mukhi abruptly changed his poise. Summoning a grave expression to the face he commanded.

“ Make a move, all of you! Those who refuse will be taken to the square and roll in the mud like pigs!” 

I looked alternately at the mukhi and the slave labourers. Himmat Singh quietly edged towards me, his face betraying his helplessness ignoring the mukhi and the slave labourers for a moment. I scrutinized Himmat Singh’s face. Watching Himmat Singh’s expression turning meeker and meeker, I held myself growing taller. He might still turn out to be more than a match for me. But reassuring myself that such a thing would never come to pass, I continued to watch the altercation between the mukhi and the slave labourers. Suddenly the mannerisms of the slave labourers took possession of me. I waved my fist in the air and brought them down on Himmat Singh. How funny it would be, I thought, if we finally returned without the slave labourers.

Dr.Mohan Parmar  has won  Sahitya Akademi Award for Gujarati ( for the year 2011) for his short fiction collection, 'Anchalo'. He is leading Gujarati writer of dalit origin,
Born on 15 March 1948, he is Ph.D.in Gujarati. He is prolific writer , has published short stories, novels, plays and criticism.

 His books include:

Five short story collections: Kolahal, Nakalank, Kumbhi, Poth And Anchalo.
Nine novels:  Bhekad,Vikriya,Kalgrast,Prapti, Neliyun, Priyatama, Asthfal, Dyaya Pasha Ni Vadi, Luptvedh
Plays: Bahishkar
Criticism: Samvitti,Ansaar
Edited: Gujarati Dalit Varta  and several other anthologies.

He earlier  editor of ‘Hayati’ alongwith Harish Mangalam. Currently he is deputy editor of ‘Parab’, a monthly journal of Gujarati Sahitya  Parishad.President, Gujarati  Dalit Sahitya Pratishhthaan.He is already recipient of several important literary awards.

Contact:

A/225, Parimal Society,Behind Kirtidham Tirth,Chandkheda,Ahmedabad 382424

Cell: 09662986585 

Life and Death: A Short Story by Naikal Gangera

In the corner of the one-room hut, on the mattress spread on the cot, Leela lay awake. Her eyes hungrily swept the familiar nooks and corners of the room.

Life was ebbing away from Leela. She saw the scene in her mind’s eye: the heresay-bearers squatted on the small verandah of the hut, smoking beedis, would tie the nanami. A father’s anguish would gush from two tearful eyes. Folks would whisper to one another: Leela died of T.B….like her mother. Leela shuddered.

A rough, but soothing hand pressed her forehead gently. Leela’s face, pale and worn out with pain and grief melted Jetho’s heart.

“Don’t cry dear”

“Bapu..” she had much to say. But her chest on which the ribs were so exposed one could count them- heaved and subsided rapidly. Something, which she could not understand, beat furiously in her heart.

Jetho pulled out a spittoon from under the cot. Leela spat into the spittoon. Jetho saw traces of blood in the spittoon as he threw some mud into it.

“Don’t worry your head off on silly thoughts. There is nothing wrong with you. You are as healthy as me.”

Leela smiled. Jetho knew, only too well, the meaning of her smile. A long sigh escaped his throat.

Lighting his hookah, Jetho sat on the edge of the cot, as he did every day, and sat thinking:

“I’ll take Leela to the hospital in town for treatment. After she is cured, I’ll marry her off to a boy from a good family. I’ll spend the rest of my last days playing with her children."

“Ek jor, eh…ek jor. Jetho’s reveries were broken by the hollering from the street. Paso, pulling a handcart was shouting to the boys who were lending him a hand. “Yeh, once more..ah…that’s it my boys..another heave…that’s it.”

Paso stopped the cart in the middle of the street and as is the custom, announced in his baritone:” Lya, come out everybody! The buffalo has arrived!”

Jetho shuffled up to Paso with slow steps. The carcass of a buffalo was spread out on the cart.

“Paso, where did you get it?”

“From Rambhai’s house.”

Out of force of habit , Jetho reckoned. Two hundred rupees for the skin and the horns. Another fifty for the bones.

The crows mustered in full strength around the handcart. A couple of them, more aggressive than the rest, ignoring the presence of Paso and Jetho, pecked at the swollen eyes of the carcass.

After drinking a cup of tea and lighting a beedi, Paso beat vigorously on a tin drum with a stick. This was a signal which meant ‘come and collect your meat’.

With the expertise of a surgeon doing a post mortem , Jetho cut up the buffalo. The crows hovered overhead and dogs prowled around the cart.

Suddenly Paso leaped up with a shout of joy. The buffalo’s stomach had yielded a gold necklace of considerable weight. There was praise all around for Paso on his luck. The buffalo had freed him of all debts, they said- even those carried over from his previous birth!

Soon all the old, rusty aluminum vessels were filled with beef. Chulhas were lighted and the chimneys belched smoke. The aroma of boiled beef wafted across the street majestically.

“Bhai, you are really a lucky man,” Jetho said to Paso as he handed him the hookah and turned to go home. Hanging lantern on the peg on the wall, he glanced at Leela. Leela was sleeping. If anything happened to her… he trembled at the thought. He took her hand in his and felt her heart throbbing.

Leela opened her eyes. The yearning for her old, happy days lay curled up in her drowsy eyes.

Jetho sat up on the bed. He brought her a glass of water from the water-pot. Leela drank the water, got down from the cot and stretched herself.

“Go to sleep, dear.”

“ I have been lying on the bed all day, Bapu.”

Leela sat on the edge of the bed. A number of bugs were hovering around the tube light. The flies sitting on the clothesline had started dozing off. A lizard in search of prey was prowling on the mossy wall. A dog sitting in front of Paso’s hovel was cracking bones picked up from the garbage heap. Intermittently, it barked at another dog which dared to venture near.

“Hey girl, is Jetho in?”

“Yes,” Leela replied and went into a fit of coughing.”Bapu, Dasbhai wants you.”

Jetho, who was removing the half burnt coals in the tube of the hookah with a twig came out in the verandah. “ Saheb, what can I do for you?” Before he had finished, a slap caught him square on his cheek. Jetho, who was no more young, staggered and fell. Dasbhai stepped on Jetho’s chest and kicked him in the ribs. “This is what comes of seeing your wretched face first thing in the morning..Lost ten thousand rupees.  You, low caste scoundrel!”

The neighbours managed to placate Dasbhai and separate him from the helpless Jetho. One of the Jetho’s front teeth was broken. Wiping the blood from his face with the torn sleeve of his shirt, he pleaded in a broken voice, “Baap, we are like sons to you. Forgive us…”

Dasbhai walked away in a huff. Leela who had watched everything in silence was lying curled up on the cot, tears in her eyes.

“Don’t cry, dear.”

“Bapu, that scoundrel hit you and ..”

“To live in this village one has to take some roughing up as it comes.” He rubbed her forehead gently. “I could have thrashed him, but… what would happen to our people? Who will give them work? ”

“Jetho kaka,” Paso said, “You are the one who has always stood up for us. By hitting you, Dasbhai has trodden on our self-respect.”

“Forget it.”

A small group of men had gathered around the well. As he lighted a beedi, Jetho lighted a beedi. Jetho heard Dasbhai’s cry.” Bring a rope, somebody!” Save my Tiniya!”

Racing through the crowd Jetho leaped into the well. Feeling his way in the water, he managed to get his hands on the boy who was nearly unconscious.

Dasbhai threw the end of a rope in the well. Jetho held the boy over his shoulders and caught the rope. The name standing around the well pulled him up.

The boy was laid on the platform of the well. Thumbing the back of his neck in quick succession they expelled the water trapped in his lungs. Soon he was quite all right. Dasbhai put his hand around Jetho’s shoulders.”Bhai Jetho, Forgive me.”

“God brought your boy back to life”, Jetho said as he turned to go home.

“Dasbhai, your faith is true. That is why your son was saved.”

Dasbhai ran after Jetho and stopped him. He took off the necklace around his neck and handed it to Jetho. ”Take This. I know it’s  hardly anything. But, as they say ,if I don’t have a full flower, let me give you at least one of the petals.”

“No, bhai, I can’t take this.”

“Come on, I am giving this to you with my whole heart.”

Suddenly Jetho thought of Leela.

If the necklace is sold in the market.. There was at least twelve hundred rupees in it. Leela’s T.B. could be cured.

“No”, Jetho told himself. “I can’t take it. I won’t be worthy of my mother’s womb, if I do...”

"Dasbhai", Jetho’s  voice had hardened. "Don’t be a fool."

Jetho turned and walked away leaving Dasbhai staring at his retreating figure.

As he passed the colony of Thakardas, he met Paso .Paso was pulling a handcart on which  lay the  sprawling carcass of a buffalo.

“Hey! Where did you get it?”

“I got it from there.”Paso pointed to the colony. He lighted a beedi and gave one to Jetho.

“Kaka, you better rush to the Kanbi colony. That Ram Doshi’s buffalo is dying.”

Jetho climbed onto the dilapidated stone platform in front of Kanbi colony and squatted on it. He could see every single house in the colony from there.

He head the buffalo moaning from Ram Doshi’s cattle shade. Ram Doshi was gesticulating furiously trying t explain something to his wife.

The buffalo went on moaning.

Suddenly, everything held into place in his mind like the pieces of a jig-saw puzzle. Rama Doshi’s wife had lost her necklace that morning. Supposing it had fallen in the yard while she was grazing the cows and suppose the buffalo had swallowed it.

Jetho sat himself thinking,

“Yes, that is what it looked like. The buffalo’s swollen belly. The bastard had certainly swallowed it. But never mind, it will croak and I will get the necklace.”

Leela’s T.B.will be cured in no time. Ram Doshi   owned fifteen bighas of land. He was not likely to lose his sleep over it. The necklace had been pawned to Ram doshi by Fulchand’s wife who had parted with it with such agony. As if her heart was been wrenched from her,  that her curse had become attached to it. Ram Doshi’s wife lost it and the buffalo gulped it down. Tough luck for the buffalo. 

The flow of Jetho’s thoughts was cut off by the arrival of the village gate. The vet made a thorough examination of the buffalo.

The buffalo won’t live, doctor saheb, it will save my Leela. There is gold in its belly. I will get Leela admitted in a big hospital in the city. I will raise a pandal in front of the house for my Leela’s wedding. I will invite the whole street. I will present a watch to the bridegroom. Carried away by these reckonings, he hummed a wedding song.

Thali Pavalu nache, Bhamra re..

Mahin vevaini kheti nache bhamra re.

Bhali vevan bhali nache bhamra re,

Nachyanun nachaman mange Bhamra re.

The buffalo suddenly bellowed. Jetho felt dizzy. He ran frantically to the vet.

“Doctor saheb, did you work some magic on the buffalo?”

“There was nothing wrong with it. It just ate too much and got constipated.”

As the vet walked away, Jetho glanced one last time at the cattle shade. The buffalo bellowed again and rocked its head.

Crest-fallen, Jetho walked home. He had not gone far when he saw Paso running towards him. Paso gripped him by the shoulders. He could  say nothing for a moment.

“Kaka”, he blurted out, “ Leela broke her neck and vomited blood. Kaka, poor Leela. Poor girl, she has left for Prabhu’s abode.”

"The buffalo lived, and my Leela died." Jetho raved as Paso dragged him away.

Today, five years later Paso is still at loss as to what made Jetho go insane, the buffalo’s survival or the Leela’s death?

Nanami = ‘thingummy, a euphemism for a dead body.