New Short Story

A Day with Uncle Grisha

I was leaning over the table, busy with my college assignment. I looked up to relax my eyes, and saw the watch that hung on the wall. I had to meet Grisha in twenty-minutes.

At that time, Dad worked as a salesman in a local company. He wrote me a letter saying that - due to the mounting inflation, a couple of new babies in our house, and the denial of his promotion, he is unable to support my further education. He wants me to meet his friend, Grisha Raj Anand, who would arrange a part-time job for me. I had talked to Grisha over the telephone and we were scheduled to meet at his warehouse.

I stood up, put on my ragged overcoat and went out of the small room.

When I reached his warehouse, I was told to wait. I stood outside trying to read the tiny letters written on a board that hung above. Finally I figured it out: it read, “Grisha’s Warehouse”. A person came out and asked me if I was John, to which I replied yes. He took me inside and again told me to wait.

A truck halted in front of the warehouse. A man jumped out of it and sped inside. After some time, he came out with eight workers following him, all carrying a carton. Their backs were poorly bent, for the carton weighed not less than a boulder. Among these eight workers, one was an old man. I stood there wondering how this aged man—who was probably in his late 60’s—lifted such a heavy weight.

Suddenly, his hands started shaking. The carton moved back and forth on his back. Someone came rushing out of the warehouse office and helped the man. In fact, this person took the carton over his back and loaded it on the truck. He didn’t seem to be a worker—he wore a decent black jeans and blue jacket, unlike the half naked workers. He gave the old man some money and told him to go home. To my utter shock, he continued loading the cartons. He accompanied the workers until the warehouse was exhausted of all cartons.

I waited there for another five-minute. The peon came back and told me to proceed to the office. I went inside and saw a man— the same one who was wearing blue jacket and black jeans—sitting on a chair behind the desk. On a golden plate kept on the desk, I saw the words “Grisha Raj Anand” written.

“Please sit, er—” Grisha said

“Aditya, Aditya Jain. I hope my dad has told you about me”

I tried to be as formal and courteous as I could.

“Yes, yes, he did tell me. Please sit.”

Grisha opened his mouth to speak something, just then, a man entered the office. He was lean as a toothpick, wore torn clothes, and had dishevelled hair. Both his hands were covered with thick layers of bandage. He seemed to be in a hurry.

“What happened to you, Rajesh? How did this happen?” Grisha asked, looking bewildered.

“I had an accident yesterday—a small one” Rajesh said, “I am here to ask if I can get a leave for two days?”

“Well, of course, of course. Yes you can get it. Tell me, did you see a doctor? Shall I fix an appointment with Mr.Das? No? Ok fine. Here, keep this with you.” Grisha said, taking out some money from his pocket.

“No sir, you know me. I can’t take it”

Rajesh moved towards the door. Grisha told him to stop and said:

“Just a second please. Can I ask you for a favour? Do you have a change” Grisha asked taking out a folded note from his pocket.

We both—Rajesh and me—were taken back at his uncanny petition. Grisha kept looking at him, waiting for a reply. At first I thought that he was joking. When there came no smile on any face, I concluded that he was serious.

“A change? Well—yes. I do have a change. But as you see—my hands won’t go inside my pocket” Rajesh replied.

I looked at his hands. I agree that it was impossible for his hands to go in his pocket without tearing it out.

“That’s no problem,” said Grisha, “My hands are fine; they can go inside. I hope you don’t mind. I need the change desperately. You see, I need to buy some grocery while going home. You know my wife; she’ll kill me if I don’t”

“Ok, ok sir. How much?” Raj replied.

“Hundred rupees”

Grisha stood up and placed his hands in Raj’s pocket. He took out a bundle of coins and notes, and counted them till they equalled hundred-rupees. He then put the rest back in his pocket, along with a folded hundred-rupee note.

Rajesh went out of the room. Grisha took the cap from his desk, moved towards the door and alluded me to move out with him.

“Sir, what about—“

“Call me Uncle Grisha”

“Uncle Grisha, what about my job?”

“Aye, don’t you worry about it. Have you had your dinner?”

“No, not yet”

“Eat with us today. You’re aunt makes good food. We will discuss it over the dinner”

I accepted the proposal.

After we had walked for half-an-hour, I asked him:

“Uncle Grisha, from where will you buy the grocery? The shops are all closed”

He gave a hearty laugh, and said without looking at me: “It seems you are still in the dark. I didn’t ask him for a change for this purpose”

“Then?”

“I took hundred-rupees worth of change from him; you saw it, right?”

“Right”

“You also saw me keeping a folded hundred-rupee note in his pocket, right?”

“Right”

“It wasn’t a hundred-rupee note; it was a thousand rupees note”

‘Really?”

“Yes. I was aware that he wouldn’t cross-check the note. I knew that that was the only way to give him money. You know, he a very poor man. In a matter of few days, you would have encountered him begging for alms, hadn’t I given him the money”

I felt a bit flattered by his generosity.

On our way home, he took me in a bar, where he ordered two cold-drinks for us—he loathed hard-drinks and gave me a lecture on its harmful effects. I excused myself, went to the waiter and told him to add vodka in our cold-drinks. In a matter of time after our first drink, Grisha became very gay. He laughed loudly and slapped my back with full force, in praises of my lame jokes. When I saw tears in his eyes, I told him that my stock of jokes has ended.

He recognised some old friend of his, who was sitting at some distance with a girl. Grisha gave a smile, to which the man didn’t respond. Grisha looked at me and said with confidence, “I think he didn’t see”

We went over and Grisha asked him if we could sit besides him, to which the man agreed. From the smell of his mouth, I guessed that the man had been drinking since a century. Grisha kept talking to him, reminding him of their old days. I concluded from their talks that some nine years back, they worked together in some Kitty’s Grocery shop. The shop closed, Kitty went to South Africa with her boyfriend—where a lion molested her for irritating her cubs—and they both were left unemployed.

The man kept scratching his head, searching the forbidden rooms and dusted corners of his brain to find the proofs of Grisha’s talks. The girl sat there, without speaking anything; and sweated, despites the chilly weather. Grisha would have talked more, if the man wouldn’t have interrupted and said “I need to go now”

A waiter came to our table with a bill of four-hundred-and-fifty rupees. Grisha paid the whole bill despites furious protests by his ‘friend’. A faint joy sprouted on the girl’s face.

When we came out, Grisha was more cheerful and gay than ever. He tightened his right hand around my shoulder, and plodded along the way. I think the waiter was in a state of ecstasy when he was added vodka to our drinks.

“What is his name, Uncle?” I asked.

“I do not know. That drunkard is not my friend” he replied.

At length he spoke, “I’ve seen him many times. Every day he goes to a different bar in the city. You know one thing - he never brings a single rupee with him. He always gets insulted and beaten up by the people, and washes plates whole night. But no, I didn’t pay the bill to save him. He deserves to be insulted.”

Then his face lost its animation and became stiff. He concentrated his eyes on an invisible spot in the darkness that lay before us, and said: “I paid the bill for the girl who was there with him. She was his wife. He always drags her with him. Did you look at her hands? They were never still, always moving up-down, left-right, agitatedly. She knew she and her husband would be beaten up today. She wanted to cry—but couldn’t. I wanted to save her. I paid the bill—for her.”

I was puzzled, whether Grisha was stupid, or generous.

It took us half-an-hour to reach his house. His house was a very modest one: Mud walls, tinned roof, creaking door, fatal smell . . . . When we went inside, we saw his wife and his son—who was about sixteen-year-old—having a fierce argument over some money matters. Grisha rushed towards the boy and tried to cool him down; it took him all his moral and physical power to do so—I am sure his boy would have broken his mother’s head if Grisha hadn’t come in between. He took his son to his room, and asked me to accompany him. His wife, who was silent till now, remained so.

In his room, Grisha asked him, “What was the matter?”

“She refuses to give me money! How dare she! I will slam her head—”

His sore words had an unusual smell in them; I concluded that he was also drunk.

“What do you need the money for?”

The boy did not reply.

“How much do you need?”

“Two-hundred rupees”

Grisha took out a two-hundred rupee note and a fifty-rupee note and handed it over to him. Grisha kept his hand over the boy’s head and caressed it; the boy shook away his hand.

I stood up and moved away from the bed; Grisha’s love for his son was pricking me. Born-and-bred in a family of gamblers, all I had seen was parents beating their children or forcing them to work; this sight was new to me. At that time, I hated Grisha for making me realise that something called love is missing from my life.

Suddenly, I remembered that I had to pay back the loan that I took from my friend Raj some days back, for my books. I immediately wanted to talk to Grisha about the job, and also wanted to ask if he could lend me some money. The monster of greed whispered an enchanting mantra in my ears; I smiled. An idea struck me.

Grisha stood up and moved towards the door. He said to me:

“Freshen up and come down. Dinner will be ready soon”

I was left alone with a sleeping boy, a stinking bathroom, a broken table and four-hundred rupees that were kept over it. I walked over to the table. I checked the boy – he was asleep. I closed the door. My hands went over to the notes, and became numb. I could not move them. This money would end all my suffering, I thought.

Greed took possession of my soul. I snatched three-hundred rupees, and thrust them in my pocket. I went over to the door, took out my handkerchief, wiped the sweat from my forehead and went downstairs. Grisha was sitting with his wife on the dinning table, waiting for me. I went over to him and said:

“Uncle Grisha, I—I need to go now” I was afraid of looking into his kind eyes.

“Wait. Where do you have to go? Please, have your dinner first. Your aunt doesn’t cook so badly” He looked at her and gave a hearty laugh.

“No—no. I need to go. It’s urgent. I have to meet someone. It is indispensable.”

I rushed to the door, when he shouted:

“Wait a second. Come here”

The intensity of fear was more then ever now. “He knows I did it. He saw me stealing,” I thought “I will fall on his feet and ask for forgiveness”

I went to him.

“Your aunt here says that she needs some milk for tomorrow. If you can please lend me you overcoat . . .”

“But—”

“I promise it won’t take long. You sit here till I fetch the milk. Please?”

I gave him the overcoat and sat down; there was no other way out. I took out my handkerchief and wiped my forehead. Then I realised that sweat was on my brow not forehead, so I wiped my brow also.

Grisha ran upstairs. My heart thumped out and fell on the dirty carpet. “God! He will notice the money missing from the table. I am dead”

He came down and rushed out of the house, without saying anything. I felt relieved.

But my joy was short lived, as another thought crossed my mind: If he sees the money kept in the overcoat’s pocket?

He came back after five-minutes and gave me the overcoat. I stopped shivering, stood up and moved towards the door, when he said:

“I will talk to Gregory over your job matter. I’m sure you will get it. Here’s his address, talk to him after two-days.”

I took the folded slip, kept in my pocket and ran out. I ran on the streets like a mad-man. I didn’t care what the people thought. “I will pay back Raj the money; I will buy books with the rest - that’s it! All’s well that ends well” I thought.

My heart flew out of my body and skimmed over the clouds. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Grisha would have thrown away rest of the money also. I am going to use it for a good cause now. Yes, I did the right thing . . . .”

I took refuge under a lamp-post. I overturned my pocket, and a few notes and two papers slips fell out from it. One of the slips had Mr. Gregory’s the address, the other ran thus:

My Dear John,

I was such a pleasure spending time with you. I look forward to more of your visits. I spoke so openly to you; I’ve never talked like this any one else. You bought a wave of joy in my monotonous life. I sincerely thank you for that.

I consider education to be a gem. Though, I have never had any formal education myself. We had a small family; I, my mother, and my father, we all lived happily in a small house. My mother taught me to read and write. I wanted to learn more, but I couldn’t. We were poor. I consider you to be lucky in this matter. Nothing done for the cause of education is wrong; hence, I consider your taking money from the table to be justified. I have kept the last hundred-rupee note in your pocket also, in case you might need it--anyways it shall be of no use to me. I know that you are not a bad human being. You did it for the sake of education—I am sorry I read Raj’s letter kept in your pocket. I do not want you to torment yourself with guilt or pity.

I hope you have a happy life ahead. May God bless you!

PS: That vodka-mix-cold-drink was excellent!

Yours sincerely,

Uncle Grisha

I counted the notes; they totalled four-hundred rupees. I stood still and stiff, like a lonesome black dot on a white sheet of paper. I looked at the people around me – they all looked like monsters metamorphosed into ugly humans. They all had committed sins in their lives, and were shamelessly hiding them now. A dense crowd of people swept past me. I looked at their faces; some had happiness on their face, some had despair, some had glee, some had tears. A looked at a young man passing by; he was probably new to the city – his hungry eyes skimmed in all the directions. A beggar was sitting besides a trash-bin, waiting for one of the sinners to give him alms so that he can have his day’s share of beer. I wondered if all these people had also gone thought the same feelings like me, some or the other time in their lives. God’s weighing machine of joy and sorrow seemed biased to me. I went home, tormented with a dilemma: was Grisha stupid, or generous? The answer to this, even while writing this escapes me.

Love and Forgiveness

Mr. Ben Stalls was a man of extraordinary principles and philosophies. According to him, he had acquired them while he struggled with his life, on the streets of Pondicherri where he used work as an assistant of a cobbler. His journey from a seven-year-old child-worker to a sixty-year old business tycoon was not an easy one; climbing the ladder of success, there were time when he had to take a dishonorable step. Looking out of the magnanimous window of his luxurious flat, situated twenty-two stories from the ground, he recalled his forgone days with pride, not disgrace. He now considers those ‘dishonorable’ steps as his pillars of his success.

They say, “What you get from this world is what you give it back”. His life proves this the authenticity of this proverb. He has lived a life bereft of Love; consequently, he never gave love to a soul.

A knock on the door diverted his attention.

“Fielding! Open the door”, he shouted.

The poor servant threw his broom and rushed towards the door. A stout man, of the same age as of Ben entered through the door.

“Hello Ben! I hope I am not late” said our visitor, Mr. Andrew. Despites his coy and witless nature, he has acquired more respect than Ben in the hearts of people. Reason - the kind and caring heart which he posses towards one-and-all, whether the person be his friends, or his enemy. He is always ready to help a person, or give him a piece of advice. There have been cases where people have paid for his care with their scorns and comments, calling him an ‘interferer’. Yet he never loathed any of them – he is too kind to do such a thing.

“Ah! There you are my friend. Pray have a seat.” Ben said.

Ben was recently honored with the title of ‘Business man of the year’. To celebrate the joy, he invited his friends to have dinner with him.

The minute-hand of the clock had to complete two circles before all the nine guests had arrived. Hard-drinks were served by the servants along with French fries and samosas.

Ben was not the only person dwelling the giant flat. Along with him lived his six-year-old grand-daughter, Tina. In her life of solitude, she got solace from servants, especially from Martha, whom she treated not less than she would have treated her own mother.

Ben’s thoughts never matched with those of Tina. He wanted money and respect; she longed for love. The most striking different between them was: she was always ready to change herself to get love, but he wasn’t ready to change himself and give love.

Tina devised a plan to get some love and attention from her grand-father. Ben had a habit of shouting at his servants. The only time when she found him in house was the morning time. For a few days in his presence, she tried to shout on the servants in order to win some attention from him; it was her way of telling him: “Look at me! I am like you. I am not different. I can also shout. Now will you love me?”

Ben would ignored her and leave for office. When she felt that her plan was of no use, she would retire to her room and weep. Then her care-taker, Martha, would enter the room and comfort her. After five minutes, Tina would come out wiping her tears with Martha’s handkerchief and would say a pitiful “Sorry” to the servants.

Tina was told not to come out of her room till the party lasted. She dutifully agreed, and went to sleep an hour prior to the party. Her dreams were usually of unicorns, Bugs Bunny or other characters on cartoon network channel. But, every rose has a thorn, right?

Tina’s dreams were of cartoons; but not always. There had been a few instances when her dreams were frightful enough to wake the dead; or to kill the alive. One such dream she saw that day:

Singing and dancing, Tine enters a dense forest. She stops when her eyes meet that of a young man, who lays wounded besides an oak tree. She fearfully looks at his bleeding leg. He stretches his hand in want of aid. Tine hesitates; then she lifts her hand from her body, and her finger touches that of the man. A black horse comes rushing towards the man. The horse bends his head, his eyes face the ground, the thorn on his forehead points towards the skull of the man, and in an instant, it pierces it. The horse twists left and right, digging his thorn further in the man’s skull. Tina pulls her hand back. The man’s face becomes clearer to her; it is her father. His eyes shrink, and he gazes her. He lifts his hand and points towards her. He says, “You killed me”. Uttering his last words, his head hits the ground; blood comes out of his forehead like a fountain.

Tina woke up shouting “Father! Father!”

She tossed her blanket aside, rushed towards the door, flung it open and—breaking her grandfather’s command—she came out of her room. She crossed the wide corridor, pushed Shella aside, ran to the party-room. She saw Ben standing with his friends, drinking. She ran to him, hugged him and cried with all her might. She placed her cheeks to his round belly and muttered all the happenings of her dream. “Dadu-dadu, a b-b-bad dream—weeps—b-black horse—weeps—k-killed man—weeps—k-killed father—weeps—I-I love fa-father . . .”

Never in his life had Ben felt so embarrassed. Her hands were around his waist, but his were still his pocket, afraid to come out and give some love.

His grand-daughter, in her night-dress, coming to him and hugging him? That too just because of a silly dream? That too in front of his friends? No! It was an insult to him; an insult to his friends; an insult to the whole mankind. How dare she!

In a low voice he said, “Don’t worry – don’t worry. All’s fine. Go back to your room. I am coming there”

She continued with her dream in her broken voice. At last, murdering his patience, he shouted at the top of his voice.

“Go back to your room”

Tina’s cries paused for a second. She ran towards the door of the room, crossed the corridor, pushed Martha aside, ran to her room, and threw herself on her bed. She cried monsoon that day.

In fact, Ben had shouted so loudly, that he wasn’t able to utter a word for five-minutes.

Andrewcame to him and said: “Ben. You were cruel to her. You shouldn’t have shouted like this. She came-“

“Listen, Andrew. I know what to do with my grand-daughter. You needn’t tell me”

To avoid further conversation on the subject, Ben went ahead and joined Mr. Batliwalla and discussed about their business.

The party lasted for only half-an-hour more. Ben was extremely tired and retired himself to his room. He slipped in his night dress, placed a cigar in his mouth and sat down on the chair. For a few minutes he kept still, his mind wandering over some thoughts. Then he stood up and moved towards his small book-shelf. Beginning from the top shelf, right hand-side, he read the name of every book. Unsatisfied, he moved on the next shelf. He picked up Dicken’s Bleak House, kept on the bottom shelf. He went back to his chair, sat down and opened the book. He read one page and closed the book. Agitated, he threw the book on his study-table.

‘Did I do a right thing?’ he thought, ‘Maybe--yes. She shouldn’t have entered the room like this. This was not the right thing to do. If she was scared, she should have called Martha. But sh-she was crying. She has had these dreams before also. Maybe it was quite bad this time.”

He opened the drawer of his study-table, picked up a photo that had laid there for seven years, unperturbed. The man in the picture looked young; he wore small round spectacles, his hair flew in all the directions, and there was a gleaming smile on his cheerful face.

It was his long lost, long forgotten son, John. He was a man of extraordinary genius. He had a personality that attracted every one towards him. In every field he was an adept.

Every frame of that night is still vivid in Ben’s memory. The raindrops were hitting the roof with full vigor, often a zig-zag white light appeared on the sky. He and John were having a quarrel. Ben wanted to send him to Harvard to do MBA. He refused: he wanted to serve the country by joining the army. John did a fatal thing – he hurt Ben’s pride. He was thrown out of the house. Ben was aware of the pouring rain; he was aware John had nowhere to go. He believed that after half-an-hour, John would come back and would agree for Harvard. John went out of the house; he took neither clothes nor money with him. Ben was considered an excellent judge of a company’s future; by looking at the accounts he could judge the future and sustainability of the company in the market. However, this time his judgment was wrong; his misjudges John’s courage. John never came back. Next day, they found his dead body lying next to the canal. Post-modem confirmed his death due to lightning. The memories of his lost son pricked Ben’s heart; just the way his pride did. He thrust the photograph back in the drawer and shut it hard. Tina was a part of John that lived in front of him. She was the only person in this world whom Ben could love; yet he never loved her; he loved his own pride, his own valor.

He stood up and moved towards the door, ‘I think I need to have a discussion with her’

He went to Tina’s room. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and entered the room. He looked all around; Tina was nowhere to be seen. He got worried. He turned back and saw Martha passing by.

“Come here, Martha”

“Yes sir”

“I hope you had watered the plants during the evening? Where is Ramu? He is nowhere to be seen. Why is Tina’s room in such a mess? Where is she?”

Ben mingled his main question in midst of other useless ones. Martha knew that she only had to answer the last one.

“She’s sitting on the veranda, sir”

“O-Ok you can go”

Ben climbed the stairs in a state of frenzy. He changed his mind at every alternate step. Finally, he was upstairs. She was sitting on a bench, with her teddy bear in her hand. He went closer. He called in a soft voice, “Tina”. She stood up, kept the teddy on the chair and looked at Ben. She was afraid--rather shivering. Tears had formed read outlines on her face. Tears only hurt for a minute, but their stains hurt for a longer time.

Ben recognized the gravity of his mistake. Now there was no going back. He had come to apologize, and he would do that.

“Grandpa, I . . . I wanted to talk to you” her voice was quivering.

“Yes”

“I am very, very sorry.”

“No, I—“

“I shouldn’t have disturbed you, it was my fault.” New streams of tears glided down her cheeks, dissolving the previous stain marks, and creating new ones.

Ben was shocked. He knew what he had come for, but he didn’t do it. She waited for Ben to say something.

“It’s ok”, he said

She crossed him and went to her room. He stood there, infected by his fake pride, his hollow valor. He muttered to himself: “She is—just like her father”

A tear trickled down his eye, hit the ground and dissolved with the dust; it took some of his pride with it. He felt he was losing the reminiscent of his lost son. Life was playing with him. For the first time, he felt defeated.

Short Story :

Three Seeds

The town of Chandrapur was considered – by the inhabitants – as the best place to dwell in India. All over the city there were sprawling gardens, where one could walk without being disturbed; magnanimous sculptures, at which one could gaze, when sitting idle; a great number of museums, where the townsmen can go and know about their rich cultural heritage and appreciate it. But the heart of town’s popularity lied in the fact that if you are a tourist, every passer-by possesses a generous heart towards you. Ask him the directions and he will escort you to your destination. This gave the city a good reputation in the outside world also.

Mr. Bradbury, a British businessman who came to the city on a vacation, found himself very much attracted by it. He decided to construct a Nuclear Power Plant here.

Accompanying the Plant, a waste-trench was constructed - in order to discard the radio-active waste. Very soon, the streets around the area became laden with animal corpses; the vegetation started dying; and it became impossible for the nearby residents to live. The philanthropists got enraged and made plans to rebel. They pled the workers to go on a strike; the workers agreed. The factory owners declined to negotiate, which caused the strike to continue much longer than predicted. Its impact on the lives of people proved to be gruesome; in some cases, fatal.

For Rajesh, a low-paid worker, the factory was his only source of income. Since two months, he had been surviving on his savings.

Rajesh’s family was seated at their small dining table, feasting upon the leftovers of yesterday. Suddenly, Rahul – Rajesh’s son -- threw his spoon in the rice bowl, pushed it in front and yelled:

“Mom, I can’t eat this. It’s stale! It stinks. Can’t you get us somethin’ worth eatin’?”

“Rahul, you shouldn’t talk like this to your mother. This is all we have” said Rajesh, pointing towards Neelam, his daughter, “She’s eating the same thing, yet she does not complain”

Neelam was used to such quarrels. She ignored it, and kept herself engaged with her food.

Rahul gave an angry look to his father. A minute passed between them. He then picked up his spoon and started nibbling again.

“Rahul, Neelam, I have something to tell you”, said Sheela, Rahul’s mother, who was silent till now “Sridhar will come to-day to dine with us. I expect you to behave like proper hosts”

Sridhar was also a worker in the same factory, but was placed at a much inferior post than Rajesh. There was a time when they used to be good friends. They would visit each other’s houses on every occasion, and would invite each other for dinner parties.

Some time back, Sridhar used to be the driver of a rich businessman. One day, he seriously injured his right leg while saving the businessman’s daughter. The girl was unable to narrate Sridhar’s bravery to her father – she being two years old –, and he soon found himself thrown out of the job, accused of negligence while driving. He was forced to work as a sweeper in the same factory as Rajesh. He began to consider Sridhar as inferior since then. The sole purpose of his calling Sridhar to dine with them was to prevent his family from dying of hunger.

“Not again”, said Rahul, throwing back the spoon in the bowl “Why does he keep eatin’ in others houses. He came to dine with us last week also. He should eat in his own house. Hasn’t he got one of his own?”

“As it is we don’t have much to eat.” mumbled Rahul.

Just like his father, Rahul was also infected with the bug of prejudice.

“Rahul, listen. Sridhar has gone through tough time because of the strike. His wife is really depressed. You know his son, Nanu, you friend. Last week he was seriously ill – on the verge of dying in fact. They are not able to feed themselves. It is our duty to give him a helping hand.”

“I hate their family”, said Rahul in a low voice, “He was the one who called for the strike”

“Rahul!” shouted Rajesh, “Its better you mind your tongue. Sridhar is a very good human being. He is doing all this for the workers.” Thought he himself didn’t believe it.

After this, no one spoke a word at the table. Rahul finished his Lunch and ran back to his room. He jumped on the bed, covered himself with the blanket and looked out through the window. His window overlooked a big and filthy trench at some distance – the same one constructed by the factory owners. On the bank of it was a banyan tree. Rahul remembered that he was the one who planted the tree, some five years back. The first thing he used to do after waking up was to gaze at the marvelous wonder of God, his tree. It had grown to unimaginable heights. But the tree was no more the same now; it was dead. It lay in front of his eyes like an ugly spot on mother earth. Earlier he would sit under the tree with his friends and play; now it wasn’t possible. The area around the tree smelt of dead rats and faeces.

“I don’t like him”, muttered Rahul “Why does he keep eatin’ eat in other people’s houses? All would have been fine if he hadn’t called for the strike. We are suffering because of him. We don’t have much to eat, and now we have to share that also with him. That . . . beggar. I hate him. His clothes stink. I don’t like Aunt also, she’s always crying since the strike. It is a bad habit for people to got around begging in other’s houses”

* * *

The door creaked open and a fat gentleman with a stick in his hand entered through it. He had difficulty in walking. Following him, a woman and a child entered.

“Hello Sridhar. I hope you didn’t have difficulty in coming”, Rajesh said with a stiff voice, not disturbing himself from his book.

“No, no difficulty-”

“What’s this? You got hurt? How did it happen”, he said looking at the white cloth that was wrapped around Sridhar’s hand.

“Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry. I just … just fell down”

Rahul was sitting sunken back on his chair, looking at the happenings with disgust. Nanu was standing behind Sridhar, peeping at Rahul with his inquisitive eyes.

There was a time when Nanu and Rahul used to be good friends – in fact, the best friends. Rahul began disliking Nanu since the time his father began disliking Sridhar. The exact reason for their hatred was unknown to them. Nanu always had hopes for a better day – just like his father. He knew that one day he would pull out his friend from the well of prejudice. One day, Rahul would come to him rushing, hold his hand, take him to his room, invite him to play, show his toys . . .

But nothing as such had happened till now; Rahul kept looking at Sridhar with irritation and Nanu kept waiting for his hand to be held by his old friend.

Neelam, Sheela and Meghna (Aunt) moved towards the kitchen and got themselves busy with the dinner preparations. Sridhar seated himself next to Rajesh. Nanu sat on Sridhar’s lap.

“It is all because of that . . . that greedy businessman and . . . and his big plans of making Chandrapur ‘electricity capital of the country’” said Sridhar, in a poignant voice, addressing Rajesh.

“Yes. You’re right.” Rajesh replied, uninterested.

Suddenly Rajesh stood up, and excused himself giving the reason that he had to make an urgent call.

Rahul felt it was the right time to begin with the first phase of his revenge. Next to him was a side table, on which was kept Rajesh’s gold watch. It was gifted to Rajesh by his father, some seven years back. He never allowed a soul to even wander around it, let alone touching it; yet today he forgot to wear it. Rahul knew how he had to exploit Dad’s love for the watch, for his own good.

“It seems Dad forgot to wear it” he said looking towards it “he he. I got an idea! he, he. Sridhar is in big trouble now.”

Our soldier (Rahul) stood up, walked towards our enemy (Sridhar), with a bomb in his right hand, which was waiting to spur out fireworks (the watch). Our enemy, who was already injured in the hand, was unperturbed and unconcerned to the approaching danger; he seemed to welcome our soldier with a smile on his stupid face. Our soldier ran towards his enemy; then, he struck his feet with a table nearby and he fell over our enemy’s injured hand, and also placed the bomb in our enemy’s jacket.

Our enemy stood up and tried best to control his shriek. Rajesh saw all this and came rushing into the room. A tear trickled down our enemy’s eyes. Rahul fell back on the sofa with satisfaction. He was successful in making the incident to look like an accident in others’ eyes.

“The watch beeps daily at 9 O’clock.” thought Rahul “He, he. Sridhar’s gonna be dead now. Dad’s gonna accuse him of theft”

“Rahul, see what you did.” said Rajesh “You should have been careful. Sridhar sit down. I’ll get some water.”

He rushed towards the kitchen and within a few seconds came back with a glass in his hand. Throughout, Sridhar didn’t utter a word, neither of pain, nor of complaint. As if, he knew all this was coming.

Rahul had always noticed one thing in Sridhar: there was always a smile of patience and satisfaction on Sridhar’s face while he went through pain. He saw it on his face when he lost his first child; when his wife almost died when she came under a horse-carriage; and last, he saw it when he fell on his injured hand. Earlier, Rahul would consider it to be the unbound self-control and patience of Sridhar’s character, but this time, it irritated him.

“Rahul.”, said Rajesh “Why don’t you and Nanu go upstairs and play? I’ll call you when the dinner’s ready”

Rahul stood up and went out towards the stairs, without looking at Nanu or inviting him to follow. Nanu followed him – he needed no invitation to join his friend. They walked together, side-by-side, without uttering a word.

Rahul stopped and bent down to tie his lace. Nanu continued walking, but at a much slower pace, waiting for Rahul to catch up. Suddenly, Rahul stood up, came rushing by and pushed him. Nanu fell down; his forehead hit the edge of a stair. It was lucky of him that he didn’t roll down the stairs. He uttered a soft cry of pain, inaudible to anybody except Rahul. Sridhar came rushing, followed by Rajesh.

“Oh! I am sorry Nanu” said Rahul “I didn’t do intentionally. I’m very sorry”

Nanu tried to suppress his shriek in order to utter his two worded reply: “It’s ok”.

Both these words came out of his mouth rugged and dead, filled with pain.

Rahul bent down to help Nanu to stand up, but before he could do so, Sridhar came rushing, picked up Nanu in his hands and tried to comfort him. Nanu wasn’t crying, contrary to the expectations of Rahul. He could have accused Rahul, but he didn’t.

Sometime back, Rahul’s mother was narrating him an incident about Sridhar. Once, a mad-man was running after Nanu, trying to scare him. Nanu fell and got his knee badly bruised. Sridhar came rushing by, picked up a brass rod and thrashed the mad-man. Sridhar had always been a calm fellow; his beating someone shocked Rahul. The mad-man was rescued by a police constable who was luckily nearby. Otherwise, she said, the mad-man would have died that day.

Rajesh gave an angry look to Rahul. He lifted his hand to beat him, but was stopped by Sridhar.

“No, No. It wasn’t his fault.” Sridhar said, “Nanu wasn’t careful. I saw it. Don’t hurt him”

Rajesh went down-stairs, back to his seat. Sridhar followed him, with Nanu in his arms. Rahul stood there for a minute, trying to recover from the shock.

‘Nanu wasn’t careful. I saw it.’ – These words echoed in his ears.

“Did he really feel that Nanu fell on his own?” Rahul thought “How is it possible? He saw it all. Whatever. It doesn’t matter to me.”

* * *

The men were sitting on the small round dining table and the women on a mattress spread on the floor. The food was distributed among the two groups. Sridhar saw Rahul coming towards the table and alluded him to sit besides him. The women had already begun eating. There were eight pieces of chapattis kept on the table for the men; and six were kept with the women. During the normal course of days, Sheela would cook twelve chapattis - four for Rahul, three for Neelam, three for Rajesh and two for herself.

Rahul felt very irritated with the very thought of sharing his family dinner with someone else. He expected that the chhapatis would be distributed equally among them, each would get two. Any change in the given syllabus would have seriously offended him – unless, of course, it was in his favor.

Soon, Rahul found himself quite busy with his dinner, but he still kept a constant attention at Sridhar’s actions. Rahul was waiting for him to raise his eyes from his plate and look at him so that he can make faces at him. He got this privilege twice. Each time in reply, Sridhar chuckled. He thought that Rahul was showing his affections towards him by trying to make him laugh, and not trying to insult him. Moreover, the fact that he was the only one who received this privilege, made his conviction even stronger. After two failed tries, Rahul gave up.

After his first chance at affronting Sridhar failed, he began to look forwards for his next one. He kept a close eye at Sridhar, to make sure that he doesn’t take a chapatti more than the allotted two.

Rahul’s mother told him that once they had gone to Sridhar’s house for a dinner party.

“Sridhar used to be such a happy person” she said “He used to have a very big appetite. I saw him eating four chapattis once!”

Rahul would have left no chance at insulting him, in case he went from two chapattis to three.

Rahul’s second chance at insulting was even more brutally crushed. Sridhar – to Rahul’s utter astonishment – retired himself after just one chapatti. He even offered Rahul to take his second one. Rahul, being hungry, agreed. Nanu looked at the incident with confusion. He felt confused what he shall do with his second chapatti? He thought that he was expected to do the same, and hence, he also offered Rahul his second chappati.

To Rahul, it was perhaps the most shocking incident of the evening. He was very well aware of Sridhar’s large appetite.

Rahul finished his dinner but kept sitting at the chair, thinking.

“Did he eat anything and come?” Rahul thought “No it can’t be. How can he? He wife is ill, she can’t make food. Maybe . . . he intentionally left it for us . . . for me. Oh! No how can it be. I’m worrying myself with all useless thoughts. He might not be hungry, that’s it. But still . . . he’s not a bad human being. Maybe I was wrong about him”

The table and floor were cleared by Sheela and Meghna. Neelam, very soon after the dinner, retired herself to her room for completing her school work. The men found themselves seated in the other room.

Leaving aside the occasional bark of a dog or whispering sounds from the other room, the room in which men were seated was dead silent.

“I have heard that you went to the court yesterday.” Rajesh asked, breaking the silence “Is the government ready to help us? What did the government officials say?”

“Ha, ha! No one’s gonna help us.” Sridhar burst out, feeling happy to be talked to “I went to the IAS officer. His watchman told me to sit outside, as IAS officer was busy in a meeting. I sat there for four hours. God! I tell you what – no one even asked me for water. Four hours in the sun! Then, the watchman came out and told me to go. I told him that I was waiting there for the IAS officer since four hours. He tried to force me to go. I was reluctant. Then, he called for two people from inside. They . . . they bought bamboo sticks and thrashed me. Some white-collar people came out and laughed at me. The watchman told them that I was trying to steal something. I had to run from there limping.”

The expression on Sridhar’s face was very lively after the dinner – as he had self-confessed that the dinner was excellent – but when he told Rajesh about the whereabouts of his meeting, every sentence made a new pore in his liveliness. By the time he reached his last statement, every trace of liveliness had ejaculated; and was replaced with a fresh dreariness.

Rahul looked at him with utter interest and tried to catch each word. By the time Sridhar had reached the conclusion, the sturdy glass of hatred inside Rahul’s heart was blurred by the fog of sympathy.

The hatred was diminished, but love was yet to be born, and guilt was nowhere even on the horizon.

“He’s not so bad after all.” Rahul reflected “How brutally those people have beaten him. He has started limping also. But . . . oh well . . . anyone would have beaten him. He refused to go from there. But it seems – they have been too cruel to him”

Sridhar looked at the ground with blankness on his face. Suddenly, as if remembering something, he took out something from his pocket.

“Hey Rahul, come here. See what I got for you” Sridhar said, taking out a toy car “Ta Da! A Gift! It’s a car. I know you like cars. I brought this one exclusively for you. Hope you like it”

Rahul reluctantly moved towards him, and took it.

“This car, I saw it somewhere” Rahul thought “This car belongs to Nanu. It is his favorite toy. I saw him playing with this one. How can he give it to me? How can he be so cruel to his own son”

Nanu felt he might cry, if he looked at his toy even once more. To avoid this, he fixed his eyes towards the door and kept looking outside.

Rahul didn’t say anything, and went back to his seat.

The windows split open, the wind rushed in with full vigor. It carried with it a seed. It planted it on the barren lands of Rahul’s heart; it was the seed of pity.

Rahul rushed to his room, threw himself on the bed and got himself busy with his toy. Half-an-hour passed. It started raining. Some raindrops came rushing towards his window. They had planned to greet Rahul the first rain of the season, but they all collided with the window and died. The rain brought some joy with it, which it gave to Rahul.

“He’s not so bad after all.” He thought “In fact . . . he’s good.”

The joy gave birth to love.

Rahul ran downstairs, planning to give a big smile to Sridhar in lieu of his love for him. That was when he saw:

“Listen Sridhar, I don’t want to hear anything” shouted Rajesh “Get out at once. I don’t want to call the police”

“I . . . I didn’t do anything. Please listen to me.” Sridhar begged. There were tears in his eyes. He almost knelt in front of Rajesh. Meghna was standing behind him, pursuing him to leave. Sridhar would not listen; he was not willing to leave unless he proves himself innocent.

“Go at once!” Rajesh said, and shut the door.

Suddenly, Rahul felt that the reason of this upsurge was not so much alien to him, as he had thought. The time was 9’O clock, the clock in Sridhar’s pocket might have rung, he thought.

Sheela went inside, followed by Rajesh, who muttered before going “Poverty is a sin”

Rahul went down-stairs, and having conformed that there was no one around, he opened the door. They all were going down the street. He could hear Sridhar’s weeping, Meghna was trying to comfort him; Nanu was walking slowly, behind them. Nanu looked back. Rahul feared that one of his veins might burst out – he didn’t have the courage to face Nanu. Nanu gazed at him with his inquisitive eyes. Rahul felt like a criminal . . . like a murderer; he felt Nanu’s eyes were asking him – Are you the same Rahul I knew of? Why didn’t you save my father, when you could have?

The raindrops changed their course and moved towards Rahul. They were angry; they wanted to hurt him, but all failed – they hit his hard skin and died.

The wind blew once more. This time it carried two brother seeds with it. The eldest seed is of no use when present alone; the younger is not born until the elder is present. When they are both present together – they do wonders. They hold the power to make even the most ruthless murderer kneel before them and cry. The wind sowed these seed, next to the seed of pity – which had sprouted into a plant by now. The elder seed was of Shame; the younger, of Remorse.

The path between Sin and Redemption is a narrow bridge. In order to get redemption, one has to cross the bridge. This bridge is made up of three planks. One cannot leap; he has to step on all the planks. These planks are: Pity, Shame and then Remorse, respectively.