Our Favourite Indian Stories (4 page)

Shaildharee Lall (1926-1975) was born in Bhagalpur and educated in Doon School. He started writing in the early 50s. He was a Farming Correspondent for
The Statesman.
Having been cured of TB in Switzerland, he returned to India and devoted his time to writing and building the house at Tikratoli — an architectural delight he writes so fondly about. The house is still as breathtakingly lovely, if not lovelier today. His wife Nilika who still lives there has ensured that.

Neelam Kumar's early childhood was spent in the erstwhile USSR where her parents, Mr O. N. Panchalar and Mrs Urmila Panchalar were posted. When they joined H. E. C. Ranchi and later, Bokaro Steel Plant, Neelam moved to India.

After completing her schooling from St. Xavier's School, Bokaro Steel City, she obtained an English Hons, degree followed by a Bachelor of Education and post graduation in Public Relations & Advertising. She then won a scholarship which took her to the United States. She obtained her Masters degree in Journalism from the University of Arizona, Tucson, USA. Her thesis,
The American Perception of India as Reflected in the Top 5 US Newspapers
won accolades.

In 1982, she joined Steel Authority of India Ltd. at Bokaro Steel Plant as the Editor of the house magazine. She is currently Chief of Communications at SAILs R&D Centre (RDCIS) at Ranchi.

Premchand

An office Clerk is a dumb creature. Glare at a labourer and he will glower back at you. Speak rudely to a Coolie and he will throw the load off his head and walk away. Reprimand a beggar and he will stare angrily at you and turn away. Even a donkey, if mistreated, will kick back. But the poor Clerk! Scold him, abuse him, kick him and he will not so much as frown. He has more control over himself than a saint. He is the picture of contentment, tolerance and obedience, the epitome of the noblest of human qualities.

Even ruins have their better days of glory. On the night of Diwali, they are lighted up. During monsoons, they have green moss on them. They reflect the changing moods of Nature. The poor Clerk never changes. His pale face never lights up with a smile. The rains do not bring relief to his dry as dust existence.

Lala Fatehchand was one such clerk. It is said that a man's name affects his fortunes. This was proved wrong in the case of Lala Fatehchand. His name meant
Winner.
But it would not be an exaggeration to call him Haarchand
(Loser)
. A failure in office, a failure among friends, he had faced only setbacks and disappointments.

Fatehchand had no sons; only three daughters. He had no brothers, only two sisters-in-law. He had very little money but a heart full of gold. He was kindness and tolerance personified. Cheated by many, he had not one true friend with whom he could share confidences. He was in poor health. At the age of thirty-two, he had salt and pepper hair. His eyesight was poor; so was his digestion. His complexion was pale, his cheeks sunken. His back was bent and heart empty of courage. He would go to office at nine and return home at six. He did not have the heart to go out in the evening. He had no knowledge of what was happening in the outside world. His entire life revolved around his office. He constantly worried about losing his job. He was concerned neither with religion, not with the poor. He had no interest in arts, literature, stage, the cinema or in sports. He could not remember when he had last played cards.

It was winter. There were a few clouds in the sky. When Fatehchand returned home from work, lights had already come on. He never spoke to anyone after office hours. He would simply lie down and remain silent for fifteen-twenty minutes before he opened his mouth. Only then would he speak. That evening he was lying down quietly as usual when somebody called out to him. When his youngest daughter went out to inquire who it was, she learnt that it was the office Messenger. Sharda was scrubbing utensils to prepare the evening meal.

She said — 'Ask him what he wants. He has just come home from office. Is he needed there again?'

The Messenger said — 'Saheb has asked him to come over immediately. There is some urgent work.'

Fatehchand broke his silence. He raised his head and asked — 'What is it?'

'Nothing,' replied Sharda. 'Only the office peon.'

Fatehchand— 'The office peon! Has Saheb called for me?'

'That's what he says. What kind of Saheb do you have? He's always sending for you. You have just come home. Why does he want you to see him again? Tell him you won't go. Can he do anything worse than take your job away?'

Fatehchand said — 'Let me find out why he wants to see me. I had cleared my desk before I left. I'll be back soon.'

Sharda — 'Please have something to eat before you go. Once you start talking with the peon, you will forget everything.'

She brought out some snacks. Fatehchand looked at the plate and asked— 'Have you given the girls something to eat?'

'Yes, yes,' replied Sharda impatiently. 'You eat!'

Just then his youngest daughter came up. Sharda looked at her and said angrily— 'Why are you standing on my head? Go outside and play!'

'Why do you scold her?' asked Fatehchand. 'Come here Chunni, take some snacks.'

Chunni looked at her mother in fear and ran out.

Fatehchand protested— 'Why have you made the poor thing run away?'

Sharda shot back— 'How much is there in this plate? If you had given it to her, wouldn't the other two girls have wanted their share?'

Meanwhile, the peon shouted from outside — 'I am getting late.'

Sharda — 'Why don't you tell him that you will not go at this hour?'

'How can I? My job is at stake,' replied Fatehchand.

'Does that mean that you will give your life for your job? Have you seen your face in a mirror? You look as if you have been ill for six months.'

Fatehchand tossed a few bits into his mouth, gulped down a glass of water and ran out. The
paan,
which Sharda was making for him, remained uneaten.

The peon said — '
Babu Jee!
You've taken a long time. Come along quickly now or he will rebuke you soundly.'

Fatehchand replied — 'Whether he scolds me or shouts at me, I can walk only as fast as I can. He's in his bungalow, isn't he?'

'Why should he be at the office at this hour? He is an Emperor, not a nobody!'

The peon was used to walking fast. Babu Fatehchand was not. After some time he started panting. He kept on lifting his feet one after another until his thighs started paining. Then, his legs refused to cooperate. He was bathed in sweat and his head started reeling. Butterflies seemed to fly before his eyes.

The peon shouted — 'Keep walking, Babu!'

Fatehchand replied— 'You go ahead. I'll follow.'

He sat down on the kerb with his head between his hands and tried to catch his breath. The peon went ahead.

Fatehchand became frightened. What if the devil went and told the Saheb something?

He pulled himself up and started walking again. He managed to reach the Saheb's bungalow. Saheb was pacing up and down in his verandah.

On catching sight of the peon he shouted — 'What took you so long?'

The peon replied — '
Huzoor!
What could I do? The Babu was taking his time. I've come running all the way.'

'What did Babu say?'

In the meantime, Fatehchand ducked under the boundary wire, saluted to the Saheb and stood before him with his head bent low.

'Where were you all this time?' demanded the Saheb angrily.

'Sir, I returned from office only just now. I set off as soon as the peon called out to me.'

'You are lying. I've been standing here for an hour,' said the Saheb.

'Sir, I do not lie. I can't walk very fast. I left my house as soon as the peon called me.'

'Shut up, you swine! I have been waiting for an hour. Catch your ears!' roared the Saheb.

'
Huzoor,
I have worked for you for ten years. I have never...'

'Shut up! I order you to hold your ears!'

'But what have I done?'

'Chaprasi!
Hold this swine's ears or I'll flog you as well.'

'Sir, I have come here to work, not to get beaten up. I am a respectable person. You can keep your job, Sir! I am willing to take any punishment you mete out to me, but I cannot attack another's honour.'

The Saheb could not control his anger any further. He ran to get his walking stick. Seeing the Saheb's mood, the peon quietly slipped away. Fatehchand remained standing. Not finding the peon there, the Saheb caught Fatehchand by the ears and shook him.

'How dare you disobey me? Go to the office at once and fetch the file.'

Fatehchand asked humbly 'Sir, which file should I bring?'

'File-File what else? Are you deaf? Can't you hear? I'm asking for the file.'

Summoning up courage, Fatehchand spoke up — 'Which file do you require?'

'The file I am asking for. Bring the same file. Bring it at once!'

Fatehchand did not have the courage to ask anything more. The Saheb was very short-tempered. He was also drunk. If he hit him with his cane he would not be able to do anything. He quietly left for the office.

'Go fast-Run!' Saheb shouted.

'Sir, I am unable to run.'

'Oh, you have become very lazy. I shall teach you how to run.' The Saheb gave him a violent push. 'Run! You will not run even now?'

The Saheb went off to fetch his cane. Fatehchand realised he was in for a beating. But under these circumstances, his fate was only to get beaten up. He scuttled away and quickly came out of the gate on to the road.

Fatehchand did not go to office the next day. What could he have gone for? Saheb had not even told him the name of the file he wanted. Perhaps he had forgotten it in his drunken state. He set off to his house with slow steps—as if the insult had put chains on his feet. Agreed, when compared to Saheb he was weaker physically. Besides, he had nothing in his hands then with which he could have defended himself. But he could have answered back! After all, he did have shoes on his feet. Could he not have flung them at him? Perhaps he would have been awarded simple imprisonment for one or two months. Perhaps he would have had to pay a fine of two to four hundred rupees. But his family would have been ruined. Who in the whole world would look after his wife and children? If he had enough money to look after his family he would not have tolerated such an insult.

Fatehchand rued his physical weakness as never before. Had he paid attention to his health, had he been exercising, had he known how to wield a stick, the devil would not have dared to pull his ears. He would have kicked him back. He should have at least carried a knife. He could have slapped him a few times. He should have worried about jail and other complications later.

The more he went ahead, the more he fumed at his own cowardice. What worse could have happened to him if he had slapped the Saheb? Perhaps Saheb's cooks and bearers would have jumped on him and given him a beating. At least it would have been clear to Saheb that he could not insult an innocent man without reason. After all, if he was to die today, there would be no one to look after his children. If he died tomorrow, they would face the same fate, so why not today?

The thought filled his heart with fervour. He retraced his steps, determined to avenge his humiliation. At the same time he thought—after all, whatever had to happen had happened. Who knew if Saheb was still in the bungalow or had left for the Club? At that moment, he felt overcome with the thought of Sharda's helplessness. The image of his children becoming fatherless deterred him. He turned back and headed for home.

As soon as he got home, Sharda asked — 'Why had he called you? Why did you talk so long?'

Fatehchand lay down on his charpoy and replied — 'He was drunk. The devil abused me and insulted me. He kept on repeatedly asking me why I had taken so long? The rascal ordered the peon to catch hold of my ears.'

Sharda spoke angrily — 'Why did you not give the swine a shoe-beating?'

'The peon was very decent. He spoke out— Sir, I cannot do this. I have not taken up the job to insult good people. He saluted him and walked away.'

'That was very brave of him. Why did you not take the Saheb to task?'

'Of course I did,' replied Fatehchand. 'He got his stick — I took off my shoes. He hit me with his stick. I hit back with my shoes.'

'Well done! You put him in his place.'

'He was stunned.'

'You did well. You should have given him a sound thrashing. If I had been in your place, I would have killed him.'

'I beat him; now I will have to pay the price. Let's see what happens. My job, ofcourse, will go. Perhaps I'll have to go to prison too.'

'Why should you go to prison? Is there no justice? Why did he abuse you? Why did he beat you with a stick?'

'Who will listen to me when he speaks? Even the court will side with him.'

'Let it happen. But you'll see. You'll see, after this, no Saheb will dare to abuse any Clerk. You should have hit him the moment he opened his mouth.'