Jagdish Prasad Mandal (Original Maithili Short Story)
Rameshwar Prasad Mandal (English Translation)
For Whom Did I Do It
For the past seven or eight days I had not met with Sangi Uncle, and my mind was growing restless. Yet the ongoing land survey work had kept me so entangled that I could not find a moment to visit him. My house is in the southern quarter of the village, while Sangi Uncle’s house is in the northern quarter. The different layout of our village is quite that of other villages. In most places, there are mixed hamlets where many castes live together, but not here. In our village, each caste has its own separate quarter.
For the past two months, a land survey has been in progress. The entire village has become so absorbed in it that some people spend their whole day following the survey clerks, while others trail the amin (surveyor). My own view is clear: I do not own as much land as some others, so once the work at the survey office quiets down, I will go there and get all my matters settled in a single day. But while in the village, my own thoughts hardly matter, someone or the other is always dropping by to ask something. One person says the land record is missing, another says the title deed is lost, yet another complains that no rent receipt has been issued for years, and still another recalls that when the floods swept away their home, all the papers were ruined. My own case is much the same. When the 1987 flood destroyed my house, the land documents were soaked and decayed beyond recovery.
Once again, the thought of Sangi Uncle came to mind. We had been in the habit of meeting at least once every day, exchanging all kinds of conversation, yet for the past seven or eight days that had not happened. There was so much to catch up on, but what could I do? The whirlwind of survey work had kept me from seeing him. Sitting alone at the doorway, I resolved that today I would go and meet Sangi Uncle.
As luck would have it, at that very moment Ammarupi, a sister-in-law from the village, was passing by on her way to the market. I caught sight of her and called out- “Bhaujii, please wait a moment.”
As soon as I called out, Bhauji came closer, muttering to herself- “I am going to the market. It’s getting late. I have been so caught up with farming work that there hasn’t been a single moment free.”
I said- “Since you are already on your way to the market, go ahead. I have work there too, but I do not have a single rupee in hand, so I will first arrange for money and then go, maybe tomorrow or the day after.”
Looking unsettled, Bhauji asked- “Why did you call me?”
I replied- “It has been seven or eight days since I don’t met Sangi Uncle. I called you only to ask how he is doing.”
Ammarupi Bhauji said- “I have not seen with my own eyes, but I heard he has been quite ill.”
Sangi Uncle is ill! On hearing this, my eagerness to see him only increased. I said- “That’s what I wanted to know. You should go now, or you will be late for the market.”
Bhauji went on toward the market, and I decided in my mind that since I did not have to go to another village for any errands, I would go right now to meet Sangi Uncle.
Without even stopping for a snack, I got up and left. On the way, many thoughts came to mind, but I brushed them aside until I reached Sangi Uncle’s doorway. He was sitting on the wooden platform just outside. The sight of him reminded me of what Bhauji had said- but I immediately changed my mind about repeating her words. Since I was already here and he was in front of me, why bring up that topic unnecessarily?
I said- “Uncle, my respects to you. I have been so caught up with this survey work that even food feels hard to digest. I spend the whole day running behind it.”
Sangi Uncle responded- “Rupalal, land belongs to the one who holds it firmly, otherwise it belongs to someone else.”
Hearing this, I could not help but smile, though I also wondered why people still spend their whole day chasing the amin, the clerks, and the survey office if ownership depends on firmness of claim. I kept my thoughts to myself and only said- “Uncle, it has been seven or eight days since we met, so I was feeling restless to see you.”
As soon as I spoke, Sangi Uncle replied- “Rupalal, I was beginning to think you must have fallen ill, which is why you have not been coming to this side of the village. Are you keeping well?”
I kept talking with him, but at the same time a corner of my mind kept returning to what Bhauji had said about him being unwell. I wondered how I could ask directly if he was sick. If he truly were, would he not have said himself- “Rupalal, I have not been feeling well lately”?
Just then Sugiya Aunty, Sangi Uncle’s wife, came from the courtyard to the doorway. Without any preamble, she said- “Son Rup, I am not going to live much longer.”
I quickly replied- “Aunty, why speak such inauspicious words? Speaking of good brings good, and speaking of ill brings ill.”
Before I could say more, Sangi Uncle interjected- “Rupalal, you talk and think like the old folks.”
A little startled, I asked- “What do you mean, Uncle?”
He explained- “The people of earlier times believed and often said that speaking ill brings ill and speaking well brings well.”
I felt like responding to this, but as I prepared to speak, I held my tongue. Sangi Uncle understood. He could tell I wanted to say something but was choosing not to. Making his own point clear, he said- “Rupalal, speaking alone does nothing. Action is what counts. The one who acts, even without speaking, will succeed. But the one who does nothing and only talks big will achieve nothing.”
His words rang true in my mind, and I nodded in agreement. Turning the conversation toward what Ammarupi Bhauji had mentioned earlier, I tried to shift the topic, pulling a face as I said- “Uncle, your face looks troubled to me. Is something bothering you?”
In the entire village, if Sangi Uncle trusted anyone more than others, it is me. Perhaps it was because, whether or not I could always help with money or other things, I was always ready to stand beside him with my three-and-a-half-hand-long body in times of need. That kind of readiness naturally inspires trust.
Sangi Uncle said- “Rupalal, times have gone crooked.”
I could not understand what he meant by “times have gone crooked.”
Day and night seemed to be passing just the same as before. How then could time itself be crooked? I asked- “What do you mean, Uncle?”
He said-
“Rupalal, I cannot speak for others, for in some places fathers mistreat their sons, and in other places sons mistreat their fathers. But what has happened in my own life, I have lived through, so I will speak of my own case.”
Hearing him say- “I will speak of my own case,” I pricked up my ears and asked- “What do you mean, Uncle?”
He said- “I have two sons, as you know.”
I cut in- “Not only I know that, everyone knows it.”
Sangi Uncle continued- “Both brothers live in Delhi. I hear they earn quite well.”
I replied- “I have heard the same. Each of them owns a flat, has a four-wheeler, and send their children to a convent school.”
Adding to my words, Sangi Uncle said- “My elder son’s father-in-law developed cancer. He spent generously to get him treated in Mumbai. You know about that, don’t you?”
I had not known, but in my own thinking, I have always believed that whenever possible, one should help others. And if he paid for his father-in-law’s treatment, what harm was there in that? So I said- “Uncle, if a person helps another in need, is that not a good thing?”
Shifting the direction of the talk, Sangi Uncle said- “Rupalal, you too have not understood the whole matter, but…”
I asked- “But what?”
He said- “For the past three months I have been troubled by a painful illness, and it is getting worse by the day. An operation will be necessary. Many times I have spoken to both my sons over the phone, and their mother has also told them, but neither of them has paid any attention.”
I said- “If they are not listening, then you have your own land and property. Sell it and get the operation done.”
Sangi Uncle replied- “That is easy for you to say. I have this stomach ailment, and my wife’s eyesight has also deteriorated badly. Here in the village she manages to move around and do some small tasks by guesswork, but in the place where the operation would be done, would she be able to manage on her own?”
I said- “No, that would not be possible.”
Sangi Uncle continued- “The sons for whom I did so much, are they truly sons today?”
I agreed- “No, they are not.”
He asked- “Then you tell me, for whom did I do all this?”
What could I say? I remained silent.
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