by Akhilesh
There were rare occasions when he could satiate his hunger in a whole year but it was completely lost now. As a result, he slept half-hungry. Insult was added to injury when the wages in the form of a seer of food grains were reduced by a quarter because the new daughter-in-law, a miser by nature, now held the responsibility of paying the wages. She put the workers to the grind but always made excuses when it was time to pay. While weighing out the seer of food grains for Jagdamba, she would mix in it around a pau of dust and pebbles cunningly. In this way, the reduced income and his swelling hunger made his life onerous.
He would fart loudly after eating and would fart loudly if his belly was empty. His fart was so tremendous that often his underwear was ripped behind and slumbering infants started bawling when he passed wind. According to legend, there was a stampede whenever he farted in the market! He also had to serve a prison term due to his singular attribute in British India. Actually, what had happened was that when the zamindar was adding another storey to his house of twenty rooms and a hall in the city, Jagdamba too was recruited as a labourer and taken to Sultanpur from Gosainganj.
On the first day, when Jagdamba finished his work and was strolling in the evening, he lost his way. God knows which thoroughfare and which street he passed, but he arrived before the treasury in the kutchery and farted his usual thunder. The sepoy on guard by the bell jumped up in alarm and aimed his gun at Jagdamba’s chest. Other sepoys on guard rushed and held Jagdamba and put him behind bars.
The district collector was an Englishman. He was furious when he discovered that Jagdamba had blasted his arsenal to loot the treasury of his kutchery. He ordered the impudent extremist to be produced before him at his bungalow. Jagdamba was taken to the bungalow of the hakim under the security of an entire guard. The collector was infuriated to hear about the incident and it was almost decided that Jagdamba would suffer a terrible fate. However, in the manner Birbal was there in Akbar’s court, the peshkar was there in the collector’s court and it was legion about him: there was none, even in other districts, to match his drafting. He said to the collector, ‘Huzoor, I believe it is not what we think.’ The collector told him that whatever it was, there had been an explosion before the treasury. Jagdambal conveyed the truth to the peshkar who then conveyed it to the collector. The collector fell about laughing. It was Jagdamba’s good luck that this very moment he farted a more thunderous fart than the one before the treasury, a live evidence of his innocence. The collector was judicious, he spake that he was pleased that there was someone who could break wind so vociferously in his district. He patted Jagdamba on the back and the charges were taken back. Jagdamba was incredibly grateful to the district collector for his act of kindness. However, after Independence, he cursed the collector for removing his arrest record because had the case not been lifted for his revolutionary fart, he could have received the pension paid to freedom fighters.
Jagdamba’s father, Balesar, did serve a sentence during the freedom struggle and yet he did not get the pension meant for freedom fighters. There were two reasons. The first was that Balesar was ineligible for the pension because he died on 15 August 1928, nineteen years before the country became free. There had been eighteen deaths in the village that year; two had died of cholera and two of small pox. Two women had died during child birth. The rest nine had died from fever. Most of the people died from fever. Malaria was the biggest killer fever. A local historian made the discovery that there were a total of 23,771 deaths from fever in the entire district between 1920 and 1930 and it amounted to 63.5 per cent of all the mortalities. The largest number of deaths from fever, 33,526, had occurred in the year 1894. Cholera was the second biggest predator and it was this disease that dispatched Balesar to God. In fact, this district was situated between two famous pilgrimages, Ayodhya and Allahabad, places from where travellers brought back the offerings of cholera, distributing it on the way. This was the reason that after fever, it was cholera that caused the most deaths, 13.5 per cent.
Had Balesar survived it, he would still not have received the freedom fighter’s pension because there was another obstacle: the fight in which he had participated and had been sent to jail was not considered a freedom fight at all.
The freedom fight took place as follows: the son Jagdamba was gripped by the disease of hunger. Balesar was stunned and taken aback by this unexpected hassle when out of the blue, a flood hit the people of the region. The deluge arrived under the Hathia constellation. It rained non-stop for eighteen days. The elders of the village narrated the stories of the rains to their children and grandchildren. They said it was not rains but another Mahabharata of eighteen days. This Mahabaharata occurred among the inhabitants of Gosainganj and the countless, innumerable torrents of the downpour. The showers came down like lances; they pitted the earth and hurt many a skull. If they crashed on a flower, the petals vanished in a moment, leaving behind only the pollen pod – it too tumbled quickly. Thousands of leaves from plants and trees were torn in the middle. Water currents destroyed the earthen tiles on several roofs. All the footpaths, doors, platforms, ponds and wells were covered by a sheet of water. The village converted into a large tank. The houses that were visible, appeared like floating cranes, ducks and buffalos. Gradually, a number of huts submerged, nobody knows how many of the cattle drowned. Sometimes, the animal would be thrashing for breath under water and only his tail would be visible above the surface. There was no count of the deaths of small creatures like ants, squirrels, mice and lizards. At first, people climbed atop trees to save themselves from drowning. The trees saved them from drowning and from the assault of lance like showers but finally, they themselves were inundated. There was nothing but water everywhere. The endless expanse of the waters swept away cots, utensils, animals and dead bodies.
Balesar’s family was saved. Of course, his house had been submerged and the mud walls of his hut became so woozy that after the flood, when a goat pressed its horns against the one third of the wall after the two thirds of the wall had been washed away, the horns caused a cavity. The cots, pots and even the oven were lost in the flood. Their trowel, hoe, everything was lost. Only the grinding stone had not shifted – the one used by Jagdamba’s mother and wife before and after the flood – to grind maize, millet and peas. The grinding stone survived because it was stone, however, Balesar’s family also was safe; it was nothing short of a miracle. But, in fact, it was not a miracle. The truth was that water had started entering the haveli of Balesar’s master too. The master was known for his farsightedness. The moment water started seeping into his house, he offered shelter to Balesar and his family. And when the water rose to the level of the ground floor and started leaking from the gaps of the doors and the windows, Balesar’s family carried all essential stuff on their head and back to the upper floor. It was owing to his family that the master’s family did not suffer much even during such awful days. Balesar, his wife, Jagdamba or some other member of the family would always be occupied in serving them. Balesar or any one of his family members would use a bamboo pole to create an outlet for the water. And it was during this time that the master’s new daughter-in-law, the one that used to mix a pau of dust and pebbles in his one seer of food grains, found it necessary to visit the eastern room. How would she? A method was devised: Balesar and the women of his family stooped like quadrupeds and she stepped on their backs to approach the eastern room and then came back to the western room in a similar manner. At first, she would put her foot on one four-footed human and then on the other, and by then, the first one skittered ahead to stoop next. The new daughter-in-law told her husband fondly that she had no business in the eastern room, she was just enjoying herself. It made her husband’s heart overflow with love. He held her cheek in his mouth. And when he was not satisfied with the voluptuousness, he poured a lota full of water over the blouse of the new daughter-in-law.
The flood passed anyhow but the time that followed was muddled. It appeared that troubles were out for a collectiv
e assault. Death hovered overhead. It started beating its deadly pellet drum. It visited people mostly in the garb of fever. It was sheer luck that everyone in Balesar’s family was safe. However, it was not all comforting – they might have survived, but life had become extremely difficult. Balesar was anxious all the time, awake or asleep. The crops in the field were ruined. Food had gone scarce. Naturally, hunger always held captive one person or another. Their bellies sank and they spoke haltingly. Jagdamba would lie on the earth and pound his hands and legs on the ground and fart earsplittingly.
It happened a few days later: the rebellion of the peasants and the farm workers against the zamindars began in Awadh. It is said that around one lakh farmers revolted against the landowning class under the leadership of Baba Ramchandra. Baba Ramchandra was the head of the movement and one of the remarkable facts about him was that once upon a time he too had left as a girmitiya mazdoor like Pandey’s Baba, but he had returned to India and organized the farmers. Balesar also joined the fight. There was a rumour that it was Balesar who had instigated the barbers, washermen and potters to join the movement. Consequently, the poor of the village would laugh at the unkempt beards and overgrown hair, bedraggled moustaches of their masters and enjoy themselves, chortling. They would comment, ‘Babu Sahib’s moustache has turned into his crotch bush!’ When the Brahmin caste men removed their upper garments at the well to bathe and lifted the lota to pour the water, the barbers would nudge their pals with their elbows and chuckle, ‘Vashisht sage’s beard has grown in pandiji’s armpit!’ They grinned, observing the dirty, filthy, wrinkled, shrunk clothes on their masters, their children and the new women in the family. They beheld the might of their own power, their right, their fancy, for the first time. But it did not continue for long. After all, hunger could not be postponed for ever. They were unable to get loans. The strategy of the landowners was that the ones who revolted should not be given loans, alms, food grains or other stuff. The masters imposed financial embargo in response to the social sanction of the poor. So, after a few days, their zeal began to crumble. The only option they could think of was pleading for loans, but nobody was willing to lend. If there was someone like Pandit Surajdin Tiwary, who did it secretly, he would ask for four seers instead of three for two seers of grains. On the other hand, their patience of tolerating hunger was exhausted. The only alternative was to find an option or die from starvation.
As in the past few days, the land tillers and the workers arrived at the Zamindar’s haveli like a swarm of bees and started shouting slogans after a few hours of protest against nazrana, forced labour and dislocation, ‘Mahatma Gandhi ki jai! Baba Ramchander ki jai!’ And then one of them climbed the mango tree by the haveli and dangling his legs from his perch on the branch, started a lecture. People say he was aping Baba Ramchandra. A few inhabitants of Gosainganj had seen somewhere that Baba used to sit with one leg dangling from his scaffold and preach a sermon to the audience. It is probable that this man was not imitating Baba, but was doing it all by himself. Whatever it was: there was so much energy and sway in his words, so much fire and power of instigating the hungry men that a storm started raging in the minds of the demonstrators present. Before long, they were so aroused that they forcibly entered the zamindar’s house and started looting the food grains from his silos.
Balesar was handcuffed for this crime and sent to jail.
And in this way, it was fated that Balesar would not receive the freedom fighter pension even if he were alive after the country became independent because none of the participants in the movement from the Gosainganj village – washermen, barbers, cobblers, potters or boatmen were recognized as freedom fighters in free India. Even if Balesar had survived, his history was not to be considered unique. His life informs that from his birth and until his death on 15 August 1928, he had not received a single government grant. There was one exception – as is well known – he had killed a wolf and received the prize money of seven rupees from the government treasury. The following is known as well: he retained the desire and eagerness to kill a wolf all his life. He even crept to the wolf’s den to claim seven rupees, but he never could kill another. Finally, he died of cholera.
This portion of the novel published in 2048 was based on the questions Chacha and Suryakant posed to Jagdamba in 2007 and the disjointed replies he offered. The rest of the narrative was structured through the author’s imagination, and is mostly an account of Jagdamba’s father Balesar. Not much has been revealed from the folio of Jagdamba’s life. There is a distinct reason: Chacha and Suryakant were not very concerned with Jagdamba’s story. They were not very concerned with Balesar’s story either – they were concerned with Pandey’s Baba and finding out when he had left for Surinam as a girmitiya mazdoor. Chacha and Suryakant had thought that if Jagdamba – a centenarian in popular imagination – told them about the things discussed by his father and grandfather, perhaps they would find a clue to Pandey’s Baba’s family or descendants. However, they were disappointed because Jagdamba spoke mostly about the might of his hunger and his flatulence. Then he talked only about Balesar. Whatever he said, there was no mention of a Pandey, let alone Pandey’s Baba.
Suryakant almost lost hope, but he had to get something done. Since it was merely the beginning of his journey, he tried to take another chance the very day. Earlier, he had thought that the truth was hidden somewhere in the passageway of time and a hundred-year-old person might give him a sign through his memories. But now he wondered whether a glimpse of the truth might be achieved through cross-examination. He addressed the folks present, ‘Did anyone from a Pandey family leave as a girmitiya mazdoor to Surinam around 125 years ago?’
The pradhan, who had been tight-lipped for a long time spoke, ‘The answer to this question can be given only by the ghost of a fellow who was alive a hundred years ago.’ The audience saw the humour of the pradhan’s reply and broke into peals of laughter.
Suryakant was patient. ‘You have been quoting stories from the whole wide world, tales and reports, things that you do not know or have not experienced personally. Truth can complete its journey on the shoulders of legend and gossip.’
‘Bhaiya, this is more than we can comprehend.’ The pradhan came up with a solution and said, ‘There are three Pandeys in this gathering – why don’t you ask them?’
Suryakant faced the three Pandeys and asked them if they had any information. All the three informed him that nobody in the past seven generations of their families had crossed the seas to another country. One of them said, ‘What baloney is this?’
‘Not from your family perhaps but from another Gosainganj Pandey family of your uncle or tau?’
The heads swung, signalling refusal.
‘Really? Nobody went abroad?’ Suryakant sounded tired.
‘If you keep repeating the question, will history change?’ One Pandey sounded peeved.
‘Let’s go home, you must be hungry.’ A young man from Jagdamba’s house arrived to summon the old man home.
‘He is my great-grandson,’ Jagdamba said, introducing Chacha and Suryakant to the boy.
Suryakant’s eyes lit up when he saw the great-grandson, and he started clicking photos.
Jagdamba was made to lie on the cot and now he was being carted back in the manner he had arrived, followed by his great- grandson, who looked around thirty, in a vest and pajamas.
All of a sudden, Suryakant leaped and blocked the young man’s path. He stopped him, ‘What has been cooked in your house?’
‘Are you also hungry?’
‘Not really.’
‘Why the question then?’
‘If you don’t have anything to your taste at home, I’ll treat you to something from the bazaar.’
‘What do you offer?’
‘What do you prefer?’
‘Sweets. I can easily consume half a kilo of sweets at Bhagwati Halwai’s.’
‘And what does Jagdamba like?’
‘Sweets – he swallows at leas
t two to three pieces of jaggery every day, even at this age.’
‘Forget going to the bazaar then,’ Suryakant held his shoulder, ‘I’ll come with the sweets to your house in the evening.’
I beg to be excused for spoiling Girija Shankar’s narrative. Believe me, I am not at all fond of throwing a spanner in the works. How does it concern me if some gossipmonger spins a tale? But this novelist is crossing all limits of decency! He converted my grandfather into a character in the hope of becoming a celebrity by half-narrating things. See, the right thing would be that my grandfather, Jagdamba, should have appeared here personally to speak about himself, but it would amount to injustice to expect this from a man a hundred years old. So, I, Girija Shankar, his grandson, am here to describe the stories because I believe it is my duty.
First things first: the description of my Baba, Jagdamba’s hunger, is exaggerated. I have strong objections to it. I feel that the author either has no idea at all about the hunger of poor people, or that he is an agent of the bourgeoisie powers that compel the deprived to remain hungry. You must have been shocked by the word ‘bourgeoisie’! You have guessed correctly – I am connected to the Communist Party. As a young man, I was a member of the youth branch. Anyway, the observation is that the author seems to be an agent of the bourgeoisie powers that force poverty-stricken folks to remain hungry and create conditions that keep them hungry.
He wants to prove, through my Baba’s case, that the hunger of the poor is caused by some disease or by their propensity to overeating. How treacherous and false that idea is! If you step out of the story, you will see that the leftovers generated in the pradhan’s house, the amount of food that is wasted, the food that his cattle enjoy, all of that can fill the belly of every member in my family. And therefore, it must be said that the cause of our hunger is neither an illness nor an oversized stomach – it is the hoarding of grain by the pradhan in his silos.
