Translated from the Hindi by Swati Pal
Punishment1
It was dusk, and the court of law had been adjourned. Public servants and peons were on their way home, their few pennies’ worth of daily earnings clanging in their pockets. The sweeper was trying his luck in the pile of garbage, hoping to find some money. In the verandas of the court, lawyers had been replaced by bulls and under the trees dogs had curled up where scribes had been. Just then, an old man, with tattered clothes and a stick in hand, arrived at the bungalow of Gent Sahib and stopped in the portico. Gent Sahib’s name was Mr G. Sinha. The attendant, spotting the old man, called out from afar, ‘Who stands there in the shade? What do you want?’
The old man said, ‘I’m an old Brahmin, bhaiya, may I see the sahib?’
‘Sahib doesn’t meet the likes of you,’ the attendant replied curtly.
The old man hit his walking stick against the ground and retorted with some haughtiness, ‘Why, pray? Do I look like a dacoit? Or is something else the matter with my face?’
‘You’ve come begging to fight a case, haven’t you?’
‘Is that a crime? Is it so bad if one doesn’t sell their house to fight a case? I have spent my entire life fighting my case, but never spent a penny meant for the household. I give people a dose of their own medicine. With great difficulty I have gathered money to give to the lawyer, begging at the doors of kind men. The whole village trembles at my name. If one dares to play games with me, I take no time to claim my right in the court.’
‘You haven’t encountered a powerful man yet, have you?’
‘How many powerful men I have put in their place, you have little idea. I go right up to the high court. Dare anybody come in my way? Why should I be scared when I don’t stand to lose a penny? Whatever I set my mind on, I make it mine, by right or by might. So tell me, will you summon the sahib or should I?’
The attendant realized that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of this man easily. He went in and informed the sahib, who asked him what the man looked like. When he heard the description, the sahib said with a smile, ‘Bring him in right away.’
‘Sahib, he is wearing dirty rags.’
‘Riches often rise from rags. Send him in.’
Mr Sinha was in the prime of his life, a calm, thoughtful man of few words. Rigidity and discourtesy, the inseparables of administration, were not to be found in him in the least. He appeared to be the God of justice and kindness. He was gifted with the ability to judge people at a glance. His appearance was godlike, with a complexion like ebony; dark and beautiful. He lay on the recliner, puffing a hookah. The old man came in and greeted him.
‘So you are Jagat Pande. Come sit. Yours is a very weak case. Couldn’t you have used some ploy?’ Sinha asked the man.
‘Do not say that, huzoor. I’m a poor man, this will kill me.’
‘Didn’t you seek advice from a lawyer or attorney?’
‘I have come this far seeking your mercy, sarkar.’
‘You think his kindness will alter file records of the case? Or write a new law? You have been highly mistaken. I never go outside of the law. I hope you are aware that my proposal in the Appeal is never turned down.’
‘Glory be to you, sarkar! I’m in great agony, sarkar!’ While he was saying this he placed a bag of money at Sinha’s feet.
‘You will never cease to use your clever ways, will you? Come, shell out more, dew doesn’t quench thirst. At least pay one tenth,’ retorted Sinha with a smile on his face.
‘I come to you with great hope, friend of the poor!’
‘Come now, let’s see what you’ve got. This is a big name you’re seeking support from!’
‘I’ll be rendered penniless, my lord!’ pleaded Jagat Pande.
‘Penniless be your enemies who sell property to fight! You’re a man of plenty, by the grace of God, why fear!’
Mr Sinha was not one to make any concessions in such matters. Jagat sensed that no amount of craftiness would work here, so out came five more guineas. But this time, placing them at Mr Sinha’s feet filled his eyes with tears of grief. All his life had gone into earning this money. For years he had toiled in hunger and heat, holding his heart back from desires and giving false statements in court to save this money. Giving it away made him die a thousand deaths.
After Pande departed, around nine in the night, a tonga pulled up outside Mr Sinha’s bungalow and from it, Pandit Satyadev, attorney to Raja Sahib Shivpur, got down.
Mr Sinha smiled and said, ‘It looks like you will not let the poor live in peace! Such cruelty!’
‘Messiah of the poor,’ Satyadev replied, ‘you could also say that these poor people have instead made our survival difficult. I’m sure you’re aware that nothing comes easy these days. The landowner has to deal with these fellows with some measure of strictness. But of late matters have come to such a point that the moment we show the slightest sternness, the so-called poor begin to show their true colours. They all want to work the fields for free. You talk of rent, and lo! They are up in arms! Now take the case of this Jagat Pande. I swear by the Ganga, huzoor, what he claims is all false. There’s nothing that can remain hidden from your highness. If Jagat Pande wins the case, we shall all have to pack up and flee. Only Your Highness can get us our rightful position now. Raja Sahib
