D. P. ROY CHOWDHIURY

Dinner was served rather late. We had not the faintest idea that the time had rolled on towards midnight. We were in the midst of an unholy discussion. It was about art, and eventually it pitched on to the altitude of high philosophy and landed us in trouble.

One of us happened to be a daring opportunist. He promptly said, “It is time that we had dinner.”

The suggestion was most welcome and we resolved accept it without any reservation.

We had a hearty dinner, and a hearty Indian meal meant an extra heavy load. The consequences that followed were not quite pleasant to me. I had to reach home and it was six miles away. No conveyance was available at this unearthly hour. Still I hoped against hope and managed to come to the famous crossing where stray taxi cabs waited for notorious night roamers. I had come to a desperate mood which made me shout at the top of my voice–I meant to be heard. The echo of my own voice in the ghostly silence was all the response I got. I did not know what to do next. At this moment I heard the bell of a rickshaw ringing at a distance. I Waited impatiently to see what was in my luck. It was good. The rickshaw was empty. Apparently, my loud voice must have caught the ears of the puller. It was a lonely vehicle approaching towards me with an unusual speed hardly justifiable in the absence of competition.

The faint hope that gave the relief, disappeared no sooner than it came. The man who was pulling the rickshaw was a tiny little creature, hardly half my size: I was reluctant to take the rickshaw of violating the law of gravitation. But he was a shrewd businessman, he knew how to persuade. I was overwhelmed by his art. Confidence being restored, I settled down on my perch. I was seated on the soft cushioned seat provided for respectable persons. It afforded all the comforts that could be had of a worn-out rolling perambulator. Everything being properly adjusted, I lighted a new cigar. I needed it very badly after the strain I was subjected to. Strangely enough, the rickshaw-puller did not attempt to bargain for a double fare, which was most moderate at this hour. Probably it was a wrong calculation due to an over-dose of toddy, or might be, his heart melted at seeing my pitiable condition. However, I was rescued from being stranded.

We started on our journey. It was not long after the wheels began to roll that the rickshaw puller began to curse the level of the tarred road at regular intervals. A little attention revealed that the cursing he indulged in was an elementary expression of the source of energy which kept him going. It had little to do with the road.

The pleasant breeze and the sound of the bell in that peculiar environment had a lulling effect on me. I was engulfed in drowsiness, and while I was in this stage, we arrived at the foot of a bridge. We had covered a pretty good distance. I then felt the rickshaw was not moving. I sat up and discovered that I was not dreaming either. The rickshaw-puller was leaning against the parallel rods of his vehicle. Chanting of his favourite hymns had stopped. I was under the impression that he was going to have a good pull on my thrown away cigar. Nothing doing He was just leaning. An enquiry was found necessary. When questioned he answered in a feeble voice that we were very near our destination. I looked round and found that he was not true. Taking rest by dodging the truth was most annoying at this late hour. I registered my strong displeasure.

A strong man’s displeasure had the desired effect on the weak. He was frightened and was ready to start again. He gave several jerks, the perambulator rolled a little and then stopped again. His movements made me suspicious. I noticed his steps were melt steady. It did not indicate that he was tight. On the contrary he was more sober than I was. The condition I had been placed in gave sufficient room to apprehend danger. I expressed my desire to get down. I believe in the theory of safety first. My objective was conveyed with sympathy charged with the dignified air of the pay master. But he would not allow me to get down. I wanted to know why he begged of me to stay where I was. The reply came, “Once I take rest, I would be done for the day.” I had to give in.

He was now ready. He pulled his vehicle with all the strength he had at his disposal. For all his exertion, the perambulator refused to move upwards. While the effort went on to drag the vehicle up, I had to keep myself engaged in maintaining my own balance. My heart began to palpitate. There was every possibility of the vehicle turning upside down. I had never practised such a balancing feat in my life. To keep alert for an indefinite period of time became an irritable job. I was compelled to make him understand that I was not used to being disobeyed, and if he did not listen to what I said, he would have no fare whatsoever and I would walk the distance left.

My will power expressed with emphasis was a vital blow on his senses. The vehicle was lowered, and I got down as quickly as I could.

The rickshaw-puller now got his vehicle free of the load he was expressed to carry, but the change did not make any appreciable difference. The slope of the bridge was the scene of a regular tog of war between man power and the law of gravitation. The struggle continued for sometime. I looked at my watch. It was 1 O’clock. The time was fleeting fast towards morning.

Patience was taxed, which made me offer my assistance. To my misfortune, the offer was readily accepted and I had to keep up to the word of a gentleman. I harnessed myself to the task I was pledged to. I started pushing from behind. Our joint efforts proved to be successful and we managed to pull the vehicle up to the top of the bridge. Fatigued as I was, I could not follow it down slope, because the wheels began to develop speed. They were left to accumulate automatic power until the motion was exhausted and the vehicle came to a standstill. The richshaw-puller waited for me where the vehicle stopped.

On my approach, I found he was trying to play another game. He started coughing incessantly and occasionally dragging long breath from the bottom of his heart, as if he had exhausted all his wind. I know it was a plan to enhance the fare.

One can never tell how these professional cheats induce their innocent victims to pay extra by extracting pity, if coercion failed.

I had not the shadow of a doubt that the present case was designed for a mischievous end. I went near him quite prepared to teach a lesson, but closer scrutiny revealed a different thing altogether. I noticed he was wiping his mouth by the towel he carried on his shoulder. Good Heavens! He was actually removing clots of blood. I felt sorry for the poor man and asked why he had not told me that he was ill. The rickshaw-puller made no effort to smile. A stream of tears seemed to flow. He paused for a while and said with great exertion, “If I told you, Sir, you would not have engaged me. My hungry children are waiting for me and I have to give them food. They need it very badly.” I could well imagine he had a long tale to tell, but he could not continue further. His voice was getting choked. I could see his agony. His legs were trembling, his hold on the rickshaw was getting slackened, and he was on the point of swooning. He would have dropped unconscious on the road had not my ready support been available. I allowed him to sit down on the road slowly while I held the rickshaw by my hand. I was lost in bewilderment and sought help but none was to be had in the lonely path, whereas the man was in immediate need of medical attendance.

I knew one doctor who lived in the locality. His residence was quite near. I could not recollect on what occasion we met. I hesitated to call on him at midnight. But a sense of duty taught me that this was not the time for hesitation when a question of life and death of a human being was involved, and gave me the strength to proceed.

I made up my mind to take the rickshaw-puller in his own vehicle to the doctor. The resolution was strong, but to put it into action was not very easy. More than a quarter of an hour passed before I could finally decide to take the place of the rickshaw-puller and drag his vehicle through the public road. I never knew that vanity had such a tremendous hold on my personal movements. For the first time I realised that I was nothing better than a slave manufactured by my society. I had no freedom to do what pleased me, and false ideas of respectability crippled my emotions. I lived to submit. Deeper insight into the illusion of vanity made me eventually bold enough to act as I had resolved.

The rickshaw-puller was placed in his own vehicle and I yoked myself to my responsible duty. I did not, I have to confess, fare well. Exhaustion began to creep over my nerves within the space of a few yards. I stuck on, only to realise that I had plunged into an impossible feat. I was on the point of giving up my solemn resolution, but an unaccountable force pulled me up and helped mo to draw the vehicle until I reached the doctor’s house.

Heavy knocks at the door produced no better result than crying in the wilderness. The gentleman in me had already shoved off his vanity; so there was no hesitation now to violate the laws of good manners. I called the doctor almost in a commanding tone. The voice had the sharpness which could disturb even a doctor’s sleep.

My determination worked well. The doctor was really disturbed. Enquiry came as to who the caller was. Presence of mind made me cautious not to tell what the case was like. I was quite certain that a rickshaw-puller would not make an attractive patient. The only course left to get the doctor downstairs was to subdue the tone of my voice to beseech mercy. I appealed again and again that the doctor should come down immediately to see a patient who was hanging in the balance of life and death.

My repeated appeal after all was heard. The doctor came down and presented himself with a bored face. It was expected. There was not a second to waste. I told him the condition of the patient and how he had to be brought in his own rickshaw pulled by me.

I had half finished the narration, when to my astonishment I noticed the rickshaw-puller was struggling to sit up, all the time trying to attract my attention by signs.

I came near the rickshaw. The puller seemed to be talking to himself but his voice was too feeble. I could not hear him from where I was standing. I had come closer still. I was very near his mouth. I got a foul smell, could it be of blood? An uncanny feeling passed over me. I could not tell why. The rickshaw-puller looked vacantly at me for sometime. I could see he had something very important to tell, he was gasping for breath. With great difficulty he could utter a few words–master, pay my fare to my children, they must be very hungry. The lips moved for sometime but there was no speech. Suddenly the hoarse also failed and he collapsed.

I turned back to the doctor for help. The doctor apparently took us to be jolly revellers who were out for fun. Our movements and the midnight call obviously went to substantiate his conclusion.

His suppressed annoyance was in urgent need of a release to confirm what he thought of us. He regretted his inability to attend to the case, because his considered opinion was that public nuisance was treated by the police than by doctors. This message delivered, he banged the door on my face. The rickshaw-puller was now a corpse.

I stood there wondering whom to pay the fare to.

Back