HAVALDAR

(A Story)

BY K. ASWATHA NARAYANA RAO

(Rendered from Kannada by K. Sampathgiri Rao)

(1)

Dandappa was an old Havaldar in the Bombay police service. He was fifty. He had a stalwart body; and, having trained himself his in younger days as a wrestler, he had somehow found his way into the police force. He had a broad face with bulldog jaws, and his half-gray moustaches, trimmed at the sides, and somewhat blood-shot eyes imparted a fierce appearance to his look. Blue shorts, a coat, a yellow cap, a leather hose, a heavy pair of sandals, a short baton tucked at the waist, his number in brass figures, these completed his outfit and he looked a model Havaldar.

His temperament, his grim resoluteness in times of crisis, his coolness, his skill in investigation, his devotion to duty, his power of endurance, his loyalty to the Department,–all these had earned for him good opinion of his officers. He was in the forefront when difficult duty had to be performed; similarly, when a delicate piece of work was to be undertaken, Havaldar Dandappa was always chosen to attend to it. He had acquired the reputation of being ‘a safe man’ in the Department. His illiteracy was his one handicap,–or he would have certainly risen to higher positions.

It was thirty years since Dandappa had come to Bombay. He lived his early life in his village as a cultivator. He owned too an acre of land. But the rains had failed and his living had become precarious. So he made up his mind to leave his village in accordance the well-known Kannada proverb: “When you are down and out, take to the city.” He had heard a great deal of Bombay, and somehow deposited himself there. He spent about four years undergoing great privations, driven from pillar to post, in and out of jobs, until at last through the good offices of a friend he secured a place in the Police Department. His life now became more comfortable. Within two years he saved two hundred rupees, went to his village, married Ambavva whom he had fancied, brought her to Bombay, and hired one portion of a partitioned room for five rupees a month in one of the top floors of a chawl in Kandewadi, situated in one of the by-ways

Ambavva was a handsome woman, slim and fair-complexioned. She had an artless and tender nature, and so docile that she was as the shadow of her husband. She was ever intent on fulfilling the least of his wishes. This purpose filled all her life. Her devotion was the result of her love for him–not unmixed with a certain amount of awe with which she looked upon him: for, though Dandappa was not lacking in tenderness towards her and showed it by his occasional presents of jewels and finery, there was still a certain amount of hardness and discipline which coloured his domestic behaviour–a natural overflow from the current of his official life. On such occasions he exhibited his temper, and the sharpness of his tongue. And she felt hurt and broke into tears. Reconciliation followed, but took some time. Such fear was ever present in mind and always put a restraint on her behaviour, because one could never tell when he would fly off into a temper.

Panduranga was the child born to them after some years of married life. Both in appearance and disposition he took after his mother,–the same tenderness of feeling, the same gentleness and dignity of outward behaviour. But on occasions he gave evidence of some of Dandappa’s courage, spirit, and unbending nature. Thus Dandappa recognised in his only child the looks he loved so well as also the traits he admired so much, and began to dote on him.

When Panduranga was a baby, Dandappa had never enough of fondling of the baby. He used to take him, exhibit him before all his friends and was indeed very proud of him. He bought dresses, ornaments and toys for the boy beyond his means. He brought sweets and eatables for him to the point of causing indigestion. Though usually so dearly fondled, when the baby was naughty. Dandappa administered an occasional whacking. And Ambavva would intervene and rescue the little one, saying, “Though his love is like milk, his anger is like fire.”

The boy was admitted to school in due course, the parents stinting themselves even the necessaries of life to maintain him there. Dandappa’s greatest ambition was that the boy should get education, pass high examinations and secure a big job. So he spared no expense to provide the boy with books, paper, pencils and other things. He had even given him a hat and a pair of boots. That he could not engage a private tutor for him was one of the things that grieved him. Being an illiterate himself he could not undertake the boys teaching. He contented himself with seeing to it that the boy did not waste his time at home; and this he did effectively. If now and then the boy went a little astray, Dandappa brought down his heavy punishment and kept him on the proper path. On such occasions he acted the strong father’s part rather too strongly, so as to make Ambavva venture to intervene protesting: “What–are you going to kill the boy? Please, for God’s sake, leave him alone; don’t hurt him so,” And he replied in a voice of thunder, “If he does not read now, what should happen to him? I can’t bear to see him idling his time.” His behaviour was like Goldsmith’s schoolmaster who, “if severe in aught, the love he bore to learning was in fault!”

The War came. The cost of living went up like a rocket. It became very difficult for the poor Havaldar to make both ends meet. How should he continue to provide for the education of his son? Poor Panduranga’s education came to an abrupt end with the fifth standard. He was sixteen years old. And there was need to increase the family earnings. How should Dandappa keep him idle at home? He wanted him to take up a job. Ambavva said, “Why burden him so soon? There is time enough for him to slave till the end of his life. Let him rest for some time.” Dandappa said, “What do you mean? How can any one afford to be idle these days? No–he must become an earner,” and clinched the matter.

Then the kind of job that Panduranga should take came in for discussion. Dandappa said, “It is obvious: he should join the police force.” Ambavva pleaded, “No, let him not become a policeman. It is enough that you are in that department. It is a place where one has to do the most unpleasant duties.. If he has to earn, let him get into some other job.” Dandappa got wild on hearing such aspersions against his department. “What did you say? Is my work so bad? It is the King’s work. It implies authority to arrest even a millionaire. What can there be equal to it? It is because of this that we are alive now, and fairly comfortable. Don’t forget that. Don’t foul your own nest.” Ambavva rejoined “Yes–all the honour is only in your presence. When your back is turned, what things they can speak of you! I hear everyday–” Dandappa put a stop to her further talk: “Let them say what they please. I do not care a brass button for their opinion. Nowadays everybody has a grouse against the police. Hartals, processions and meetings almost every day. We know very well the amount of unrest and disloyalty there is in the country. I do not care for all the talk against the police. If any body attempts to speak disloyal nonsense to you, be on your “guard.” Ambavva at this juncture somehow took it into her head to reply: “Why should any body attempt to speak to me? Have I not seen for myself something of this slavery?” As soon as these words came out of Ambavva’s mouth in spite of herself, Dandappa was roused like a cobra. “Ha! such words to my face! Shut up! I have to give you a good whacking.” At this moment, the son came between them and, holding his father’s hand, said, “Please don’t raise your hand against Mother. I am ready to join the Police Department.” Dandappa was somewhat mollified. Ambavva broke into sobs.

(2)

The-terrible days of August, 1942. Dandappa who had been busy all the previous night in connection with the arrest of leaders, was now lying in sound sleep during the day. Ambavva was preparing food. It was noon, but Panduranga had not yet from his duty. Hour after hour the incidents of that fateful day were reaching the ears of Ambavva. The more she heard, the more she was agitated. She felt more and mare concerned for her son as time was passing. It was 1 p. m. – 2 p. m. and yet Panduranga had not returned. Ambavva who was going to the door now and again eagerly looking out for the arrival of her son, now stood in the verandah in front of her house watching in anxious expectations. Another half-hour passed: Ambavva did not stir from her place. Dandappa was not yett awake. Ambavva was tired of standing and was about to go inside when an Ambulance car turned towards the house and drew up in front. Ambavva’s heart beat fast. In another moment, a body swathed in white cloth was lifted out of the van by the police. Ambavva gave a shriek of horror. Dandappa got up to a flurry and came out to see what all the commotion was about.

His sight fell upon the corpse of his son. Yes; among the thousands who lost their lives that day, his son was one. The two friends who had brought the body stood with downcast faces. Ambavva fell on the corpse and broke into sobs. Dandappa was stunned for a moment and stood with a vacant look. Then it all flashed on him. One of the friends narrated the happenings in detail. The police had to open fire to disperse a procession. But this time the people, instead of dispersing, rushed forward and wreaked their vengeance on the policemen on whom they could lay their hands. Panduranga was among those victims. But the narration did not produce any impression on Dandappa. Gradually his grief gave way to anger. He found, his tongue at last, and asked faltering, “Have any arrests been made in connection with this?”

“Yes; all the people were caught, but–”

“But–”

“Their leader slipped away.”

“Ha! slipped away!”

“Yes.”

“If I cannot catch him and bring him to the gallows, what sort of a Havaldar am I?”

From that day, Dandappa addressed himself to the task of tracking the culprit, with the approval of the officers. He got to know the particulars about the leader from the persons arrested. He was a young man from Pandharpur, of the name of Deshpande. He was living with his brother-in-law in Bombay and studying at college. He was aged about eighteen. As soon as Dandappa gathered these particulars, he went to the brother-in-law’s house, made a search and secured a photograph of the youngman. He arranged for the house to be watched. Three days later there were posters stuck on the walls all over the city offering a reward of Rs. 2,000 for information leading to the arrest of Deshpande. His photograph and other particulars were also widely published. Dandappa resolved to track down Deshpande and bring him to justice and thus wreak his vengeance: and he would get the reward of Rs. 2,000 in addition.

From that day Deshpande’s photograph was always in Dandapa’s pocket. Wherever he went he was always on the lookout for the person who bore any resemblance to the photograph. He would take out the photograph and compare the faces. He got at Deshpande’s college-mates, his relations and friends, made searching enquiries regarding his habits, learnt about the places frequented by him, the picture houses and hotels usually visited by him, and started watching these places. Once while going on the Vittalbhai Road, someone looked suspiciously at him, and made himself scarce in a moment. Dandappa, after a great deal of effort, was able to capture him. But the arrested man turned out to be an old offender who was ‘wanted’. Dandappa got complimented for the arrest; but this gave him no satisfaction or peace of mind. He got stray bits of information now and then; and he would follow them up with great care. Still he had not tracked down his man. He even went out of Bombay visiting a few towns on this quest. His efforts bore no fruit. But despite all frustration, he never lost hope, and his efforts never slackened. This quest became the purpose of his life.

(3)

Days passed, months passed–it was almost a year: and yet his quest had not succeeded. Sometimes a doubt crossed Dandappa’s mind whether the culprit was still alive. And immediately he assured himself: “Why not? He is in hiding somewhere about here, and will be caught one day or other. Let us see” His officers had begun to feel displeased with his failures, in spite of numerous hints being given to him which should have led to an arrest. Dandappa knew all this. But what could he do? Was he not bending all his energies to this one task? He was beginning to feel displeased with himself.

One day he was coming out of his house with a companion on his usual hunt. “Come, Gangappa, let us have a little tea, we have to watch the whole night,” he said to his companion and entered the Royal Restaurant at the end of Kandewadi. It was after dusk and the lights were on. The two settled themselves at a table at one end near the door. Dandappa ordered two single teas While tea was arriving, he turned to his companion and said: “Gangappa, what shall I do? I am wearing onto my very life on this business. And yet the Inspector is displeased. My son has lost his life; do I require greater spur to effort than that? And there is, in addition, a Rs. 2,000 reward.” As these words were uttered, there was a noise of a moving chair in the corner diagonally opposite to where they were seated. And they heard a loud cough–as what was gulped in by the person had gone in on the wrong side. Immediately Dandappa’s attention was directed to the place. The man at the further corner was getting up to leave. He had not yet taken his tea. Dandappa’s suspicions were roused. He gazed at the man’s face in a moment and took out the photograph from his pocket. Even in that insufficient light, there was no mistaking the resemblance.

Dandappa leaped in an instant towards that man, who for a moment looked at the door where Dandappa was standing. As if prepared for Dandappa’s rush towards him, he aimed a plate full of savoury and hot stuff right into Dandappa’s face, and rushed inside the hotel. Dandappa’s eyes were put out of action for a moment by the pungent things thrown at his face, and, before he or any one else realised what was going on, the man got into the closet and fastened the bolt. They broke open the door, but meanwhile he had escaped through a window opening out towards Kandewadi. Perhaps he had been long familiar with this locality. Immediately Dandappa Gangappa ran out into Kandewadi area in hot chase blowing their whistles.

Just then Ambavva was sitting near the door engaged in cleaning a quantity of rice, picking out dirt and pieces of stone from it. Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps entering in. She looked up, and saw a stranger inside the open door. She got frightened. She was about to scream but the stranger, trembling all over and in a pitiable voice, said, “Mother, do not fear. Please save me; hide me; close the door.” She was perplexed, and merely continued to stare. The stranger himself gently closed the door “Good mother, I have sought refuge with you. My life is in your hands.” Saying this he collapsed on the floor.

By this time Ambavva had taken a good look at the stranger and completed her survey of him. His young, slim and famished body, overgrown hair on head and chin, glistening and frightened eyes like those of a hunted animal–these filled her mother’s heart with pity. Without a moment’s hesitation she took the stranaer’s hand and led him in and made him sit down in the kitchen.

At this moment she heard someone pushing in the outer door and heard the voice of Dandappa. Ambavva was startled. He had gone his night duty–how should he return so soon? She was greatly frightened. Her limbs seemed to get paralysed. Meanwhile Dandappa entered the house; and with great effort Ambavva came to the outer room, As soon as he saw her, Dandappa asked, “Did anyone come anywhere this side?” Ambavva’s limbs began to quake. She could not manage to speak and simply said, “What?” “Why are you so scared?” he asked, “Did you not see any one run in this direction? This is all I asked you. Why are you so agitated?” With great difficulty she mustered courage enough to say ‘No.’ Dandappa said patiently, “So much time merely to say ‘No’. Gangappa, the murderer must have moved on further.” Saying this to himself, he banged the door behind him and moved out. Gangappa, who had been observing Ambavva, followed Dandappa but not before turning back and casting a suspicious glance at her. When he got on the road, he asked Dandappa, “Why did your wife look so frightened?” Dandappa merely said, “She is a timid creature. My very presence puts her in a fright. And when we spoke of a murderer, that must have scared her out of her wits,” Gangappa drawled out, “That is all, you think?” Dandappa reassured him, “What else? Will she ever speak false to me? Does she not know the consequence? You have no idea how I have kept my wife?” Gangappa remained silent.

When she heard the word ‘murderer’ Ambavva for a moment felt like telling Dandappa everything. But Dandappa had moved out of the house. Just then, as if to strengthen her former determination, the poor stranger asked for water in a faint and pitiable voice. Ambavva went into the kitchen and gave him some water. He quaffed it with eagerness and made signs begging for some food. Ambavva had not yet taken her meat, so she served him some food on a plate; The stranger gobbled up what was placed before him Looking at his eagerness Ambavva thought, “Poor fellow, it looks as though he has been starving for many days.”

As soon as his hunger was satisfied, the youngman pleaded “Mother, I am not really a murderer. Don’t believe it.” Ambavva, not knowing what to say, merely looked up and down. The young man proceeded, “Terrible things happened on the 9th of August. The death of Panduranga immediately came to Ambavva’s mind. She said, “My son, too, lost his life on that day. He looked very much like you, and tears streamed from her eyes. The youngman responded, “Alas! How many lost their lives that day, with or without reason! For myself, I did not raise my hand against any one I have not hurt anyone in my life. I have had some education. What then? The fates are all powerful.” “Many foolish things were done in the exciting conditions of that day,” he added in a repentant voice. Supper was taken. He asked, “Mother! May I rest here for the night?” Ambavva hesitated for a moment. Would it be better to send him away from this place of danger? But where should he get a shelter outside? And his safety? The police may be still after him searching for him everywhere. But would it be right to let him sleep in this house? Why not? Poor fellow! But Dandappa–no, he was not likely to come back yet. He was on his night shift. After the youngman had some rest, he might be roused and sent away. Yes–that is the proper thing. As soon as Ambavva came to this decision, she said to him, “All right. You sleep in the kitchen. I shall rest outside. You must get up before daybreak and go away. I shall wake you up.” The youngman folded his hands in gratitude and exclaimed: “You have been my mother! I am born again, today!”

Ambavva gave him a mat and a woollen covering. The young man dropped off to sleep in a few minutes. Spreading her bed, Ambavva said to herself, “Perhaps he has not had rest for many days, poor chap!” She did not steep. Various thoughts crossed her mind: doubts and apprehensions troubled her. About half-an-hour must have passed by. Suddenly the front door opened. In her excitement she had even forgotten to fasten the bolt. Who should walk in, but Dandappa again! She was filled with surprise and fright at the same instant. Without knowing what she was doing, she sprang to the entrance to the kitchen–it had no door–and stood against the doorway. Dandappa, as soon as he came in, flung his cap on the bed saying, “It is all over for me, this day. The toil of all these years has come to nothing.” And he sat on the bed. Ambavva did not understand anything. She did not know what to say. So she simply asked, “That means?” “It means, I am suspended. Do you understand? What does this new officer know of my worth? He knows only about this case. I am devoting all my energies to it. But luck is against me. What is to be done? It seems that I have been given many chances: and he got quite wild that the murderer had slipped through our fingers this time. And that Ganga carried tales against me. ‘You should not have done this! You should not have done that! You should have caught him, using greater skill.’ These fellows presume to teach me skill! Yes, it is on account of this murderer that my job, my promotion, my pension are all ruined–not to speak of the Rs. 2,000 reward. My entire career is blasted. Ah! If only I can catch him!” And so, unasked, he unburdened, himself, and relieved himself, of his distress. Ambavva said nothing. It is impossible to describe the state of her mind at the moment. After brief silence, Dandappa said again, “Yes–let us see–bring me a cup of water.”

Ambavva went into the kitchen and took a cup of water from the big metal-pot. Her hands were slightly trembling. In her agitation she did not probably put back the lid of the metal-pot in proper position. By the time Dandappa had drunk the cup of water, the lid slid down with a crash. The boy sleeping in the kitchen woke up in a fright. The noise of the waking person reached Dandappa’s ears: and he asked suspiciously, “What is that?” Without replying a word Ambavva went again and stood against the kitchen doorway. It occurred to Dandappa that someone was hiding inside. He sprang up and asking, “Who is that paramour of yours?’, rushed to the doorway. What courage possessed Ambavva at this moment, it is difficult to say, but she said– “No paramour– but son.” What strength she mustered one can never know: but she stood facing Dandappa and blocking his way. Dandappa was furious. “Son! Your son is already dead! Who is this fellow? Make way,” he shouted. But she did not stir. Dandappa was tugging at her hands to enter the kitchen.

By this time the young stranger was awake, and, realising his danger and seeing no way of escape, was trying to force open the grating of the window with an iron rod. As soon as Dandappa sighted him, he cried out “Ah, murderer!” “No,” said Ambavva, “he never raised his hands to kill anyone.”

“The murderer of your son,” said Dandappa.

When she heard this, her arms seemed to fall limp. But she recovered in a moment.

“He did not kill him as my son–Foolish things happened owing to the conditions of excitement,” she said. “Yes: you seem possessed. Such courage and such strength! Stand aside. This fellow must be brought to the gallows. Why not? He was responsible for the death of my son.”

“If this young fellow’s head is cut off, would that bring back our son?”

“My job, my pension, the reward–”

“We shall take nothing that comes as the price of this young man’s life,”

“Look! look again! He is trying to escape. Let me in, I say.”

By this time the young man had removed a grating from the window and was trying to escape through it. Noticing this, Dandappa said to his wife with some vehemence, “If he but escapes, I shall split your head in twain–” Saying this he brought down a heavy blow on Ambavva. She did not cry out as usual, nor did she move. She only turned away her head.

Hearing the sound of that blow, the young man looked back. Dandappa had raised his hand for a second time. Ambavva was standing still as a statue. The young man quickly changed his mind, drew back the leg which he had stretched out and sprang to the side of Ambavva. He caught the uplifted hand of Dandappa and said “Please don’t raise your hand against Mother. I am ready to with you.”

Dandappa instantly caught hold of the young man. Ambavva gave an agonised shriek. And turning from Dandappa towards the boy, she said, “See well for yourself if he is a murderer.”

Though Dandappa had caught the boy’s hand, he did not drag him. He was looking hard at him. His young famished and neglected body and clear eyes seemed to pierce Dandappa’s soul. Long ago when he had raised his hand against Ambavva, Panduranga intervened and agreed to do his bidding. That scene came back to his mind. The resemblance that there was between his son and this boy struck his mind. Unconsciously he relaxed his hold on the boy’s hand. And he wondered that his eyes became moist. In a moment other thoughts entered his mind. He turned towards Ambavva and said, “See that this boy does not get away anywhere. I shall be back soon.” He put on his cap and walked out.

As soon as Dandappa left, Ambavva turned to the boy and said, “Please go away somewhere. Let God’s will be, done! Who knows what my husband will do?” But the boy did not agree. “Mother, I have no more wish in the world. What shall I gain by escaping?” he said.

(4)

When Dandappa returned after half-an-hour, he had divested himself of his policeman’s clothes. He was wearing only his shorts and a banian. Seeing this Ambavva asked eagerly, “What is this? What has happened?” He said: “Nothing–I have resigned my job–that is all.” “For my sake?” put in the boy. “No–for my own sake. I am unfit for service any more. Being tired of being a servant, I wished to be a man. It is enough for me that I had a son killed” replied Dandappa.

Ambavva shed profuse tears. Dandappa comforted her. “What is past is past. Let us forget it all. Let today be the last that we all shall spend in this wretched city. It is not right we should live here any longer. Hiding yourself somehow–”

“What? I too!” interrupted the boy in surprise. Dandappa nodded his head as if to say ‘yes’. Ambavva was surprised beyond measure. Her grief passed out of her mind to some extent.

“But if anyone should recognise him there?”, she asked “What if? Who knows anything about him there? We have anyhow been away all these years. If Panduranga had been alive, would he not be like him! Well, he shall be our son,” concluded Dandappa.

“Our son,” echoed Ambavva.

The boy stood, with bowed head.

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