Asutosh was sitting at
the foot of the stairs with a book before him. But he could not concentrate on
it. His eyes wandered and rested from time to time on his mother lying almost
unconscious on a low wooden bench in a corner.
She
had been in a bad state of health for the past few weeks. Even at the best of
times she had been of a weak constitution. Hard work and under-nourishment had
completely broken her down. Things would not have come to such a pass, had she
taken a little more care of herself. But she had to work for a living and could
not afford to rest. An easier way out would have been to solicit help from her
husband’s former students and disciples. She was however a woman with
self-respect and would rather die than accept charity from others. It irked her
even to be an object of sympathy. She had deliberately
concealed her real state of health from the people at whose houses she worked.
She
had been bed-ridden now for three days. She had nobody to attend on her except
the ten-year-old Asutosh. The people of the
house in which they were residing were out of town. Asutosh
did his best to nurse his mother. He went to the
Now
there was no longer any gruel left nor was there any money. Asutosh
was in a fix. If he went to any of the houses where his mother worked he could
get a meal for himself and some money also for buying more barley. But he did
not like the idea. It was as good as begging and he was quite sure that his
mother would not approve. The son of Pasupathi
Bhattacharya to go abegging!….
Pasupathi Bhattacharya
was a name to conjure with in
Pasupathi Bhattacharya amassed
fame but not wealth. He could have become rich if he had wanted to. But he was
a saintly type and never cared for money. He earned a modest livelihood from
the school he conducted and it was sufficient for his small family. There was
of course no possibility of saving anything and he never worried about the
future. So when he died suddenly his widow and son were left in the lurch.
After
his death his former students, many of whom were quite rich, came forward to
help the bereaved family, but Asutosh’s mother firmly
declined their offers. Her husband had taught her self-respect and
self-confidence. She could not wrong the memory of her illustrious husband by
accepting charity. She decided to work in a few houses as domestic help and
earn her living. The mother and son lived in the dark space below the staircase
in a house in the very street that was named after Pasupathi
Bhattacharya.
All
the hopes of the poor widow were centred in the young
Asutosh. It was her ambition to bring him up as an
ideal man who would uphold the traditions of his father. She spared no pains or
expense in bringing him up properly. He was never made to feel the want of a
father. She bestowed on him a mother’s affection and at the same time handled
him with a father’s firmness.
She
used to say to him frequently, “Do not forget that you are the son of Pasupathi Bhattacharya. Don’t do anything that may dishonour his name. Never tell a lie or steal. Remember
that honour is more valuable than money, and death is
preferable to dishonour.”
Asutosh was a
precocious boy. He realised how much his mother was
doing for him. He was grateful to her and loved her very much. Even at that age
he tried his best to be of assistance to her. He used to tell her, “Be patient
for a few years more, mother. I shall start earning as soon as I complete my
studies and our troubles will be over.” His mother would shed tears of joy at
these brave words………
The
country was passing through terrible days at that time. The Second World War
was on. Vast numbers had revolted against the British Raj
and were behind the bars. Thousands of able-bodied men were inveigled into
joining the army. The villages were thus denuded of the youth who used to work
on the fields and only women, old men and children were left behind.
Agricultural production touched a new low, and the little that was produced was
requisitioned for the use of the army. The army got the best of
everything–food, clothes and luxuries. Even their carnal needs were taken good
care of. They were treated as the salt of the earth.
Those
times brought out the worst in man. Blackmarketing
and corruption were the order of the day. Famine stalked the
Those
in the villages had nothing to eat. They started trekking towards
Since
morning Asutosh’s mother had been lying speechless
with eyes closed. Asutosh was afraid. He called to
her gently but there was no response. He decided that he should somehow get
some money to buy barley for mother. He came out into the street and started
walking.
He
did not know how long he had been walking. It was only when he became exhausted
that he stopped and noticed that he was in the Esplanade, the city’s main
shopping centre.
The
boy found this quite a different world. Looking at those shops one could not
imagine that the whole country was in the grip of a famine and that only a few
furlongs away people were dying of hunger on the pavements. The show-cases in
front of the shops were a riot of colour. In them
were displayed dazzling dresses, costly articles of luxury that the young Asutosh had never seen before.
As
he stood looking at the richly stocked shops and the crowds of the neo-rich who
had collected there, his thoughts went back to the wasted features of his
mother who was dying and tears welled up in his eyes………
“What
are you crying about, my boy?”
Asutosh looked up. It
was the prosperous-looking owner of the shop that had accosted him.
The
young boy felt like sharing his grief with somebody. He told the shopkeeper his
story.
“Poor boy! So your mother is ill
and you do not have the money to buy barley for her?”
Asutosh nodded.
“Don’t
worry. You can easily earn eight annas if you follow
my advice.”
“Eight annas!”
Asutosh could not believe his ears. Eight annas were a fortune! Hope stirred in him. “I shall do
anything you suggest, sir,” said he.
“See
that big red building. It is the cloth rationing office. They give permits for
cloth in emergencies. If you act according to my instructions you can get a
permit. I shall give you eight annas in exchange for
it.”
Asutosh’s heart sank.
“How can I get a permit?” he asked.
“It
is easy. Just go and tell them that your mother has died. They will issue a
permit for three yards of cloth.”
Asutosh was shocked.
“Why do you say like that? My mother is alive. I cannot bear to say that she is
dead.”
“My
dear boy, where is the harm if you tell a little lie? After all, you should
have some money for nursing your mother to health. Don’t you love your mother?... All right, you need not say anything about your mother.
Your father is no more and there is no harm in saying that your father has died
just now.”
“It
is nevertheless a lie,” the boy demurred.
The
shopkeeper was a little annoyed. “You are too simple for this world, my boy.
Well, I only wanted to help you. If you don’t like my advice, well…..” he
shrugged.
Asutosh stood
hesitating for a few minutes. Then he walked towards the rationing office.
In
those days, coarse cloth was scarce and was rationed. There was no dearth of
costlier varieties but the poor and middle class people could not afford them.
Each family was allowed a few yards of cloth. In addition special permits were
given for special occasions. In the case of a death, a permit was issued for
three yards of cloth to cover the corpse. The cloth could be sold for a good
price in the black market.
Asutosh went inside
the rationing office and told the officer in charge, “My father is dead. Will
you kindly issue me a permit cloth?”
The
officer was moved at the sight of the boy. “Poor boy, are there no elders in
your family?” he asked.
“None,
except my mother and she is ill,” sobbed the boy.
The
officer wrote out the permit without further enquiry. “Can you read and write?…All right, just sign here….Here is the permit.”
The
shopkeeper was very pleased. He slapped the boy’s back affectionately, took the
permit from him and gave him eight annas. The permit
would fetch the shopkeeper a few rupees.
Asutosh purchased two-annas-worth of barley and sugar and hurried home. It was
hours since he had left home. He was worried about his mother.
Even
as he turned into his street, he found that a crowd had collected in front of
his house. There was also standing the van of the ‘Hindu Satkar
Samiti,’ an organisation to
perform the funeral rites of the destitute dead.
Asutosh rushed in.
Many of the former students of his father and some neighbours
had gathered beside his mother’s bed.
One
of them was saying, “She was a noble woman, worthy to be the wife of Pasupathi Bhattacharya. She maintained her dignity till her
death.”
Asutosh stared at his
mother’s body, incredulous. Was she really dead? He could not believe it. Had
she not told him, when his father died, that she would never leave him? Why had
she left him now? Surely she was angry with him! She had somehow come to know
that Asutosh had told a lie against her advice. She
was angry with him, and so she had left him and gone to join his father!
The
boy’s tender heart could not bear to endure the thought. He hugged her body and
burst into sobs. “I shall never again tell a lie, mother! Kindly excuse me this
time and come back, mother!”
The
onlookers murmured, “Poor boy, the shock seems to have affected his brain. This
is indeed heart-rending.”……..